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| Casiers Judiciaires: Augusto José Ramón Pinochet Ugarte Imperialism
Ronald
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Neruda le poète engagé. 1904-2004 - Paris - France
Discurso de Allende
dando a conocer en Chile la obtención del Premio Nobel de Literatura
Discurso de Pablo Neruda al
recibir Premio Nobel
The Nobel Lecture,
December 13, 1971(English)
A 3 dias
del Golpe Militar Neruda escribe su testimonio
1904-2004: Pablo Neruda naissait il y a 100
ans (Radio France) |
| Boulevard
franco-chilien |
| Textos de E. Guevara |
| Textos de C. Marighela |
| Textos de J.C. Mariátegui |
| Textos de Mao Zedong |
| Textos de A. Einstein |
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I
L'ETRANGER
- Qui aimes-tu le mieux, homme
énigmatique, dis? ton père, ta mère, ta soeur ou ton frère?
- Je n'ai ni père, ni mère, ni soeur, ni frère.
- Tes amis?
- Vous vous servez là d'une parole dont le sens m'est resté jusq'à ce jour inconnu.
- Ta patrie?
- J'ignore sous quelle latitude elle est située.
- La beauté?
- Je l'aimerais volontiers, déesse et immortelle.
- L'or?
- Je le hais comme vous haïssez Dieu.
- Eh! qu'aimes-tu donc, extraordinaire étranger?
- J'aime les nuages... les nuages qui passent... là-bas... là-bas... les merveilleux
nuages!
Charles Baudelaire.- Petit
poémes en prose
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CVIII
LE VIN DES AMANTS
Aujurd'hui l'espace est splendide!
Sans mors, sand éperons, sans bride,
Partons à cheval sur le vin
Pour un ciel féerique et divin!
Comme deux anges que torture
Une implacable calenture,
Dans le bleu cristal du matin
Suivons le mirage lointain!
Mollement balancés sur l'aile
Du tourbillon intelligent,
Dans un délire paralléle,
Ma soeur, côte à côte nageant,
Nous fuirons sans repos ni trêves
Vers le paradis de mes rêves!
Charles Baudelaire.- Les Fleurs du
Mal
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On
Exiles and Defeats
No. It was not the bad time in Chena,
nor the sudden grim persecutions
in improvised war councils.
No. The blind gun that hit me on the shoulder
didn't defeat me,
nor investigation's black hood of horror
nor the grey hell of the stadiums
with their roars of terror.
No. Neither was it the iron bars at the window
cutting us in pieces from life,
nor the watch kept on our house
nor the stealthy tread,
nor the slide into the deep maw of hunger.
No. What defeated me was the street that was not mine,
the borrowed language learned in hastily set-up courses.
What defeated me was the lonely, uncertain figure
in longitudes that did not belong to us.
It was Greenwich
longitude zero
close to nothing.
What defeated me was the alien rain,
forgetting words
the groping memory,
friends far away
and the atrocious ocean between us,
wetting the letters I waited for
which did not come.
What defeated me was yearning day after day
at Jerningham Road
agonising under the fog
at Elephant and Castle
sobbing on London Bridge.
And I was defeated step by step
by the harsh calendar;
and between Lunes-Monday and Martes-Tuesday
I had shrivelled into a stranger.
What defeated me was the absence of your tenderness, my
country
María Eugenia Bravo (translated by
Cicely Herbert)
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