This's an imaginary posting of an imaginary poem by an imaginary poet on an imaginary site translated by an imaginary translator in an imaginary moment and so on and on....
The Imaginary Man by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan
"......... ... " by "....... ....."
.......The imaginary man
lived in an imaginary house
in the midst of imaginary trees
on the bank of an imaginary river
.......From walls which are imaginary
hang ancient imaginary framed paintings
irreparable imaginary fissures
which recall imaginary events
which took place in imaginary worlds
in imaginary places and times
.......Every imaginary afternoon
he goes up imaginary staircases
and leans over the imaginary balcony
to survey the imaginary landscape
which is made up of an imaginary valley
surrounded by imaginary hills
.......Imaginary shadows
approach from an imaginary path
singing imaginary songs
to the demise of the imaginary sun
.......And during imaginary moonlit nights
dreams with an imaginary woman
who offered to him (toasting) her imaginary love
once again he felt this same pain
the very same imaginary pleasure
and once again began to palpitate
the heart of the imaginary man
Well in tune with the Beatles, Nowhere Man. But in this case Parra was probably writing about writers who write fantasy or fiction so they can create worlds simply by imagination. what our imagination does for us, is not quite clear, but most will say that all new things come from our imagination and nowhere else.
Without imagination, there is no progress. We'd live in a pretty dead world.
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
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Without imagination, there is no progress. We'd live in a pretty dead world.
Ron