I decided, just collect writings that inspire me ... and decided, after going even poetry workshop Blanca Luz Pulido, fix everything I've written, so tarry a while since I put something new here.
leave here a translation of Juan José Arreola in a letter of Jules Renard
A family of trees.
The encounter after crossing a plain sunburned. Because of the noise, away from the road. Uncultivated fields live near a source that only the birds know.
By far, seem impenetrable. When I approached, their trunks are separated. I accept with caution, I can relax and freshen up, but I guess I watch and distrust.
live in family, the oldest in the middle, and small, whose leaves are just sprouting here and there, without ever departing.
die slowly retain their standing dead, until they break into dust.
caress her long arms, like the blind, to ensure that everyone is there. Angry gesture if the wind is determined to uproot them. But among them there is no dispute. Only murmurs of agreement.
understand that they must be my real family. Soon forget the other. These trees will eventually adjust. And deserve to learn what you need to know:
I know watch the passing clouds. I stay on my site. And I know
almost silent.
Jules Renard.
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