POEMAS VARIOS

 From "The Rock"  by Thomas Stearns Eliot

 The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of heaven in twenty centuries
Brings us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.   

 The lot of man is ceaseless labor,
Or ceaseless idleness, which is still harder,
Or irregular labour, which is not pleasant.
I have trodden the winepress alone, and I know
That it is hard to be really useful, resigning
The things that men count for happiness, seeking
The good deeds that lead to obscurity, accepting
With equal face those that bring ignominy,
The applause of all or the love of none.
All men are ready to invest their money
But most expect dividends.
I say to you: Make perfect your will.
I say: take no thought of the harvest,
But only of proper sowing.
    The world turns and the world changes,
But one thing does not change.
In all of my years, one thing does not change,
However you disguise it, this thing does not change:
The perpetual struggle of Good and Evil.

FELICIDAD
Eres feliz cuando tus mentiras son creíbles
Y más feliz cuando tu ego señala
Que no eres culpable de tus actos crueles
¿Acaso creaste a las incautas
que cayeron en tus redes?
¡¿Pensar en mi te hace feliz?!
Es extraño e increíble o quizás inesperado
¿Será que recuerdas el juguete usado y abusado?
¿O a la tonta que confiaba en tus mentiras?
¿O talvez piensas en la persona-objeto
que no respetaste ni dignificaste?
A lo mejor eres feliz cuando piensas en mi 
como un trofeo de tus embustes
Y repasar tus hazañas en el arte de la falacia
Te produce un placer indescriptible
que bien podrías llamar FELICIDAD
By  R. E.

NUNCA COMO LA PRIMERA VEZ
Nunca es tan bueno 
como la primera vez
porque el "TÚ" que eras
no existe más
y la "YO" que fui, cambió
porque el "TÚ" real
no tenía nada en común
con el muchacho 
de la camisa agujereada
y las horribles botas.
R.E.