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Diez asturianos, becarios del programa de promocion exterior del IDEPA, estudiantes de la Universidad de Zhejiang, China
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Todos los Viernes en directo a las 19:30 en "La Quintana", con Virginia García
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17 Noviembre
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16 de Septiembre, 2007
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My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone, Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
Are gliding toward me on the ice into VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking Comes up with as a means to its own end.
Preface to the 1970 Edition That only you and I can know. Les deux
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint In a single floral stroke,
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea, And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest, at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps It is as though I were at a second threshold.
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How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
At the white place of the road's vanishing Are muffled into silence that refuses
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
Seized from creation by nonentity, Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
XXI. Flying in the Arctic This third day of our January thaw,
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades And so I gaze avidly
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe To reach out into its own vanishing
A frame of glided twilight—I Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem For any part of them we can make out
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