Archivo para septiembre, 2013

Recuerdos de Irlanda

Mis recuerdos de un viaje inovidable por Irlanda, plasmados en algunas de las mejores fotos que hice en ese mágico país. Espero que lo disfruten 🙂

My memories of an unforgettable trip to Ireland, captured on some of the best pictures I took in that magic country. I hope you enjoy it 🙂


Breath – Aliento

Breath- Aliento

When you see them
 tell them I am still here,
 that I stand on one leg while the other one dreams,
 that this is the only way,
 that the lies I tell them are different
 from the lies I tell myself,
 that by being both here and beyond
 I am becoming a horizon,
 that as the sun rises and sets I know my place,
 that breath is what saves me,
 that even the forced syllables of decline are breath,
 that if the body is a coffin it is also a closet of breath,
 that breath is a mirror clouded by words,
 that breath is all that survives the cry for help
 as it enters the stranger’s ear
 and stays long after the world is gone,
 that breath is the beginning again, that from it
 all resistance falls away, as meaning falls
 away from life, or darkness fall from light,
 that breath is what I give them when I send my love.




Cuando los veas

diles que sigo aquí,

que una pierna me sostiene mientras la otra sueña,

que es la única forma,

que las mentiras que les cuento son distintas

a las mentiras que me cuento,

que a fuerza de estar aquí y allá

me estoy convirtiendo en horizonte,

que cuando el sol sale y se oculta sé cuál es mi lugar,

que es el aliento lo que me salva,

que hasta las sílabas forzadas del ocaso son aliento,

que si el cuerpo es un féretro es también un depósito de aliento,

que el aliento es un espejo empañado por palabras,

que el aliento es lo que queda del grito de socorro

al adentrarse en el oído del extraño,

y permanece mucho tiempo después de la palabra,

que aliento es comenzar de nuevo, que de él

todas las resistencias se desprenden,

como el sentido se desprende de la vida,

o la oscuridad se desprende de la luz,

que aliento es lo que les doy cuando les envío mi amor…



Mark Strand

When death comes

When death comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.


A poem by Mary Oliver