Metodologie 2015 - 2016
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
by Dylan Thomas
librăria: Micuţul Nicolas în limba română :)
Libraria Jumatatea Plina: Micuţul Nicolas în limba română :): Lansare pe 30 octombrie, ora 18, la Muzeul Naţional de Artă Contemporană în cadrul Salonului European de Bandă Desenată .
Despre ţara din care venim
“Hai să vorbim
Despre ţara din care venim.
Eu vin din vară,
E o patrie fragilă
Pe care orice frunză,
Căzînd, o poate stinge,
Dar cerul e atât de greu de stele
C-atîrnă uneori pîn’ la pământ
Și dacă te apropii-auzi cum iarba
Gîdilă stelele rîzînd,
Şi florile-s atît de multe
Că te dor
Orbitele uscate ca de soare,
Şi sori rotunzi atîrnă
Din fiecare pom;
De unde vin eu
Nu lipseşte decît moartea,
E-atîta fericire
C-aproape că ţi-e somn.”
Ana Blandiana
Despre ţara din care venim.
Eu vin din vară,
E o patrie fragilă
Pe care orice frunză,
Căzînd, o poate stinge,
Dar cerul e atât de greu de stele
C-atîrnă uneori pîn’ la pământ
Și dacă te apropii-auzi cum iarba
Gîdilă stelele rîzînd,
Şi florile-s atît de multe
Că te dor
Orbitele uscate ca de soare,
Şi sori rotunzi atîrnă
Din fiecare pom;
De unde vin eu
Nu lipseşte decît moartea,
E-atîta fericire
C-aproape că ţi-e somn.”
Ana Blandiana
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