Poetry is a weapon loaded with future
On March 18 we celebrate the birth centenary of Gabriel Celaya, one of the best poets of the century XX. We do it from the modesty of this corner with its verses and Javier de Bengoechea (written to give you a small tribute) and the voice of two major catautors: Paco Ibanez and Joan Manuel Serrat. We recommend you take a look at his site, Gabriel Celaya, and you will find many interesting information about life, work, editions, tributes, etc. a més de les activitats realitzant-be who are at the voltant seu Centenari .
Farewell (Gabriel Celaya)
Maybe when I die,
say, was a poet.
And the world, always beautiful shine without conscience.
Maybe you do not remember who I
, most of you sound
the anonymous verses that one day I put in the making.
Perhaps nothing left
me, not a word,
or a these words now sleep in tomorrow.
But seen or unseen,
but said or not said,
I'll be in your shadow, oh beautifully alive!
I will continue to follow, I will continue
dying
will be, I'm not sure how much of the concert.
*
tiny tribute to Gabriel Celaya
(Javier de Bengoechea)
declare-
me faithful
clearing
Gabriel.
De Amparo,
for,
shot of honey.
Your fight,
"was beautiful?
tenacious.
That there is much
shooting star
declare-
me faithful
clearing
Gabriel.
De Amparo,
for,
shot of honey.
Your fight,
"was beautiful?
tenacious.
That there is much
shooting star
we are sure that the web i les Xarxes socials s'ompliran, propane, 18 març day, dels seus Poemes , verses dels FETs cancer, propostes poetic activity, recitals ... will be a special day to give voice to his poetry, which as you say "... is a weapon cargada future," verses that we hear the voice of Paco Ibanez).
Poetry is a weapon of cargada
futuro (Gabriel Celaya)
futuro (Gabriel Celaya)
ya When nothing is expected exaltante personally,
is more beats and still manages to be more ACÁ of conscience,
fieramente existiendo, ciegamente affirmation,
as a pulsar hitting the darkness,
when viewed from the front
eyed the rapid death, they say
truths:
the barbaric, terrible, loving cruelty.
poems are said
widening the lungs of those who, suffocated,
ask to be, call rate, call
law for what they feel excessive.
With the speed of instinct,
with the ray of wonder, magic
as evidence, it becomes real to us as
identical to itself.
Poetry for the poor, poetry
necessary as daily bread,
as the air that we demand thirteen times per minute,
to be and as we take a self-glorifying.
Because we live to shock, because hardly
let us say that we are who we are,
our songs are not without sin an ornament.
We're playing the background.
curse poetry conceived as a luxury
cultural
neutrals that, washing hands, they turn away and escape.
curse poetry party who does not take up stain.
I make my own faults. I feel in me who suffer
breathing and singing.
sing, and singing and singing beyond my personal
sentences I flange.
I give you life, bring new acts,
and technical calculations for it with what I can.
I am an engineer and a worker verse
works with others to Spain in their steels.
This is my poetry, poetry tools
while unanimous beat it blind.
Such, weapon loaded with future expansion
that I point to the chest.
poetry not intended dropwise.
is not a beautiful product. It is a perfect fruit.
It's like the air we all breathe
singing and spacing as in we.
are words we all feel
repeat as our own, and fly. They are more than what is meant.
are most needed: what has no name.
are cries in the sky, and his acts and the earth.
is more beats and still manages to be more ACÁ of conscience,
fieramente existiendo, ciegamente affirmation,
as a pulsar hitting the darkness,
when viewed from the front
eyed the rapid death, they say
truths:
the barbaric, terrible, loving cruelty.
poems are said
widening the lungs of those who, suffocated,
ask to be, call rate, call
law for what they feel excessive.
With the speed of instinct,
with the ray of wonder, magic
as evidence, it becomes real to us as
identical to itself.
Poetry for the poor, poetry
necessary as daily bread,
as the air that we demand thirteen times per minute,
to be and as we take a self-glorifying.
Because we live to shock, because hardly
let us say that we are who we are,
our songs are not without sin an ornament.
We're playing the background.
curse poetry conceived as a luxury
cultural
neutrals that, washing hands, they turn away and escape.
curse poetry party who does not take up stain.
I make my own faults. I feel in me who suffer
breathing and singing.
sing, and singing and singing beyond my personal
sentences I flange.
I give you life, bring new acts,
and technical calculations for it with what I can.
I am an engineer and a worker verse
works with others to Spain in their steels.
This is my poetry, poetry tools
while unanimous beat it blind.
Such, weapon loaded with future expansion
that I point to the chest.
poetry not intended dropwise.
is not a beautiful product. It is a perfect fruit.
It's like the air we all breathe
singing and spacing as in we.
are words we all feel
repeat as our own, and fly. They are more than what is meant.
are most needed: what has no name.
are cries in the sky, and his acts and the earth.
And the voice of Joan Manuel Serrat:
Today, our present, we need poetry more than ever!
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