jueves, 29 de marzo de 2012

Llueve



Lluvia

Bruscamente la tarde se ha aclarado
Porque ya cae la lluvia minuciosa.
Cae o cayó. La lluvia es una cosa
Que sin duda sucede en el pasado.

Quien la oye caer ha recobrado
El tiempo en que la suerte venturosa
Le reveló una flor llamada rosa
Y el curioso color del colorado.

Esta lluvia que ciega los cristales
Alegrará en perdidos arrabales
Las negras uvas de una parra en cierto

Patio que ya no existe. La mojada
Tarde me trae la voz, la voz deseada,
De mi padre que vuelve y que no ha muerto.

Rain

The afternoon has brightened up at last
For rain is falling, sudden and minute.
Falling or fallen. There is no dispute:
Rain is a thing that happens in the past.

Who hears it fall retrieves a time that fled
When an uncanny windfall could disclose
To him a flower by the name of rose
And the perplexing redness of its red.

Falling until it blinds each windowpane
Out in a lost suburbia this rain
Shall liven black grapes on a vine inside

A certain patio that is no more.
A longed-awaited voice through the downpour
Is from my father. He has never died.

By Jorge Luis Borges
Translated by A.Z. Foreman


by Andre Kertesz



by John Vachon

by Key Gross

by Rui Palha





by Brassai


by Ellen Auerbach 1955
Wolf Suschitzky 1935
by Alex Howitt
by Antanas Surkus 1959
by Charles E. Wakeford 1935
by German Lorca
by Steve McCurry
by Lewis Morley
by Louis Faurer 1946
by Nikos Economopoulos
by Praveen Chettri
by René Jacques
by Steve McCurry
by Gianni Berengo Gardin

by Ivan Vydareny





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