en
Libros
Mary Oliver

West Wind

A collection from the Pulitzer Prize–winner whose poems have been praised “as genuine, moving, and implausible as the first caressing breeze of spring” (The New York Times).
In this stunning collection of forty poems—nineteen previously unpublished—she writes of nature and love, of the way they transform over time. And the way they remain constant. And what did you think love would be like? A summer day? The brambles in their places, and the long stretches of mud? Flowers in every field, in every garden, with their soft beaks and their pastel shoulders? On one street after another, the litter ticks in the gutter. In one room after another, the lovers meet, quarrel, sicken, break apart, cry out. One or two leap from windows. Most simply lean, exhausted, their thin arms on the sill. They have done all they could. The golden eagle, that lives not far from here, has perhaps a thousand tiny feathers flowing from the back of its head, each one shaped like an infinitely small but perfect spear.
“From the chaos of the world, her poems distill what it means to be human and what is worthwhile about life.” —Library Journal
“Her poems do indeed make us ‘shiver with praise.’” —Booklist
37 páginas impresas
Publicación original
1998
Año de publicación
1998
Editorial
Ecco
¿Ya lo leíste? ¿Qué te pareció?
👍👎

Opiniones

  • Giovanna Serafincompartió su opiniónel año pasado
    👍Me gustó
    🔮Profundo
    🐼Adorable

Citas

  • Aida Rodriguezcompartió una citahace 8 meses
    Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from

    one boot to another—why don’t you get going?

    For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

    And to tell the truth I don’t want to let go of the wrists

    of idleness, I don’t want to sell my life for money,

    I don’t even want to come in out of the rain
  • Aida Rodriguezcompartió una citahace 8 meses
    Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from

    one boot to another—why don’t you get going?

    For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

    And to tell the truth I don’t want to let go of the wrists

    of idleness, I don’t want to sell my life for money,

    I don’t even want to come in out of the rain.
  • Giovanna Serafincompartió una citael año pasado
    Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
fb2epub
Arrastra y suelta tus archivos (no más de 5 por vez)