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| Autor | Luis García Montero |
|---|---|
| Colección | Ediciones Especiales |
| Fecha de edición | 2016 |
| Nº páginas | 114 páginas |
| Medidas | 24 x 17 x 1 cm. |
| Acabado | Tapa blanda |
| ISBN | 978-84-9895-682-5 |
Lecciones de poesía para niños y niñas inquietos
Edición ilustrada para público infantil. Ilustraciones de Cristina León. Ediciones Especiales Nº 26
Disponibilidad: En existencia
14,00 €
Cantidad:
LUIS GARCÍA MONTERO (Granada, 1958) entre otros muchos premios, se le han concedido los Premios Federico García Lorca de la Universidad de Granada (1980), Adonais (1982), Loewe de Poesía (1993), Premio Nacional de Poesía (1994), Premio Nacional de la Crítica (2003), Premio de la Crítica de Andalucía (2008) y Premio Poetas del Mundo Latino (2010).
El motivo de este libro es el deseo de abrir las puertas al maravilloso mundo de la poesía desde la infancia y la adolescencia. Son muchas las sorpresas mágicas y las inquietudes que en ella pueden encontrarse. La poesía es la mejor manera de conocernos a nosotros mismos y a quienes nos rodean. Conviene tomarse muy enserio a las palabras. Si lo hacemos desde la infancia, podremos conocer el mundo inesperado que tenemos a nuestro alrededor y aprenderemos a sacarle partido a la imaginación en los acontecimientos cotidianos. Luis García Montero nos invita a través de lecciones prácticas a iniciarnos en la poesía y a disfrutar de sus secretos. De manera divertida y convincente se burla de los lugares comunes que nos rodean y nos conduce a leer, disfrutar y convivir con la poesía sintiéndola como una experiencia estética e intelectual apasionante. Un libro indicado para vivir la soledad de la adolescencia o para que los padres y las madres lo lean en voz alta mientras los jóvenes oídos y los nuevos ojos aprenden a sentir el mundo.
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.. Antología de poemas cervantinos
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.. 
.. 
Monologue of the past. 
Astral projection 
.. They are still wolves, and blood brothers to wolves Illusions Bastion
1.
In a second heart Smollok,
It seemed:
Mandarin Smold
between the fingers flowed.
Today butterflies without dresses
Sleep wrapped in light.
Time wanders — why are you crying? –
Where you and I are not.
He has snowdrifts in his meadows,
He has dreams in his snowdrifts…
The fabrics of time are harsh,
The threads of time are tight.
Unless it’s just an innuendo,
Yes, it almost doesn’t count —
Tangerine resin
A river flows through the sky.
2.
The moon is blooming, the water is burning,
A tear floats like a pine candle…
Die of tenderness — then
You will have to live anew.
We are animals of tenderness – and in it
We live at the source:
The farther into tenderness, the more terrible
A wave of high delight!
We are animals of joy — and we are
This whole world is woven with rays:
Here we are called by name
And they teach us songs and prayers.
3.
O sky, sky, bastion of illusions,
Your garrison is under siege, but above it
O sky, sky, the fortress of our mystery,
Pointing spears towards the earth,
Your garrison stands, rattling their shields,
And the secret darkness with burning features —
prophesies,
prophesies, prophesies?.0002
O sky, sky, blue ashes of doubt,
What is love, and what is its law? –
Fire goes through the streets of villages,
Fire kisses the gold of icons!
4.
Yes, your wives are like swan fluff,
But we are like a fiery breath.
And next to us is a desert of thirst,
And this thirst is cold on the skin.
(But it looks like the same thing …)
We are not beautiful — we are beautiful,
When we are angry, when we are in the sky,
But our will and our strength
There is nowhere to live in your dungeons!
We believe every strand of light —
Especially if it’s not from here.
And it’s dangerous to blame us for this —
But it’s just as scary to love for a miracle.
5.
Clouds change shape at sunset.
Asphalt becomes smoother in ice.
In the cold, cars fall into a coma.
Bastion of Illusion changes guard.
We don’t dream. We don’t like jokes.
We are the heroes of the special forces. We are super pros.
(Personally, I love at this time of day
Flipping through a book with a cup of coffee.
I hate war.
What could be worse!
I hate myself — me too, snowdrop!)
Bastion of illusions changes the guard.
These guys are probably cooler than the old ones.
Bastion of Illusions, Castle in the Air,
And there are graves for a hundred miles around it.
Throw this bodya and get married!
As Mayakovsky said: “Could you?”
Yes, we could! But as long as
The Bastion of Illusions raises towers,
One can only hope for a miracle —
It doesn’t matter, by God — mine or yours.
6.
This is grief, this is the sea, this is the Volga.
Tangerine resin floats away.
These are tears. This is the heart. It’s cold.
It was not said by us: «Everything passes.»
In this alphabet of pride and humility
The letters May bloom,
And in June they respond with a thunderstorm,
And in July they are scolded by a scythe .
..
And the autumn unfolds the banner,
Here is the cold freezes with mirrors:
Stop and breathe for a long, long time:
Oh, how sweet — tangerine resin!
January 14-15, 2004
to the list
* * *
Engage in the flame of the line,
Rise up
Whirling currents —
How fire reads!
No one is given such admiration:
Burning through the familiar darkness,
Scattering the word into sparks.
And instantly crushing sheets —
There is nothing unread in them —
It suddenly breaks from a height
Down, into the ashes, into emptiness and fatigue…
Releases them into a small garden,
For flowers — to moths and cicadas.
May 28, 2006
To the list
* * *
in sadness, and in joy is cruel.
But I love you and remember only that
How sweet it is to drink your wine of delight together,
Having returned from an unknown war with a shield.
In sadness you are clear, in sadness you are transparent,
And with a secret depth you flicker like a star –
But it’s scary to drink your wine of good luck together:
You choose once and destroy forever.
Not a motherland, not a mother — love alone can do it
The expanse of your soul, the fire of your blood.
But I asked for this life only for you,
And I give it to you — as you want, cut it.
In sadness you are clear — I repeat this
Like a spell — out loud, and all the sadness in me
It rises like light, but what is before light,
Rests at the bottom with a pearly chill …
April 27, 2003
to the list
* * *
A sudden snowfall stopped the clock.
An avalanche descended from an invisible peak!
Like a curtain fell — frozen, motionless,
Habitual features of habitual bustle.
We have nowhere to go. Raw heavy oppression
Trees prone to a crunch in the vertebrae.
And what they lifted up to the sky in their arms,
Now lies in the mud, floats with cold sweat.
Everything will be fine. It will melt, grow,
Let’s start time again — the arrows will go in a circle
On the city tower in a gilded plate —
But this snowfall, and horror, and delight
Will remain as news of the terrible, inexpressible,
About the homeland of poems, about the rookery of avalanches,
Whose light blue flag flies ,
And lifts up easily, with one touch.
October 2, 2000
to the list0003
In a dull foreboding of trouble
The soul asks God for snow,
So that he fills up all traces.
I’ll lean against the cold frame:
It’s good that there is a shelter,
And there, behind the dilapidated doors,
Blind angels sing.
The fire in the oven raised his palms
And freezes, trembling,
And on the silver icon
The edge of the cloak is caught by the wind,
90 secret holiday, lasts,
The soul feasts lightly,
And only the candle goes out all the time
In a motionless draft.
to the list
* * *
Time smells like fir trees,
Sleeping porcelain biscuit
on a cardboard saucer.
Gold flashes
Arrows in the fireplace.
Do you hear? — arrived!
Do you hear? — laugh!
includes pale pinks,
Disassemble cups,
Light air KOMKAK,
lips wiping …
Behind the Twilight wall,
at dusk Shepherds,
Someone in a leather
jacket of leather
and with the key to heaven.
Forest, road, sprockets —
ahead and above
The darkness stands for a hundred years,
Like wine in a glass.
swore, got enough sleep,
,
gang, came out —
Ban …
either with girls,
either with spiders.
December 22-23, 2006
To the list
* * *
Remembering
You recall the unearthly:
Like snow you bring to your lips,
Weary from the heat.
As if melting in a handful,
Slipping between fingers,
As if praying: forgive me! —
I don’t know about my fault.
As if you are at random
in the darkness of the hut flashlight,
Like an acute winter city
on the porch in the eye will hit,
Like, with a yellow star
Lighting the Iron Path,
Purchases with void
Freight train from the echoing abyss.
It’s like crying: God is with you,
Those who believe are not always blessed.
Like a stone surf
Splashed you on the shore —
And swam noiselessly back,
Without waking up the sleepy village.
It’s like entering a hut — to sleep,
Grateful and saved.
April 1, 2000
to the list
* * *
Silter of cold,
The thaw was made to the shore,
There will be a wonderful fiction
On the echoor of the time, when,
About the Air Kamenny,
Russia fell, like a bell,
and we are they searched for warmth in vain,
Doused to death with copper cold:
Sumy, prison and cinema
Marked at the crossroads.
And what can you do — winter
Always draws in the snow in rough outline.
From spark to spark —
Is it a star or a fire —
Live, please! Love please!
Protect me from afar.
December 10, 2002
to the list
* * *
Winter stood at Kiosk,
at the most delicate chrysanthemums,
and a drop of blue wax
dragged along glass walls along the glass .
The gloomy city slept, untidy,
And you said: «My soul hurts…»
Flowers, like strange fish,
Light was poured to the brim.
They splashed, babbled
And peered into the half-darkness,
With disheveled petals
Spreading across the glass.
And, forgetting her work,
On a low chair by the window
The flower girl was reading something,
Like death, naive and young.
March 23 1999 years
to the list
* * * *
and only where the city of SHECT, where it is overstress,
where carousel horses run to the abyss,
Where the secrets of secret cracks are from the snakes of secret cracks in the light is stealing,
Where looking back is not more terrible than not looking back,
It is possible to calculate another existence,
Already rising like a wave above our heads.
It is even possible to throw up one’s hands in silent defense,
But the cracks shoot in the back, stitched with fire.
And only where the city is unsteady, like an obsession,
Traces of baby teeth are visible on sweet laziness,
On defenseless curiosity, on my word of honor,
What in the world stales quickly, like on a break.
December 2, 2005
to the list
0003
And the little one flies like moths into the gentle light,
And a belated, bitter feeling of resentment and revenge
Slowly, slowly, but leaves me.
God probably knows better while this chandelier shines
With greenery, gold, tenderness or damp emptiness:
He carefully removes the flying flame in October,
In order not to burn himself and disturb her peace.
He is probably preoccupied with her colored moths —
If only they could look at the fire, pull their swarthy paws.
..
He sometimes pushes the branched crown with his hands,
To look at them restlessly and tenderly closer.
Well, a factory hostel drinking liquor like black,
Sticking a torture needle into weak veins —
Cry, but live, if God believes that it was worth it .
July 29, 2002
to list
* * *
Cafe, a glass where you and I were sitting,
where the ceiling is low, but everywhere Arieli,
Fly on the tables are ahead,
arranged in the heart of the draft …
A café, a nook next to a noisy construction site,
Where the windows in the blinds are lined to fit the lines:
Write what you want, it’s good you can’t see it
The blueness of the ink is blue…
The cafe is broken. Her crystal air
Shines in the dust, snakes in sharp stars
Glass scattered on the ground…
I would cry if I could.
But for the Ariels, constantly weaving threads
For the weightless blue canvas of events,
Freedom is needed. The air between the lines
It can be just as joyfully cruel:
Lost words lie in hundred-year-old rubbish,
What is not named beats its wings in delight,
And you stand exhausted
Before being free let go…
It hits right in the heart like a river
About the parapets.
Venetian water
Immortal thirst
We are answered: never! –
For all “once upon a time…”
And the heart splashes out of time –
The palms hurt.
And everything is deceptive,
Yes, so that it does not deceive.
May 1, 1999
to the list
0002 On the other side of the Yuryuzan,
As if already in the sky,
Huts stand high.
By a three-plank bridge,
By a trail along the slope —
Can you climb up there?
The river runs and cries
To the sea, as if to mother —
Her knees are knocked down.
The wind foams the dress,
Blown strands
Stuck to wet cheeks.
You look so distant,
As if the soul found out,
Where to return to.
July 11, 2001
to the list
* * *
It is impossible to leave one
this country,
The Elepensed of all gifts —
This one insomnia on Pokrov.
Not even for a moment! But when I close my eyes,
I forget about everything “not allowed”,
I almost start an escape
Flame along weightless eyelids.
I walk through the wet grass
With a white swan in my sleeve,
With a quiet lake in my soul –
And I open my eyes… Already?
Yes. Not for a moment. Unroll now
The white scroll of your losses.
White on white — about the past:
Swan beating the ice with its wing.
What a long winter in Russia!
From year to year on the cover of snow,
Yes, and what kind of watchmen we are —
You will indicate you, shower? .
.
October 14, 2004
To the list
* * *
of the bad weather came as a detachment of Older Makhno:
Gogocha, from a throat A sipping, banging on the window with the butt of his butt,
Scooping up autumn stocks from cellars and attics…
Don’t be afraid of what’s out there — November is always like that.
If will and cold come together, death will be born.
The steppe falls prone on the sheepskin of the sky,
Grey, stormy emptiness, : do not sing!
If you freeze, they will shake you by the collar: get up!
My Russia, Russia, rendezvous of secrets
Incomprehensible! When through snowy stubble
Cursingly they lead to a cliff or to a wall
At a through crossroads of other roads
Finally rolled a cigarette: smoke, brother…
And you inhale the smoke and remember no evil.
Is it possible to grieve about life, if everything is ashes?
Is it about death, even if mahr is cheese?
To the extreme: finish your smoke, but I have to go.
October 8, 2005
to the list Astral projection
Astral is the field where asters rush,
A gypsy tribe that burned autumn to the ground.
Their children run after the wagons, they are ankle-footed,
Dark-skinned and big-eyed, dressed in what their mother gave birth to.
On warm fires, pulling the felt to the chin,
Hugging their bony knees tightly with their arms,
They fall asleep, smiling awkwardly in their sleep
With a habitual smile of frost overtaken grasses.
And here — either the homeland, or winter, or just
It fell asleep on the roof — you can stand upright
In huge snowdrifts, where stars, and stars, and stars —
Innumerable stars.
November 15, 2006
To the list
* * *
O, this life takes a spirit of
,
in the inexorably captivity,
NOT BREADS, but a slight topopoline fluff of
GIVE in return!
Stretch out your hand — he flies away in fright0003
He flatters and cuddles.
And how dare you accept this gift?
Why not accept it?..
Are you afraid to crush his wings —
Learn to captivate,
How cruel and easy this life is,
Just melancholy.
Like this fluff, which lay down
No one knows how much.
June 30, 2003
to the list0003
The road to the white dusk is abandoned.
There is such silence around,
Don’t expect anything good from her.
January cold is angry and blind,
And halfway — the same —
Crooked mill of fate,
Jacob’s steep ladder.
Along both grown wings,
Wherever the evil whim aims,
Winter fell into unconsciousness —
And not a blood on her face.
But obliquely from the clouds —
Thin, sigh — and he’s gone,
A blond hair trembles
A ray of stray, dawn …
Have mercy! And henceforth,
Where bitter grief is stratified,
Do not let the temptation to die,
Do not allow the temptation to rule.
November 19, 2004
To the list
* * *
Padadi, evening dew,
dew Vechernaya!
Forgive for everything you can’t
Ask for forgiveness!
Fall like you fall into a bow
Before the guilty ones,
Full of raw hem
Forest mints!
NOT a grain among breads,
NOT FISH FISH A
,
Padi, how Love
,
falls under the legs of non -lulboa,
Padi for grass and flowers
combustible moisture —
and it will come back: «» «» «» «» «» Yes you
— today — cried? .
. ”
August 20, 2003
To the list
of the St. Petersburg muse
between the scisty and the present
You run over
in the cloak
In the Florentine draft,
With a crimson rose in the sparks of light,
Clinging needles to the chest…
The gates of stone summer
Open to you: come in!
Come in and remember: this city
Bloomed in your foggy dream,
And now it is driven through time
Tsars by cruel arbitrariness.
Your light cloak by Nevsky Avenue
floats, while still in the shade,
and cut into an unbearable brilliance of
windows, mirrors, lights …
You will ask us: why do you call
and Troubles in Troubles and Troubles. minds,
After all, the entire palace gilding
Do not reflect a careless wave
Cloak, flight of a wavy strand,
Hands transparent chill,
And lightning in a casual look,
And a sleeping rose9 sweet sigh.
..
This stone,
Wounded by a cold wave,
Or you, with inaudible steps
Who left the other world,
Like a girl in a forbidden garden,
Always running along the dark walls with everyone —
0003
is not recognizable by anyone? ..
December 30, 2000
To the list
Farewell to
He celebrated heavenly coast,
Cloud Damn —
as silver sowers of
as silver sowing.
Abandoned in the garden under the apple tree!
Red cliffs of rivers,
Branches, eaves and birdhouses
Clouded, dimmed
Before the nests of otherworldly…
We are more familiar to sow a murmur
and dry the mouth with prayers —
there are also accumulated tenderness,
are waiting, singing, knocking,
bake larks,
run out, Mashchit,
V. towels on the edges
Red threads are braided.
..
Somehow the region was called paradise
Due to his earnest cares…
We pick up the pipes,
We whistle something sad.
only painfully ineptly,
even if very sad:
blew-the heart is numb,
squeezed stronger-the smokers smoke …
15-26, 2006
to the list
* * *
Rowan child, freckled, brittle,
Elbows clumsily apart,
Standing on tiptoe by a broken boat,
By the dark river.
On tiptoe, stretching out his thin neck,
Looking enchanted, not breathing,
At still water, crimson rustle,
Fog in the reeds.
The nannies call out, they run to the edge of the forest —
Found! They hug, tease, threaten
And kiss bitter cheeks: really
You don’t want to go back?
It would not be a trace for a baby to stand at the backwater,
Where the past secret guards him —
He, unintelligent, is too familiar,
How bottomless is eternity,
How time flies.
November 30, 2005
to the list
I listened to the indistinct whisper of blood.
And relentlessly, like a net,
Throwing stars were pursued by crowns.
I opened the window into the depths:
Blood flowed, and her speech sounded,
As if flowing to the bottom,
To a magical, unsteady beginning.
I know everything I want to say.
But her speech was such an agony,
That no force could bind
A mighty current of an unknown sound.
May 5, 1997
To the list
* * *
BEAUTION, Similar to Dry,
does not give an eye; so the wind is flattered by the cloth
The lightest cloak: touches — and recoils,
All in flower petals and spicy aromas.
The flow of bottom grasses, like a spell,
Keeps hearing; so rustling behind the fabric
It’s naive to hurry: it glides without a sound,
Cool blue, deceiving the hand.