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
