The voice in the oubliette

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe, designing futures where nothing will occur: cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she will still predict no perils left to conquer. Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard of, while blasé princesses indict tilts at terror as downright absurd. The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump, compelling hero’s dull career to crisis; and when insouciant angels play God’s trump, while bored arena crowds for once look eager, hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger. SYLVIA PLATH http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v5n2/poetry/plath_s/ennui.htm

YO NO LO SÉ DE CIERTO Yo no lo sé de cierto, pero supongo que una mujer y un hombre algún día se quieren, se van quedando solos poco a poco, algo en su corazón les dice que están solos, solos sobre la tierra se penetran, se van matando el uno al otro. Todo se hace en silencio. Como se hace la luz dentro del ojo. El amor une cuerpos. En silencio se van llenando el uno al otro. Cualquier día despiertan, sobre brazos; piensan entonces que lo saben todo. Se ven desnudos y lo saben todo. (Yo no lo sé de cierto. Lo supongo) PD: inspirado por una camiseta que me regaló mi madre el viernes, cuando yo quería llorar... es bruja ella. Pero de las buenas.

Eloisa to Abelard In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal's veins? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Yet, yet I love! — From Abelard it came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand — the name appears Already written — wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn! Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep, And pitying sain...