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Pastimes : Let’s Talk About Our Feelings about the Let’s Talk About Our -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?


To: one_less who wrote (500)2/16/2005 6:29:11 AM
From: average joe  Read Replies (2) | Respond to of 5290
 
tsk tsk tsk

Message 21051764



To: one_less who wrote (500)2/16/2005 8:59:57 AM
From: mph  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 5290
 
The draw is escapism and alternate reality.

Some kids/people get into Star Trekesque fantasies,
others like westerns. Not really any different except
that romance novels appeal to the yearning for love
in young girls/women and have a big dash of schmaltz.

C'mon you're a dad.
You should get this<g>



To: one_less who wrote (500)2/16/2005 9:06:18 AM
From: mph  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 5290
 
Ode to the Book
translated by Nathaniel Tarn
By Pablo Neruda

When I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.
Copper ignots
slide down sand-pits
to Tocopilla.
Night time.
Among the islands
our ocean
throbs with fish,
touches the feet, the thighs,
the chalk ribs
of my country.
The whole of night
clings to its shores, by dawn
it wakes up singing
as if it had excited a guitar.

The ocean's surge is calling.
The wind
calls me
and Rodriguez calls,
and Jose Antonio--
I got a telegram
from the "Mine" Union
and the one I love
(whose name I won't let out)
expects me in Bucalemu.

No book has been able
to wrap me in paper,
to fill me up
with typography,
with heavenly imprints
or was ever able
to bind my eyes,
I come out of books to people orchards
with the hoarse family of my song,
to work the burning metals
or to eat smoked beef
by mountain firesides.
I love adventurous
books,
books of forest or snow,
depth or sky
but hate
the spider book
in which thought
has laid poisonous wires
to trap the juvenile
and circling fly.
Book, let me go.
I won't go clothed
in volumes,
I don't come out
of collected works,
my poems
have not eaten poems--
they devour
exciting happenings,
feed on rough weather,
and dig their food
out of earth and men.
I'm on my way
with dust in my shoes
free of mythology:
send books back to their shelves,
I'm going down into the streets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.