exactly 100 years ago today, was born in Hernani, Guipuzcoa, Juan Rafael Gabriel Celaya Leceta Mugica, who would go to the manuals of literature simply as Gabriel Celaya. An engineer by profession, not a vocation (as reflected in his poem "Biography "), was part of the student and avant-garde circles close to the Generation of 27, after existential stage, during the Franco became one of the leading exponents of the poetry involved. He died in 1991 after receiving numerous (and deserved) awards. Some of his poems, as Spain up "or, especially," Poetry is a weapon loaded with future ", have already become milestones (hymns) of the twentieth century English poetry. Today when we meet exactly 100 years since birth is inevitable, just and necessary, to pay tribute and honor as he believed that, in more difficult times in the power of words to change the world.
POETRY IS A LOADED WEAPON OF FUTURE
When personally expected nothing exciting, but it beats
and continues to this side of consciousness, fiercely
exist, blindly said,
as a pulse hits the darkness,
when viewed head-eyed
the rapid death, are said
truths
barbarous, terrible cruelties love.
poems are said to widen the lungs of those who, suffocated,
ask to be, call rate, call
law for what they feel excessive.
With the speed of instinct,
with the ray of wonder, magic
as evidence, the real is what makes us
identical to itself.
Poetry for the poor, needed poetry
as daily bread,
as the air that we demand thirteen times per minute,
to be and as we take a self-glorifying.
Because we live to shock, because hardly
let us say that we are who we are,
our songs are not without sin an ornament.
We are touching the bottom.
curse poetry conceived as a luxury cultural
neutrals that washing their hands, they turn away and escape. Damn
poetry who does not take sides until staining.
I make my own faults. I feel in me who suffer breathing
and singing.
sing and sing, and singing beyond my personal
sentences I flange.
I give you life, cause new acts,
and technical calculations for it with what I can.
I am an engineer and a worker
verse works with others to Spain in their steels.
This is my poetry, poetry tools
while unanimous beat it blind.
That is, a weapon loaded with future expansion
that I point to the chest.
poetry not intended dropwise.
It is a beautiful product. It is a perfect fruit.
It's like the air we all breathe the song
and spacing as in we.
words are all feeling
repeat as our own, and fly. They are more than what is meant.
are most needed: what has no name.
are cries in heaven and on earth are deeds.
and continues to this side of consciousness, fiercely
exist, blindly said,
as a pulse hits the darkness,
when viewed head-eyed
the rapid death, are said
truths
barbarous, terrible cruelties love.
poems are said to widen the lungs of those who, suffocated,
ask to be, call rate, call
law for what they feel excessive.
With the speed of instinct,
with the ray of wonder, magic
as evidence, the real is what makes us
identical to itself.
Poetry for the poor, needed poetry
as daily bread,
as the air that we demand thirteen times per minute,
to be and as we take a self-glorifying.
Because we live to shock, because hardly
let us say that we are who we are,
our songs are not without sin an ornament.
We are touching the bottom.
curse poetry conceived as a luxury cultural
neutrals that washing their hands, they turn away and escape. Damn
poetry who does not take sides until staining.
I make my own faults. I feel in me who suffer breathing
and singing.
sing and sing, and singing beyond my personal
sentences I flange.
I give you life, cause new acts,
and technical calculations for it with what I can.
I am an engineer and a worker
verse works with others to Spain in their steels.
This is my poetry, poetry tools
while unanimous beat it blind.
That is, a weapon loaded with future expansion
that I point to the chest.
poetry not intended dropwise.
It is a beautiful product. It is a perfect fruit.
It's like the air we all breathe the song
and spacing as in we.
words are all feeling
repeat as our own, and fly. They are more than what is meant.
are most needed: what has no name.
are cries in heaven and on earth are deeds.
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