En el alambre como sonámbula, lectora de insomnios.
Tengo las hojas sueltas, desperdigadas, intentaré ir uniéndolas y que en el andar vayan casando unas con otras. Y si no combinan ni concuerdan tampoco importa, espero que la senda se descubra agradable mientras recogemos todas esas hojas.
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse, Like some bold seer in a trance Seeing all his own mischance, With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right - The leaves upon her falling light - Through the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turned to towered Camelot. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."
no veas como tiene que estar la gata con los pelos erizaos..
te decia, Lo he traduciO con el gOl-gle y que no me entero si se casa o la despellejan, bueno (por lo mnenos medaucuenta que mi directorio de waterhause que está-ba mal la dirección ¡YA NO!, tachán.)
Me has hecho recordar los versos que antecedían a una novela de Agatha Christie "El espejo se rajó de parte a parte" (o de lado a lado, que no se ponen de acuerdo los benditos traductores-traidores)
Voló la telaraña y flotó lejos; el espejo se rajó de parte a parte; "La maldición ha caído sobre mí", gritó la dama de Shalott.
Escuchando a Lorena Mc Kennit, con la canción que evoca a la Dama, por la que tu post mira, creo verla también. La expresión misma del misterio y la melancolía, cayendo en esa barca, abrazada al más allá antes de haber cruzado el lindero final.
Parafraseando a Wilde, la muerte de una mujer hermosa conmociona. Yo diría que la muerte de una mujer hermosa por lo fina e inasible, conmueve.
Me he perdido alguna cosilla, pero ya estoy al tanto. ¡Mira que me lo decían! !Escucha a la McKennit! Y yo, terco, olvidándome de ello. Me recuerda a Jacqui McShee, la cantante de Pentangle, aunque esta puede ser una conjetura mía después de muchos años de no escucharla.
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