O Captain! My Captain!

Aquí os dejamos con un poema del magnífico Walt Whitman, perfecto para resumir la última reunión de Baker Street, que tuvo lugar en el café-librería Cosecha Roja. Una velada de té, cerveza y mucho Paul Auster.

Gracias a todos los asistentes por vuestra compañía y conversación literaria.

193. O Captain! My Captain!  Walt Whitman  (Leaves of Grass)

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Nos vemos en la próxima reunión,

Baker Street