Aquí dejo otro poema de Ezra Pound. "Plunge" distingue perfectamente lo impermeable de las cosas: como el ser humano se compone de la materia incrustada del pasado y de lo extraño no conocido. En resumen, el placer de lo nuevo siempre al abrigo de la juventud del alma - dejando de lado la edad numérica-.
PLUNGE - SUMERGIRSE
I would bathe myself in strangeness:
These comforts heaped upon me, smother me!
I burn, I scald so for the new,
New friends, new faces,
Places!
Oh to be out of this,
This that is all I wanted
- save the new.
And you,
Love, you the much, the more desired!
Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones,
All mire, mist, all fog,
All ways of traffic?
You, I wold have flow over me like water,
Oh, but far out of this!
Grass, and low fields, and hills,
And sun,
Oh, sun enough!
Out, and alone, among some
Alien people!
Ezra Pound
All mire, mist, all fog,
All ways of traffic?
You, I wold have flow over me like water,
Oh, but far out of this!
Grass, and low fields, and hills,
And sun,
Oh, sun enough!
Out, and alone, among some
Alien people!
Ezra Pound
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