Hola, me gusta mucho los sonetos, "En tanto que de rosa y acucena" y "Mientras por competir con tu cabello"
me recordaron de este poema en Ingles:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

Ensayo de la prueba

Hola! Me gusta el poema y los commentarios profundos de Emma. Tengo una pregunta sobre la prueba. No intiendo el ensayo que dice que los elemontos fundamentales son "la esencialidad y la naturalidad" (con otros). Este puede decire "the esentialness and the naturality." No intiendo como este es un elemento....

poesia contemporanea: ALABANZA

Estudiantes, espero que les guste. Este es el poema famoso de un hombre latinoamericano Martin Espada (quien tiene raizes puertorriquenos). El lo escribio directamente despues del ataque del 11 de septiembre, y lo dedico a los trabajadores (cocineros, camareros, etc) de un restaurante que estaba adentro de los edificios World Trade. Era un grupo de inmigrantes, de todas partes del mundo, quienes habian recien recibido su ciudadania. El restuarante se llamaba . Espero que les interese.

Aqui esta:

Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100
for the 43 members of
Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees
Local 100, working at the Windows on the World restaurant,
who lost their lives in the attack on the World Trade Center


Alabanza.

Praise the cook with a shaven head
and a tattoo on his shoulder that said Oye,
a blue-eyed Puerto Rican with people from Fajardo,
the harbor of pirates centuries ago.
Praise the lighthouse in Fajardo, candle
glimmering white to worship the dark saint of the sea.

Alabanza.

Praise the cook's yellow Pirates cap
worn in the name of Roberto Clemente, his plane
that flamed into the ocean loaded with cans for Nicaragua,
for all the mouths chewing the ash of earthquakes.
Alabanza. Praise the kitchen radio, dial clicked
even before the dial on the oven, so that music and Spanish
rose before bread. Praise the bread.

Alabanza.

Praise Manhattan from a hundred and seven flights up,
like Atlantis glimpsed through the windows of an ancient aquarium.
Praise the great windows where immigrants from the kitchen
could squint and almost see their world, hear the chant of nations:
Ecuador, México, Republica Dominicana,
Haiti, Yemen, Ghana, Bangladesh.
Alabanza. Praise the kitchen in the morning,
where the gas burned blue on every stove
and exhaust fans fired their diminutive propellers,
hands cracked eggs with quick thumbs
or sliced open cartons to build an altar of cans.

Alabanza.

Praise the busboy's music, the chime-chime
of his dishes and silverware in the tub.

Alabanza.

Praise the dish-dog, the dishwasher
who worked that morning because another dishwasher
could not stop coughing, or because he needed overtime
to pile the sacks of rice and beans for a family
floating away on some Caribbean island plagued by frogs.

Alabanza.

Praise the waitress who heard the radio in the kitchen
and sang to herself about a man gone.

Alabanza.

After the thunder wilder than thunder,
after the shudder deep in the glass of the great windows,
after the radio stopped singing like a tree full of terrified frogs,
after night burst the dam of day and flooded the kitchen,
for a time the stoves glowed in darkness like the lighthouse in Fajardo,
like a cook's soul. Soul I say, even if the dead cannot tell us
about the bristles of God's beard because God has no face,
soul I say, to name the smoke-beings flung in constellations
across the night sky of this city and cities to come.
Alabanza I say, even if God has no face.

Alabanza.

When the war began, from Manhattan and Kabul
two constellations of smoke rose and drifted to each other,
mingling in icy air, and one said with an Afghan tongue:
Teach me to dance. We have no music here.
And the other said with a Spanish tongue:

I will teach you. Music is all we have.

from Alabanza: New & Selected Poems
Martin Espada

Hola

Hola Compañeros! Les gustan los cuentos? Mi favorito es la poema Romance del Conde Arnaldos, me encanta la estrofa final " Yo no digo esta canción
sino a quien conmigo va."
Quiero navigar con aquel marinero y encontrar su canción!
Cual obra les gusta ustedes?

?Todavia no tenemos preguntas?

!Nos vemos manana!

el comienzo del ano escolar

Bienvenidos estudiantes del curso "Literatura Espanola AP." Este es su Blog. !Disfrutense!