Un poema de Eliot. Solo pongo unos versos del poema «The Waste Land» («La tierra baldía»):
«April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour».
**
E información sobre este autor: https://ana-avila-deluna.blogspot.com/search/label/T.%20S.%20Eliot https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/158847/ts-eliot-the-waste-land
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXMJmzyNNBk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6uDv4U4oCA
