Here's one of Newt's early poems ..... if you don't know about Wavely Newt and his magnificent verses, shunt back to the previous post and take a look at one of his finest. In his early work he seems rather more tentative ...almost elliptical in his approach. For a start, he hasn't revealed the actual species he's writing about here.... and in many ways this ambiguity has brought him even more attention from critics and aesthetes throughout the world of critics and ,er, aesthetes. But recently Newt has revealed to his waiting public that his first works all held hidden clues as to the actual species involved. Some detractors have openly suggested that this is a mere retrospective publicity stunt..... but others have begun the hunt for further meaning in these poems which so many bird-lovers have come to cherish. Another cauldron of controversy has been his early adoption of right justification. He abandoned it on his 21st birthday, preferring to broaden his appeal ... but here he uses it to great effect. So, readers and poetry-lovers everywhere, immerse yourself in this ... and maybe you will be the first to find out which actual bird he was writing about. Swooping between the swaying trees he she or it their partner sees each feather shines, each eye it glows lustrous are its gleaming toes down it now glides in scything arc upside-down it grips the bark clutching tight with lusty claws knowingly it gnaws ... and gnaws. Well, I hope you liked that .... and I hope you'll like this ..... it's Vetusta Morla with " A tientas" about as live as anything can be ...
Coge tus cosas y corre lejos... lejos... corre hasta el sol pero cuida tus alas. Ten cuidado, Ícaro reencarnado en ojos de miel, en ojos de mujer fatal sin afinar. Tus latidos dicen: ¡Nunca más!. Hoy nadie mira hacia atrás, vuela alto en tu caballo de seda. Miras y ríes por no llorar, ríes para cantar una historia forzada sin principio ni final. Una historia de princesas que no tienen reino, que no tienen rumbo. Viven a tientas con un sueño a cuestas en su cabeza. ¿Hasta dónde tú quieres llegar?, dice aquel señor de barba espesa con sorpresa por verte cambiada. ¿Hasta dónde tú quieres llegar?, dice aquel señor de barba espesa, no saber qué coño va a pasar dentro de tu cabeza. Se paró el reloj de la función, cuánto tiempo lo habrás pensado, mejor vuelve a casa, corre niña contra el viento y la arena negra. Sin temor por lo que hablen las esquinas, veneno clavado en nicotina en el fondo de tu laberinto oscuro y claro,y claro, y claro, y claro como el aire.
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AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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