This blog contains a collection of renowned and young authors from around the world poems in the languages in which they were originally written. Each file includes author’s photo or portrait and brief biography. We offer news and announcements of interest to professional and amateur writers (writing competitions, poetry press, etc) too.


Este blog recoge una selección de poemas de reputados autores y jóvenes promesas de todo el mundo en las lenguas en las que fueron escritos originalmente. Se incluye en cada ficha una breve reseña biográfica del autor y fotos o cuadros de éste. Se complementa el grueso del material con datos de interés para escritores profesionales o aficionados a la literatura (como información sobre certámenes literarios, editoriales dedicadas a la poesía, etc).

Lewis Carroll

Haddocks' Eyes

    I'll tell thee everything I can:
        There's little to relate.
    I saw an aged aged man,
        A-sitting on a gate.
    "Who are you, aged man?" I said,
        "And how is it you live?"
    And his answer trickled through my head,
        Like water through a sieve.

       He said "I look for butterflies
        That sleep among the wheat:
    I make them into mutton-pies,
        And sell them in the street.
    I sell them unto men," he said,
        "Who sail on stormy seas;
    And that's the way I get my bread --
        A trifle, if you please."

    

But I was thinking of a plan
        To dye one's whiskers green,
    And always use so large a fan
        That they could not be seen.
    So, having no reply to give
        To what the old man said,
    I cried "Come, tell me how you live!"
        And thumped him on the head.

       His accents mild took up the tale:
        He said "I go my ways,
    And when I find a mountain-rill,
        I set it in a blaze;
    And thence they make a stuff they call
        Rowlands' Macassar-Oil --
    Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
        They give me for my toil."

       But I was thinking of a way
        To feed oneself on batter,



 
 And so go on from day to day
        Getting a little fatter.
    I shook him well from side to side,
        Until his face was blue:
    "Come, tell me how you live," I cried,
        "And what it is you do!"

       He said "I hunt for haddocks' eyes
        Among the heather bright,
    And work them into waistcoat-buttons
        In the silent night.
    And these I do not sell for gold
        Or coin of silvery shine,
    But for a copper halfpenny,
        And that will purchase nine.

       "I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
        Or set limed twigs for crabs:
    I sometimes search the grassy knolls
        For wheels of Hansom-cabs.

 

And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
        +
"By which I get my wealth--
    And very gladly will I drink
        Your Honour's noble health."

       I heard him then, for I had just
        Completed my design
    To keep the Menai bridge from rust
        By boiling it in wine.
    I thanked him much for telling me
        The way he got his wealth,
    But chiefly for his wish that he
        Might drink my noble health.

      And now, if e'er by chance I put
        My fingers into glue,
    Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
        Into a left-hand shoe,

      Or if I drop upon my toe
        A very heavy weight,
    I weep, for it reminds me so
    Of that old man I used to know--
    Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow
    Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
    Whose face was very like a crow,
    With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
    Who seemed distracted with his woe,
    Who rocked his body to and fro,
    And muttered mumblingly and low,
    As if his mouth were full of dough,
    Who snorted like a buffalo--
    That summer evening long ago,
        A-sitting on a gate.


Lewis Carroll, nacido Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (Daresbury, Cheshire, Inglaterra, 1832 - Guildford, Surrey, 1898). Lógico, matemático, fotógrafo, novelista, autor de relatos y poeta.

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"Poetic Souls " es un blog sin ánimo de lucro cuyo único fin consiste en rendir justo homenaje
a los poetas del mundo. Los derechos de los textos que aquí aparecen pertenecen a cada autor.

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