101 + 19 = 120 poemas by Angel Gonzalez

By Angel Gonzalez

Angel González (Oviedo, 1925) es sin duda uno de los mayores y más representativos poetas de los angeles « Generación poética del 50 ». El presente volumen recoge ciento un poemas seleccionados por el propio autor de su ya mítica obra « Palabra sobre palabra », además de 19 poemas inéditos.
Ángel González obtuvo el Premio Príncipe de Asturias de las Letras en 1985 y en 1996 el Premio Reina Sofía de Poesía Iberoamericana. En este mismo año de 1996 fue elegido miembro de los angeles actual Academia Española.

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Meanwhile the store trickled into cars crossing 44 out—in the open, reserved motel. Last night I copied out an unknown character, unknown to me. I’d written her of late. If she responds to the address, its outcropping, where sand fills the net . . 45 Domesticity Effect Mirroraculous! blank and white, Jesuit Jacobin, a domed frieze phrased in freedom, extra moiety signum as time’s dipterous nonextension deemphasized dispatches to come— incurable, its miserable son. For their forgetting we have had make poptastic psephologist plating setaceous in sage butter.

A needed house pith we sold gluttons. Her smell a discordant riddle, glyph of State bafflement. Sand lures all spines, heads, had drifters (bad) in charge not of ribbon that fell over her instep. She (bad) had naught self, a goner, biting paste, pen-shoulder, enveloped a thought. She had not herself to write to. She busted lure in kelp, booked her shelf, and in the mirror picked up a boy-look, as when, dreaming between the lines, there were moose on her geese. ” to reaugment. ” 33 Restlessness on the Hummock 1 They sleep together then they sleep.

Moisture in the recovery center affects the combined torso of certain sinking wrecks. Am I never visiting the shepherds for lunch? And couldn’t you have turned the music down? Occasional barn, the gray alternate near the fretwork farmhouse, a bridge, the dutiful maturing field, harvested or in a part. Promptly the wedding’s riposte, jumbo. 2 River the coyote noses you across. Moist coat—su hacha binding the fledged hands, unless one of ’em the bank in its fullness, nothing for cheap return chalked on the board—am I never?

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