Blog educativo para secundaria y bachillerato

Lengua Castellana y Literatura

sábado, 24 de marzo de 2012

viernes, 23 de marzo de 2012

Poesía: selección

Emilio Adolfo Westphalen

Quel monstre singulier êtes-vous
Qui ne me propose pas d`énigme.
GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE

Caníbales

Amaba comer piedras joven poeta iluminado. Mejor
cagar piedras opina mansamente viejo pichicuma ebrio.

Fractura

Empujar un poco mañosamente en el punto justo hasta
abrir el espacio- palanquear luego con constancia para
obtener una apertura mayor suficiente para liberarse y
abandonar el espacio.

Lo propio acaso del poeta

Pone el hombro para que el peso muerto del sueño no
agriete y traiga abajo abultada y divagante nave cósmica
- incierta entre más lleno y más hueco- realidad ligera y
tierna por irremendable.



Ejercicio ocultable


Contemplación inane y absorta de nuestro pequeño o
mediano abismo portátil.




¿Miseria o riqueza de poetas?- pues calculen ustedes
que no son capaces ellos sino (en el mejor de los casos)
pulposa aunque insulsa simulación de sortigelios.




Deshacer y rehacer

Va a agarrar un martillo para golpear el silencio -para
pulverizar el silencio- para multiplicar el silencio.

Bajo zarpas de la quimera. Poemas 1930-1988


Jorge Riechmann

No soy mago, dijo
mientras una menuda interminable escolopendra
le salía de la boca, se le enroscaba
en los hombros, juegueteaba en su muñeca
y se me clavaba directamente en el corazón.


PERSECUCIÓN DE IDEALES

Platón
inventó la teoría de las Formas

y la Dow Corning
inventó los implantes de silicona.

VIEJO

Tengo 42 años y soy obrero del metal
He perdido mi empleo
Sé que nunca más encontraré trabajo

JOVEN

Tengo 42 años y soy concejal de la oposición

Acaba de empezar para mí
una brillante carrera profesional



La ventana está abierta, golpea
contra la piedra, una vez, dos veces.
En la noche desfondada
entierra un arma alguien. Otro golpe seco
como un chiste. Walt Disney sentencia:
Quiero más a Mickey
que a ninguna mujer que haya conocido.


El día que dejé de leer EL PAÍS (1997)

Charles Bukowski

DOS

cuidado con las mujeres
envejecidas
que nunca fueron
sino
jóvenes.


TRES

mientras la mayoría de la gente
lo desperdicia todo conversando
yo
lo escribo.



CUATRO

la sabiduría para dejarlo
es todo lo que
nos queda


THE PEOPLE LOOK LIKE FLOWERS AT LAST. (2007)


María Ruíz Faro

DESEOS

Quiero bañarme con espuma y que se vayan
mis pensamientos
cuando quitén el tapón.
Quiero que lo sepas todo sin que yo abra la
boca
y me abraces por la espalda
como matan los cobardes


SUEÑO

Ha sido un sueño,
yo dormía y entraba en tu vida.
Todo era caótico
y tú estabas enamorado de mí.


ÉTICA POÉTICA (2012)

Francisco Javier Martínez López

Asigantura pendiente

Estudio demasiado estos días
de reojo en la biblioteca
de memoría en mi escritorio
a retortijones en un aula abierta,
un viejo perro amigo que me acompaña
me mira comprensivo
compadecido
y me verás
casi de juerga
y dirás que miento
pero estudio hasta altas horas
y no necesito Katovit
estudio tus rodillas
tu cintura
tu pelo correteando tus hombros
y algún que otro
material de apoyo

Te estudio demasiado últimamente
pero soy mal estudiante
y seguramente
ni me presente al examen.


Soneto y Antañología (marzo-diciembre 1993)




viernes, 16 de marzo de 2012

El pastorcito

en mitad de la corriente
deconstruye la aurora
er pecho mu lastimao
que no se pena verse así afligío
mas llora por pensar que stá olviao

con gran gloria
sobre un árbol s`encumbrao
y el pecho dellamor mu lastimao

en su patora puesto pensamiento
amor mantra mani
black bloc heidi mod
mami
entre los burkas jazmines
justine de geranios
fábrica cemento

tendrá que ver camino
estar siendo
sobre destino
pueda llevar

prefieren

http://youtu.be/O2SpeS-4vP4

morenti tutti morentiano

ACTIVIDAD LECTURA: DRÁCULA

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/59705730/ACTIVIDADES%20LECTURA.doc

sábado, 3 de marzo de 2012

metáfora, símbolo, elipsis...la chanson spoken word recital

Retórica retorcida alambrea opiniones diseñando tendences
cumbre snob de diletante sabor soufflé
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/59705730/02-Nuestros%20poetas.mp3

Titular spray de journale reactive:
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/59705730/La%20Monja%20Enana%20-%20Centro%20de%20gravedad%20permanente%20%28franco%20battiato%20con%20L-kan%29%20primavera%202001.mp3

The Ballad of Cable Hogue
parábolas rezuman maderas
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/59705730/Audio%20Books%20-%20Edgar%20Allan%20Poe%20-%20The%20Raven%20%28Christopher%20Walken%29.mp3

temblor privilegiado
tranquiliza solidarité
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/59705730/Federico%20Garcia%20Lorca%20-%20Romance%20a%20la%20luna%2C%20luna%20-%20Paco%20Iba%C3%B1ez.mp3

Ejercicios imaginativos sobre la pizarra digital
PDI
fête youtube