lunes, 26 de abril de 2010

Vincent Malloy Tim Burton's poem

Vincent Malloy is seven years old
He’s always polite and does what he’s told
For a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cats
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats
There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented
And wander dark hallways, alone and tormented

Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum

He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie
So he and his horrible zombie dog
Could go searching for victims in the London fog

His thoughts, though, aren’t only of ghoulish crimes
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the times
While other kids read books like Go, Jane, Go!
Vincent’s favourite author is Edgar Allen Poe

One night, while reading a gruesome tale
He read a passage that made him turn pale

Such horrible news he could not survive
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive!
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed

His mother sent Vincent off to his room
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life
Alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife

While alone and insane encased in his tomb
Vincent’s mother burst suddenly into the room
She said: “If you want to, you can go out and play
It’s sunny outside, and a beautiful day”

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak
The years of isolation had made him quite weak
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen:
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again”
His mother said: “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead
These games that you play are all in your head
You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy
You’re not tormented or insane, you’re just a young boy
You’re seven years old and you are my son
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.

”Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall
And while Vincent backed slowly against the wall
The room started to swell, to shiver and creak
His horrid insanity had reached its peak

He saw Abercrombie, his zombie slave
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave
She spoke from her coffin and made ghoulish demands
While, through cracking walls, reached skeleton hands

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams
Swept his mad laughter to terrified screams!
To escape the madness, he reached for the door
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor

His voice was soft and very slow
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe:

“and my soul from out that shadow
that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted?


Un abrazo al pasado

Mi vida fue como las gotas de rocío, 
esas que ven mientras caen en tu ventana,
esas que caen lentamente hasta desaparecer de tu vida,
así fue mi presencia.   
Como un nido de pájaros
destrozado por el cruel invierno,
ese invierno que azoto mis días por mucho tiempo,
y yo, tratando de resistir con la única gota de esfuerzo
que queda en mi cuerpo destrozado.

Hubo un día en que me veía a mi misma 
como un gato asustado, acorralada en el destino,
que juega a los dados cada vez que quiere,
mirándome mientras me arrastro detrás de el.

Pero hubo días en que salio el sol
y me alumbraba tu rostro que soñaba a mi lado,
desprendiendo estrellas de colores cada vez que se movía,
esos días perduraran en mi memoria,
quedaran tatuados en el contorno de mi corazón,
porque esos días pude realmente vivir,
esos días fui realmente feliz.

martes, 20 de abril de 2010

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche....

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,

y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo lo quise, y a veces el también me quiso.

En las noches como esta lo tuve entre mis brazos.
Lo besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

El me quiso, a veces yo también lo quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no lo tengo. Sentir que lo he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin el.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarlo.
La noche esta estrellada y el no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberlo perdido.

Como para acercarlo mi mirada lo busca.
Mi corazón lo busca, y el no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no lo quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto lo quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otra. Será de otra. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no lo quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez lo quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como esta lo tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberlo perdido.

Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que el me causa,

y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.
Por Pablo Neruda. (Con adaptación)

viernes, 9 de abril de 2010

Oh! angel take me away....


Angel - put sad wings around me now
Protect me from this world of sin
So that we can rise again

Oh angel - we can find our way somehow
Escaping from the world we're in
To a place where we began

And I know we'll find
A better place and peace of mind
Just tell me that it's all you want - for you and me
Angel won't you set me free

Angel remember how we'd chase the sun
Then reaching for the stars at night
As our lives had just begun

When I close my eyes I hear your velvet wings and cry
I'm waiting here with open arms - oh can't you see
Angel shine your light on me

Oh angel will we meet once more - I'll pray
When all my sins are washed away
Hold me inside your wings and stay
Oh! angel take me away

Put sad wings around me now
Angel take me far away
Put sad wings around me now
So that we can rise again