sábado, 15 de septiembre de 2012


Estas sonoras manos oscuras y lucientes
las reviste una piel de invencible corteza,
y son inagotables y generosas fuentes
de vida y de riqueza.
(Miguel Hernández, "Las manos", fragmento)

Yo no quiero más que una mano;
una mano herida, si es posible.
(Federico García Lorca, "Casida de la mano imposible, fragmento)

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed -see here it is-
I hold it towards you.
(John Keats, "The living hand")

There'll be blood on the cleaver tonight
when darkness lifts and the room is brigth
I'll still be by your side
for you are all that matters
and I'll love you till the day I die
there never need be longing in your eyes
as long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine.
(Morrissey, "The hand that rocks the cradle", fragmento)

¿Con qué manos trabajo? Las de ayer no existen
y me faltan las de mañana.
(Eduardo Chillida, Escritos)

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