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26/08/2014

Julio Cortazar. About the feeling that you are not quite here.

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August 26, 1914 was born Julio Cortazar, Spanish novelist, short story writer, essayist and poet, who grew up in Argentina. Permanently residing in Paris.

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  So I stay in many ways a child, but in me from the very beginning adult lives - in children it happens - but when such monsters grows, it continues to live baby, and nel mezzo del camin matures strange coexistence, albeit rarely peaceful - at least two visions of reality.

To this can be taken as a metaphor, but only if the temperament that will allow to deny the child's perception of the world to pay for the integrity of a mature man. However, such consistency, it's the poet creates, and sometimes - the offender and, of course, hronopa and humorist (all depends on the ratio of doses from a shift in emphasis, finally, on their own choice: I'm doing good running, no - take shape) and leads to the fact that you can not engage the whole of any one of the systems and situations woven a life where each of us is both a spider and midge.

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Much of what is written by me, built under the sign of eccentricity, because I did not see the difference between the concepts of "life" and "write"; and if I still somehow manages to hide that I was not all entirely take part in the circumstances of their lives, such a pretense would be absurd that I write, because I'm writing it because of their lack of participation or involvement of only half. In short, I write from a sense of duality, uncertainty, and as soon as I write, hidden in the gap between child and adult, the appeal to others - look for it in yourself and enjoy the garden, where the trees mature - well, precious stones, or something! At the same time, and monsters alive and well.

Julio Cortazar. About the feeling that you are not quite here

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  "In parallel with the work on the prose, I always wrote and write poems on the table for themselves. No, I am not ashamed that I was writing them, just think that poetry is something sacred, well, almost as an act of love, what others know about it. "

Cortazar - one of the largest contemporary novelists. And yet the poet - large, no one else like, with its special - touchingly gentle and courageous at the same time - voice, voice, something, perhaps, like the voice of his beloved pipe.

 

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Say you have three minutes

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I picked a flower to you even for a moment he found himself in his hand,
drank a bottle of "Beaujolais" to look into the well,

where clumsy dancing bear - the moon,
and now - back home
and in the golden twilight of release myself, like a jacket, leather
and know only too well how lonely I will
the midst of this - the most populous in the world - the city.
You will forgive me for this whining when you know:
it's cold, rain drops falling into a cup of coffee
moldy and damp on the legs spreading everywhere.

Forgive me, the more you know:
I think about you all the time,
I like a clockwork toy, like a fever, chills
or whacky that irons caught the dove
and feels the gentle fingers intertwined and feathers.

I believe that as you feel what I feel your presence,
you are frustrated, perhaps, the same flower that I
and now you're back home, yes, this is true, and we are no longer alone,
we have - a single feather, a single petal.

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  Sonnet

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Love - shell remain in it
memories: images and sounds;
they are just more real - apart:
away from the sea - the sea noise heard.

Flower from the cold autumn days
wring the pain leaves the hands-
and comes to life in joy and agony
under the sun - every cell of his.

Beautiful statues - one,
always the same, and never discouraged
(whether you are proud, but she did not contradict).

stone and dreams created,
of - anything but authentic until now,
whiter than white lily - love.

Julio Cortazar

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