{"id":1218,"date":"2017-02-14T01:00:51","date_gmt":"2017-02-14T01:00:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thephilologistugr.wordpress.com\/?p=1218"},"modified":"2017-02-14T01:00:51","modified_gmt":"2017-02-14T01:00:51","slug":"especial-san-valentin-seleccion-de-textos-de-desamor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/especial-san-valentin-seleccion-de-textos-de-desamor\/","title":{"rendered":"Especial San Valent\u00edn: Selecci\u00f3n de textos de (des)amor"},"content":{"rendered":"

Hoy es un d\u00eda especial, y por eso no s\u00f3lo tenemos una publicaci\u00f3n musical sobre el amor, sino tambi\u00e9n sobre literatura: poes\u00eda, novelas, ensayos, guiones de obras de teatro, etc. As\u00ed que os presentamos la selecci\u00f3n de textos de (des)amor del equipo de The Philologist UGR y de varios\/as profesores\/as del Departmento<\/span> para este San Valent\u00edn 2017<\/strong>, ordenadas para que puedas ver qui\u00e9n ha seleccionado cada texto. \u00a1Esperamos que disfrut\u00e9is de esta selecci\u00f3n y de este d\u00eda!<\/span><\/p>\n

\"San
San Valent\u00edn textos de (des)amor. Imagen: B.L.G.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de M.M.L.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00abI Love You\u00bb – Ella Wheeler Wilcox<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

I love your lips when they\u2019re wet with wine<\/div>\n
And red with a wild desire;<\/div>\n
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies<\/div>\n
Lit with a passionate fire.<\/div>\n
I love your arms when the warm white flesh<\/div>\n
Touches mine in a fond embrace;<\/div>\n
I love your hair when the strands enmesh<\/div>\n
Your kisses against my face.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Not for me the cold, calm kiss<\/div>\n
Of a virgin\u2019s bloodless love;<\/div>\n
Not for me the saint\u2019s white bliss,<\/div>\n
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.<\/div>\n
But give me the love that so freely gives<\/div>\n
And laughs at the whole world\u2019s blame,<\/div>\n
With your body so young and warm in my arms,<\/div>\n
It sets my poor heart aflame.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,<\/div>\n
Still fragrant with ruby wine,<\/div>\n
And say with a fervor born of the South<\/div>\n
That your body and soul are mine.<\/div>\n
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,<\/div>\n
While the pale stars shine above,<\/div>\n
And we\u2019ll live our whole young lives away<\/div>\n
In the joys of a living love.<\/div>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de E.R.S.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Cartas a un joven poeta <\/em>– Rainer Maria Rilke<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Que los seres humanos se amen entre s\u00ed es quiz\u00e1 la tarea m\u00e1s dif\u00edcil que nos ha sido encomendada, la m\u00e1s extrema, la prueba y el examen definitivos, el trabajo para el que todos los dem\u00e1s trabajos no son m\u00e1s que una preparaci\u00f3n.<\/div>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de F.G.R.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

II (From Twenty-one Love Poems<\/em>) – Adrienne Rich<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n

I wake up in your bed. I know I have been dreaming.
\nMuch earlier, the alarm broke us from each other,
\nyou\u2019ve been at your desk for hours. I know what I dreamed:
\nour friend the poet comes into my room
\nwhere I\u2019ve been writing for days,
\ndrafts, carbons, poems are scattered everywhere,
\nand I want to show her one poem
\nwhich is the poem of my life. But I hesitate,
\nand wake. You\u2019ve kissed my hair
\nto wake me. I dreamed you were a poem<\/em>,
\nI say, a poem I wanted to show someone . . .<\/em>
\nand I laugh and fall dreaming again
\nof the desire to show you to everyone I love,
\nto move openly together
\nin the pull of gravity, which is not simple,
\nwhich carries the feathered grass a long way down the upbreathing air.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u00abWild Nights – Wild Nights!\u00bb – Emily Dickinson<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Wild nights – Wild nights!<\/div>\n
Were I with thee<\/div>\n
Wild nights should be<\/div>\n
Our luxury!<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Futile – the winds –<\/div>\n
To a Heart in port –<\/div>\n
Done with the Compass –<\/div>\n
Done with the Chart!<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Rowing in Eden –<\/div>\n
Ah – the Sea!<\/div>\n
Might I but moor – tonight –<\/div>\n
In thee!<\/div>\n

Sonnet 43 (From Sonnets from the Portuguese) – Elizabeth Barret Browning<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.<\/div>\n
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height<\/div>\n
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight<\/div>\n
For the ends of being and ideal grace.<\/div>\n
I love thee to the level of every day\u2019s<\/div>\n
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.<\/div>\n
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;<\/div>\n
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.<\/div>\n
I love thee with the passion put to use<\/div>\n
In my old griefs, and with my childhood\u2019s faith.<\/div>\n
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose<\/div>\n
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,<\/div>\n
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,<\/div>\n
I shall but love thee better after death.<\/div>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de J.V.R.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Tr\u00f3pico de C\u00e1ncer<\/em> – Henry Miller<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEl mundo que me rodea est\u00e1 desintegr\u00e1ndose y deja aqu\u00ed y all\u00e1 motas de tiempo. El mundo es un c\u00e1ncer que se devora a s\u00ed mismo\u2026Estoy pensando en que, cuando el gran silencio descienda sobre todo y por doquier, la m\u00fasica triunfar\u00e1 por fin. Cuando todo vuelva a retirarse a la matriz del tiempo, reinar\u00e1 el caos de nuevo y el caos es la partitura en que se escribe la realidad. T\u00fa, Tania, eres mi caos. Por eso canto. Ni siquiera soy yo, es el mundo agonizante que muda la piel del tiempo. Todav\u00eda estoy vivo, dando patadas dentro de tu matriz, realidad sobre la que escribir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00abThe Sun Rising\u00bb – John Donne<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Busy old fool, unruly sun,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Why dost thou thus,<\/div>\n
Through windows, and through curtains call on us?<\/div>\n
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Late school boys and sour prentices<\/span>,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Call country ants to harvest offices,<\/div>\n
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,<\/div>\n
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thy beams, so reverend<\/span> and strong<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Why shouldst thou think?<\/div>\n
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,<\/div>\n
But that I would not lose her sight so long;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If her eyes have not blinded thine,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.<\/div>\n
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,<\/div>\n
And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She’s all states, and all princes, I,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nothing else is.<\/div>\n
Princes do but play us; compared to this,<\/div>\n
All honor’s mimic, all wealth alchemy<\/span>.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In that the world’s contracted thus.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.<\/div>\n
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;<\/div>\n
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.<\/div>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de S.M.C.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Sonnet 130 – Shakespeare<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
\nCoral is far more red than her lips’ red;
\nIf snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
\nIf hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
\nI have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
\nBut no such roses see I in her cheeks;
\nAnd in some perfumes is there more delight
\nThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
\nI love to hear her speak, yet well I know
\nThat music hath a far more pleasing sound;
\nI grant I never saw a goddess go;
\nMy mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
\nAnd yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
\nAs any she belied with false compare.<\/p>\n

Sonnet 75 – Edmund Spencer<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,<\/div>\n
But came the waves and washed it away:<\/div>\n
Again I wrote it with a second hand,<\/div>\n
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.<\/div>\n
\u00abVain man,\u00bb said she, \u00abthat dost in vain assay,<\/div>\n
A mortal thing so to immortalize;<\/div>\n
For I myself shall like to this decay,<\/div>\n
And eke my name be wiped out likewise.\u00bb<\/div>\n
\u00abNot so,\u00bb (quod I) \u00ablet baser things devise<\/div>\n
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:<\/div>\n
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,<\/div>\n
And in the heavens write your glorious name:<\/div>\n
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,<\/div>\n
Our love shall live, and later life renew.\u00bb<\/div>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de S.G.L.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The Parliament of Fowls<\/em> – Geoffrey Chaucer (lines 309-322)<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

For this was on Saint Valentines day,
\nWhan every brid cometh ther to chese
\nOf every kinde that men thinke may;
\nAnd that so huge a noise gan they make,
\nThat erthe and air and tree and every lake
\nSo ful was that unnethe was ther space hardly
\nFor me to stonde, so ful was al the place.
\nAnd right as Alain in the \u201cPlainte of Kinde\u201d
\nDeviseth Nature in array and face, describes
\nIn swich array men mighte hire there finde.
\nThis noble emperesse, ful of grace, empress
\nBad every fowl to take his owene place,
\nAs they were wont alway, from yeer to yere,
\nSaint Valentines Day, to stonden there.<\/p>\n

Sonnet 116 – Shakespeare<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
\nAdmit impediments. Love is not love
\nWhich alters when it alteration finds,
\nOr bends with the remover to remove.
\nO no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
\nThat looks on tempests, and is never shaken,
\nIt is the star to every wandering bark,
\nWhose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
\nLove’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
\nWithin his bending sickle’s compass come:
\nLove alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
\nBut bears it out even to the edge of doom.
\nIf this be error and upon me proved,
\nI never writ, nor no man ever loved.<\/p>\n

Romeo and Juliet <\/em>– Shakespeare<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

FRIAR LAWRENCE:<\/p>\n

These violent delights have violent ends,
\nAnd in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
\nWhich as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey
\nIs loathsome in his own deliciousness,
\nAnd in the taste confounds the appetite:
\nTherefore love moderately, long love doth so:
\nToo swift arrives as tardy as too slow.<\/p>\n

\u00abSo well go no more a roving\u00bb – Lord Byron<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

So we\u2019ll go no more a roving
\nSo late into the night,
\nThough the heart be still as loving,
\nAnd the moon be still as bright.<\/p>\n

For the sword outwears its sheath,
\nAnd the soul wears out the breast,
\nAnd the heart must pause to breathe,
\nAnd Love itself have rest.<\/p>\n

Though the night was made for loving,
\nAnd the day returns too soon,
\nYet we\u2019ll go no more a roving
\nBy the light of the moon.<\/p>\n

\u00abA Decade\u00bb – Amy Lowell<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
\nAnd the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
\nNow you are like morning bread,
\nSmooth and pleasant.
\nI hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
\nBut I am completely nourished.<\/p>\n

\u00abI like my body when it is with you\u00bb – E. E. Cumings<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I Like My Body When It Is With Your
\ni like my body when it is with your
\nbody. It is so quite new a thing.
\nMuscles better and nerves more.
\ni like your body.\u00a0 i like what it does,
\ni like its hows.\u00a0 i like to feel the spine
\nof your body and its bones,and the trembling
\n-firm-smooth ness and which i will
\nagain and again and again
\nkiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
\ni like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
\nof your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
\nover parting flesh\u2026.And eyes big love-crumbs,<\/p>\n

and possibly i like the thrill<\/p>\n

of under me you so quite new<\/p>\n

ELEGY XX \u00abTo His Mistress going to bed\u00bb – John Donne<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

COME, madam, come, all rest my powers defy ;
\nUntil I labour, I in labour lie.
\nThe foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,
\nIs tired with standing, though he never fight.
\nOff with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glittering,
\nBut a far fairer world encompassing.
\nUnpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
\nThat th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopp’d there.
\nUnlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
\nTells me from you that now it is bed-time.
\nOff with that happy busk, which I envy,
\nThat still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
\nYour gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
\nAs when from flowery meads th’ hill’s shadow steals.
\nOff with your wiry coronet, and show
\nThe hairy diadems which on you do grow.
\nOff with your hose and shoes ; then softly tread
\nIn this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
\nIn such white robes heaven’s angels used to be
\nRevealed to men ; thou, angel, bring’st with thee
\nA heaven-like Mahomet’s paradise ; and though
\nIll spirits walk in white, we easily know
\nBy this these angels from an evil sprite ;
\nThose set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
\nLicence my roving hands, and let them go
\nBefore, behind, between, above, below.
\nO, my America, my Newfoundland,
\nMy kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d,
\nMy mine of precious stones, my empery ;
\nHow am I blest in thus discovering thee !
\nTo enter in these bonds, is to be free ;
\nThen, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.
\nFull nakedness !\u00a0 All joys are due to thee ;
\nAs souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
\nTo taste whole joys.\u00a0\u00a0 Gems which you women use
\nAre like Atlanta’s ball cast in men’s views ;
\nThat, when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem,
\nHis earthly soul might court that, not them.
\nLike pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
\nFor laymen, are all women thus array’d.
\nThemselves are only mystic books, which we
\n\u2014Whom their imputed grace will dignify\u2014
\nMust see reveal’d.\u00a0\u00a0 Then, since that I may know,
\nAs liberally as to thy midwife show
\nThyself ; cast all, yea, this white linen hence ;
\nThere is no penance due to innocence :
\nTo teach thee, I am naked first ; why then,
\nWhat needst thou have more covering than a man?<\/p>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de Encarnaci\u00f3n Hidalgo Tenorio (profesora del Departamento de Ingl\u00e9s):<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The Good-Morrow – John Donne<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I<\/div>\n
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?<\/div>\n
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?<\/div>\n
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers\u2019 den?<\/div>\n
\u2019Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.<\/div>\n
If ever any beauty I did see,<\/div>\n
Which I desired, and got, \u2019twas but a dream of thee.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,<\/div>\n
Which watch not one another out of fear;<\/div>\n
For love, all love of other sights controls,<\/div>\n
And makes one little room an everywhere.<\/div>\n
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,<\/div>\n
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,<\/div>\n
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,<\/div>\n
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;<\/div>\n
Where can we find two better hemispheres,<\/div>\n
Without sharp north, without declining west?<\/div>\n
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;<\/div>\n
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I<\/div>\n
Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de Rebecca Cramer:<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00abWas es ist\u00bb – Erich Fried<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Es ist Unsinn
\nsagt die Vernunft
\nEs ist was es ist
\nsagt die Liebe<\/p>\n

Es ist Ungl\u00fcck
\nsagt die Berechnung
\nEs ist nichts als Schmerz
\nsagt die Angst
\nEs ist aussichtslos
\nsagt die Einsicht
\nEs ist was es ist
\nsagt die Liebe<\/p>\n

Es ist l\u00e4cherlich
\nsagt der Stolz
\nEs ist leichtsinnig
\nsagt die Vorsicht
\nEs ist unm\u00f6glich
\nsagt die Erfahrung
\nEs ist was es ist
\nsagt die Liebe<\/p>\n

Selecci\u00f3n de Gerardo Rodr\u00edguez Salas:<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00abCamomile Tea\u00bb – Katherine Masfield<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Outside the sky is light with stars;<\/div>\n
There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.<\/div>\n
And, alas! for the little almond flowers,<\/div>\n
The wind is shaking the almond tree.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
How little I thought, a year ago,<\/div>\n
In the horrible cottage upon the Lee<\/div>\n
That he and I should be sitting so<\/div>\n
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Light as feathers the witches fly,<\/div>\n
The horn of the moon is plain to see;<\/div>\n
By a firefly under a jonquil flower<\/div>\n
A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
We might be fifty, we might be five,<\/div>\n
So snug, so compact, so wise are we!<\/div>\n
Under the kitchen-table leg<\/div>\n
My knee is pressing against his knee.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Our shutters are shut, the fire is low,<\/div>\n
The tap is dripping peacefully;<\/div>\n
The saucepan shadows on the wall<\/div>\n
Are black and round and plain to see.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Selecci\u00f3n de M.F.S.:<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00abProbably it is too early in the morning\u00bb – Brian Patten<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Probably it is too early in the morning;
\nprobably you have not yet risen
\nand the curtains float
\nlike sails against the window.
\nBut whatever, whatever the time, the place, the season,
\nhere I am again at your door,
\nbringing a bunch of reasons why I should enter,
\nProbably it is too early inside you yet
\nfor you to gather together what you are and you speak;
\nBut whatever, whatever the time, the place, the season,
\nit is certainly good to have come this far,
\nto know what I am and not mistrust.
\nThe earth has many hands and doors upon
\nwhich these hands are knocking.
\nThere are chairs for some on which to sit
\nmore patient than the rest,
\nAnd here I am again and again am knocking,
\nholding a fist of primonia
\ndressed to kill
\nclean dustless and idiotic.
\nI might be thought mad, insane or stupid;
\nMy belief in you might be totally unfounded;
\nit might be called utterly romantic,
\nbut what the hell?
\nHere I am again and again am knocking,
\nBut probably it is too early;
\nprobably I’m too eager to come rushing towards you,
\nimpatient to share what glows
\nwhile there is still
\nwhat glows around me.
\nI bang on the door of the world.
\nYou are asleep behind it
\nI bang on the door of the world
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 as my own heart a world’s been hammering.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Selecci\u00f3n<\/strong>: Equipo The Philologist UGR, Encarnaci\u00f3n Hidalgo Tenorio, Rebecca Cramer, Gerardo Rodr\u00edguez Salas y M.F.S. (profesores\/as del departamento)<\/p>\n

Imagen<\/strong>: B.L.G.<\/p>\n

Fuentes <\/strong>(por orden de aparici\u00f3n):<\/p>\n

    \n
  • \u00abI Love You\u00bb – Ella Wheeler Wilcox: https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poems-and-poets\/poems\/detail\/50334<\/li>\n
  • Cartas a un joven poeta<\/em> – Rainer Maria Rilke: Rilke, Rainer Maria (2016) Cartas a un joven poeta. Eleg\u00edas de Duino<\/em>. Madrid: Akal.<\/li>\n
  • II ((From Twenty-one Love Poems<\/em>)) – Adrienne Rich: https:\/\/www.poets.org\/poetsorg\/poem\/twenty-one-love-poems-poem-ii<\/li>\n
  • \u00abWild Nights – Wild Nights!\u00bb – Emily Dickinson: https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poems-and-poets\/poems\/detail\/44087<\/li>\n
  • Sonnet 43 (From Sonnets from the Portuguese) – Elizabeth Barret Browning: https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poems-and-poets\/poems\/detail\/43742<\/li>\n
  • Tr\u00f3pico de C\u00e1ncer<\/em> – Henry Miller: Miller, Henry. Tr\u00f3pico de C\u00e1ncer<\/em>. Madrid: Suma de Letras, 2003.<\/li>\n
  • \u00abThe Sun Rising\u00bb – John Donne: https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/resources\/learning\/core-poems\/detail\/44129<\/li>\n
  • Sonnet 130 – Shakespeare: http:\/\/www.shakespeare-online.com\/sonnets\/130.html<\/li>\n
  • Sonnet 75 – Edmund Spenser: https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poems-and-poets\/poems\/detail\/45189<\/li>\n
  • The Parliament of Fowls<\/em> – Geoffrey Chaucer (lines 309-322): https:\/\/www.wwnorton.com\/college\/english\/nael\/noa\/pdf\/08Fowls_1_17.pdf<\/li>\n
  • Sonnet 116 – Shakespeare: Shakespeare, William. \u201cSonnet 116\u201d. William Shakespeare Complete Works. <\/em>Bate, J. & Rasmussen, E. (Eds). Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. 2455.<\/li>\n
  • Romeo and Juliet <\/em>– Shakespeare: Shakespeare, William. \u201cThe Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet\u201d. William Shakespeare Complete Works. <\/em>Bate, J. & Rasmussen, E. (Eds). Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. 1707.<\/li>\n
  • \u00abSo well go no more a roving\u00bb – Lord Byron: Gordon, George. \u201cSo we\u2019ll go no more a roving\u201d. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. The Romantic Period. <\/em>Greenblatt, S. (Ed). W.W. Norton & Company. 2006. 620.<\/li>\n
  • \u00abA Decade\u00bb – Amy Lowell: http:\/\/www.poemofquotes.com\/amylowell\/decade.php<\/li>\n
  • \u00abI like my body when it is with you\u00bb – E. E. Cumings: http:\/\/hellopoetry.com\/poem\/1590\/i-like-my-body-when-it-is-with-your\/<\/li>\n
  • ELEGY XX \u00abTo His Mistress going to bed\u00bb – John Donne: http:\/\/www.luminarium.org\/sevenlit\/donne\/elegy20.htm<\/li>\n
  • \u00abThe Good-Morrow\u00bb – John Donne: https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poems-and-poets\/poems\/detail\/44104<\/li>\n
  • \u00abWas es ist\u00bb – Erich Fried: http:\/\/www.erichfried.de\/Was%20es%20ist.htm<\/li>\n
  • \u00abCamomile Tea\u00bb – Katherine Masfield: http:\/\/www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org\/assets\/KM-Poems\/Camomile-Tea1916.pdf<\/li>\n
  • \u00abProbably it is too early in the morning\u00bb – Brian Patten: The Mersey Sound
    \n<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n

     <\/p>\n

    Edici\u00f3n<\/strong>: E.R.S.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    Hoy es un d\u00eda especial, y por eso no s\u00f3lo tenemos una publicaci\u00f3n musical sobre el amor, sino tambi\u00e9n sobre literatura: poes\u00eda, novelas, ensayos, guiones de obras de teatro, etc. As\u00ed que os presentamos la selecci\u00f3n de textos de (des)amor del equipo de The Philologist UGR y de varios\/as profesores\/as del Departmento para este San […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":21,"featured_media":1350,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[23,9,11,16],"tags":[171,180,300,307,309,317,370,371,389,390,443,531],"class_list":["post-1218","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-cultural-events","category-events","category-off-campus","category-suggested-readings","tag-ensayo","tag-essay","tag-letras","tag-literatura","tag-literature","tag-lyrics","tag-novel","tag-novela","tag-poesia","tag-poetry","tag-san-valentin","tag-valentines-day","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1218","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/21"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1218"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1218\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1218"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1218"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ugr.es\/thephilologist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1218"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}