59

Mientras miraba a los ganadores del Grand Slam Poetry, encontré a este joven, Harry Baker con su poema "59", que me parece un poema muy divertido y conmovedor, es completamente encantador...

59

By Harry Baker

59 wakes up on the wrong side of the bed,

Realises all of his hair is on one side of his head,

Takes - just under a minute - to work out it's because of the way that he slept,

He finds some clothes and gets dressed.

He can't help but look in the mirror and be subtly impressed

How he looks rough around the edges and yet casually messed,

As he glances onte the window sees the sight that he is blessed with

of 60 from across the street.

Now 60 was beautiful,

With perfectly trimmed cuticles,

Dressed in something suitable,

Never rude or crude at all,

Unimprovable,

Right on time as usual,

More than a snooker ball,

But liked to play it super cool.

59 wanted to tell her that he knew her favourite flower,

He thought of her every second every minute every hour,

But he knew it wouldn't work, he'd never get the girl,

Because although she lived across the street they came from different worlds.

While 59 admired 60's 'perfectly round' figure,

60 thought 59 was... odd.

(...)

Even with rose-tinted eyes 59 could realise

The reason why 60 would never love him.

He had picked up on the vibes, that because he was 59,

60 felt she was above him.

And though at the time he felt stupidand dumb,

For trying to love a girl controlled by her mum,

He should have been comforted by the simple sum -

Take 59 away from 60, and you are left with the one.

Sure enough it took him 2 months of moping around,

But 61 days  later, 61 was who he found,

His next-door neighbour, he went round to her house,

Because he had lost his keys again and his parents were out.

As he noticed the slightly wonky numbers on the door,

He wondered why he'd never introduced himself before,

As she politely let him in his jaw dropped in awe -

61 was like 60, with a little bit more.

She had prettier eyes, and an approachable smile,

And like him, rough-around-the-edges casual style,

And like him, everything was in disorganise piles, a

And like him, her mum didn't mind if friends stayed a while.

Because she was like him, and he liked her.

He reckoned she would like me if she knew he was like her,

It was different this time - these feelings felt proper,

So he plucked up the courage and asked for her number

She laughed - I'm 61.

He grinned - I'm 59,

And today I've had a really nice time,

(...)

From that moment on there was non-stop chatter,

How they loved x-factor, how they had 2 factors,

How it didn't matter - distinctiveness made them better,

By the end of the night they knew they were ment together.

(...)

Now one day she was talking about 'stuck up 60',

She noticed that 59 looked a bit shifty.

He blushed - told her of his crush:

"The best thing that never happened, because it led to us"

61 was clever see, not prone to jealously,

Looked him in the eye and told him quite tenderly,

You're 59 I'm 61 together we,

Combine to become twice what 60 would ever be.

At this point 59 had tears on his eyes,

Was so glad to have this one-of-a-kind girl in his life.

He told her the very definition of being prime

Was that with only one and himself could his heart divide,

And she was the one he felt he could give his heart to,

She said she felt the same and now she knew the films were half true.

Because this was better than that, that love was just a sample,

Because when it came to real love, they were a prime example.

PS: Es un poema muy lindo :3 me gusta, y la traducción la pondré en unos días :D

Date a girl who reads

He encontrado esta pagina llena de poesía, es fantástica, el único posible problema que he hallado es que está en inglés, pero si realmente les gusta la poesía no será un problema para ustedes. De todas maneras, pongo el siguiente poema con su traducción mas abajo. tomen nota que el poema está incompleto, lo encuentran completo en la página. 

Este poema es muy lindo y gracioso. :3

Les dejo el link al final de la entrada.

 

You should date a girl who reads

 By Rosemarie Urquico

(...)Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads.

You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.

She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants.

You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.(...)

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent.(...)

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries.

Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song.

Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings.

Let her know that you understand that words are love.

Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.(...)

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax.

Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

(...)

Deberias salir con una chica que lee

Por Rosemarie Urquico

(...)Sal con una chica que tiene una lista de libros que quiere leer, que tiene una tarjeta de biblioteca desde que cumplio 12.

Encuentra a una chica que lea.
Vas a saber que ella lo hace porque ella siempre tendrá un libro sin leer en su bolso.
Ella es la que con amor mira por encima de los estantes de la librería, la que grita en silencio cuando ha encontrado el libro que quiere.

¿Ves a la extraña chica oler las páginas de un libro viejo en una librería de segunda mano? Ese es el lector. Ellos nunca pueden resistir oler las páginas, sobre todo cuando son de color amarillo y gastado.(...)

 Déjale saber que piensas realmente de Murakami. Mira si ella ya ha pasado el primer capítulo de La Comunidad. Entiende que si ella dice que entendió Ulises de James Joyce, solo lo dice porque quiere sonar inteligente. (...)

Es fácil salir con una chica que lee, dale libros para su cumpleaños, para navidad, para aniversarios.

Dale regalos de palabras, en poesía y en canciones.

Dale a Neruda, Pond, Sexton, Cummings.

Dejale saber que entiendes que las palabras son amor.

Entiende que ella sabe la diferencia entre los libros y la realidad, pero por Dios, ella tratará de que su vida se parezca un poco a su libro favorito. Nunca será tu culpa si lo hace.
Mientele. Si entiende la sintaxis, ella va a entender tu necesidad de mentir. Detrás de las palabras hay otras cosas: motivación, valor, sombras, diálogo. No será el fin del mundo.

Fallale. Porque una chica que lee sabe que el fracaso siempre conduce hacia el clímax. Porque las chicas que leen entienden que todas las cosas deben llegar a un final, pero que siempre se puede escribir una secuela. Que puedes empezar una y otra vez y seguir siendo el héroe. Que la vida está destinada a tener un villano o dos.

¿Por qué tener miedo de todo lo que no eres? Las chicas que leen entienden que la gente, al igual que los personajes, se desarrollan. Excepto en la serie Crepúsculo. (...)

PS: Y aquí está el link:Wordsfortheyear - You should date a girl who reads

Sia

Chandelier - Sia

But I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down won't open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cos I'm just holding on for tonight

Help me, I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down won't open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning ligthm ' cos I'm just holding on for tonight

 

PS: I love this song :3
 

Traducción del post "..." - Love Notes

Aquí esta el video y la traducción del poema anterior :3

Notas de Amor

Por Lauren Bullock 

Si mi corazón es poesía, entonces el último poema de amor que escribí es un papel arrugado y tú eres un diario que esperaba llenar con mis días hasta que el espacio se agotara.  

Más, la mano con la que escribo debe haberse encogido, porque incluso mi memoria muscular ha olvidado como usarla. ¿Estabas pensando en ella, también en ese momento?

Cuando pasaba tus páginas, ¿Recordabas sus huellas en la superficie de tus bordes? ¿Era yo sólo la esquina doblada apuntando hacia atrás del lugar que guardaste para ella? 

Y cuando ella rompió tu corazón, ¿Tambien quebró tu columna por lo que siempre caerías en su dirección? Admito que nunca dejé que abrieras mi mesita de noche, pero supongo que tú ya habías sido robado en los secretos y afecto de otra persona. 

Hay una razón por la que dejé de usar cuadernos y lápices; al menos, la tecla de retroceso es relativamente menos dolorosa cuando entras a un documento sabiendo que sólo es temporal.

Y no, no me asustan sus manchas de tinta. Sólo mi hábito de psicoanalizar su significado en predicciones de hojas de té y líneas de las manos, recordatorios de que todas las historias deben tener un final porque siempre voy a creer en los retratos del desastre, incluso si nunca comienzan. 

Y entonces, cuando me volví tan audaz que garabateé mis pensamientos con marcador esperando que se confundieran con tu cuerpo y se volvieran permanentes? Pero la marcaste a ella primero. Dijiste que siempre serías su diario y supongo que eso solo me hace una nota en un mal día.

Pero mira, no me importa cuántas bibliotecas haya en el mundo, todavía te busco cuando no puedo encontrar el sinónimo adecuado para hermoso.  
Cuando otros hombres me tocan, estoy buscando las líneas de tu trama. Los cortes con tu papel son la primera cosa por la que he estado dispuesta a sangrar en mucho tiempo.
 
Pero no te culpo a ti, me culpo a mí  misma. Porque si mi corazón es poesía entonces, sólo quiero que recuerdes las líneas de mi amor persistente como mi olor en tu camiseta la noche que me invitaste a tu casa, incluso sabiendo que ambos teníamos que levantarnos temprano la mañana siguiente, ¿lo recuerdas? Dijiste que te lo pondrías mas tarde sólo para sentirme cerca de nuevo.

Pero no estoy tratando de ser más que tu amiga, ni estoy posponiendo el inevitable final. Después de todo dicen: si realmente amas a alguien, lo dejas ir.
 
Así que por favor, quiero que sepas que estoy dispuesta a hacer grullas de papel con todas tus páginas hasta que alcancen el cielo como las estrellas que finalmente descubriremos cuando apaguen todas las luces.
 
Y puede que no sea yo la que duerme a tu lado por las noches, pero al menos déjame ser la carta de amor escondida bajo tu almohada para recordarte que no importa qué, tú siempre, siempre valdrás la pena leer, mi amor.

 

PS: Espero que la traducción sea lo bastante buena :3 que lo disfruten. 
PSS: Me encanta... "siempre valdrás la pena leer, mi amor."

Acerca del post "..."

Me di cuenta que el post que publiqué con el título "...", está todo en inglés y no lleva ningún tipo de explicación. He aquí la aclaración:

Resulta que ese día, estaba viendo un canal de Youtube (que se los recomiendo totalmente si gustan de poesía y algunas cursilerías), Button Poetry donde varias personas recitan las poesías que escriben y creo que hay un concurso a la mejor poesía, muy interesante en realidad. Y bueno, vi muchos de estos videos y cuando llegué a la poesía de la entrada "...", la puse directamente porque no quería que se me olvidará y no puse ninguna explicación porque la poesía en sí era muy elocuente, pero está en inglés y probablemente, muchas de las personas que vieron la entrada, simplemente sintieron flojera de leerla en inglés y luego traducirla...o no sé, pero de todas maneras hago esta entrada para primero poner el poema completo en inglés y en el siguiente post traducir el poema y de paso dejarles el video. 

LOVE NOTES 

By Lauren Bullock

 

If my heart is poetry, then the last love poem I wrote is a crumpled up memo, and you are a journal I was hoping to fill my days with until the space ran out. But I must’ve cramped my writing hand because even muscle memory has forgotten how I used it. Were you thinking of her then too?

When I flipped through your pages, did you remember her fingerprints on your surface edges? Was I just a creased corner pointing backwards for the place you saved for her? And when she broke your heart, did she also crack your spine, so you would always fall in her direction?

I admit I never left you open on my nightstand, but I guess you were already stolen in someone else’s secrets and affection. There’s a reason I stopped using notebooks and pencils; at least, the backspace is relatively painless when you enter into a document knowing is only temporary.

And no, I’m not afraid of her ink stains. Just my habit to Rorschach their meaning into tea leaf and palm line predictions, reminders that all stories must have endings because I will always believe in the portraits of disaster, even if it never begins.

So, when did I become so bold that I scrawled my thoughts in marker hoping they would bleed through your body and become permanent? But you marked hers first. Said you would always be her diary and I guess that just makes me an entry on an off day.

But see, I don’t care how many libraries there are in the world, I still look for you when I can’t find the right synonym for beautiful. When other men touch me, I am searching for your plot lines. Your paper cuts are the first thing I was willing to bleed for in so long.

But I’m not blaming you, I’m blaming me. Because if my heart is poetry, then I only want you to remember the lines about love lingering like my scent on your t-shirt that night you asked me over even though we both had to get up early the next morning, do you remember? You said you’d put it on later just to be close to me again.

But I’m not trying to be more than your friend, nor am I postponing an inevitable end. After all, they say if you truly love someone, you let them go.

So please, know that I’m willing to paper crane all your pages until they papyrus the sky like the stars we’ll finally discover when they turn out all the lights.

And I may never be the one who sleeps next to you at night, but at least let me be the love letter tucked beneath your pillowcase to remind you that no matter what you will always, always be worth to read, my love.

PS: Resaltadas las partes que más me gustan...