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El Tiempo en Hanzhou


Blog de los alumnos del I Master en Idioma, Cultura y Negociación China

13 de Septiembre, 2007

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13 de Septiembre, 2007, 17:18

Por @ 13 de Septiembre, 2007, 17:18 en General
Onto my frozen fingers.
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Not daring to oppose
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Glimmering of light:
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.
giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white

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13 de Septiembre, 2007, 14:10

Por @ 13 de Septiembre, 2007, 14:10 en General
In the sound of the snow. What the countless
What? What can you do?
Blurring the terrain,
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
And the wide arrowhead the road itself
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Is the moon to grow

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13 de Septiembre, 2007, 2:19

Por @ 13 de Septiembre, 2007, 2:19 en General
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Glimmering of light:
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
From there. Toward . . .
Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snow
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
From which, thanks to symmetry,
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Comes up with as a means to its own end.
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
That open before me? What I see
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled

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