Flower and Poem Card

I wish I never dreamed! Not remembering you, not looking at you, do not swim in deep water, do not jump the bridges of time towards a past that overwhelms me, no longer tear my flesh through the brambles, in search of you. That's how it was Sing, you tell me. And I sing. How to be silent? My mouth is yours. I happily break my ties, I let the world melt away from me. Dream, you tell me. And I dream. I wish I never dreamed! Not remembering you, not looking at you, do not swim in deep water, do not jump the bridges of time towards a past that overwhelms me, no longer tear my flesh through the brambles, in search of you. osé Hierro del Real. (Madrid, April 3, 1922-December 21, 2002). Spanish poet, art critic and academic at the Royal Academy of Language. His family moved to Santander when he was a child and there he studied as an industrial expert, which he had to interrupt in 1936. His first poem, Una bala le ha matado, was published in 1937. At the end of the Civil War he was arrested and prosecuted. He remained in prison until 1944 and there he began to take a systematic interest in literature, with various events he experienced during the war already appearing in his first writings. When he was released from prison he moved to Valencia, where he dedicated himself to writing, collaborated on a mythological dictionary and, together with José Luis Hidalgo, participated in the founding of the magazine Corcel. In 1944 he made the first pictorial criticism of the work of Modesto Ciruelos. During the 40s he returned to Santander and, in addition to working in different jobs, he collaborated in the Chamber of Commerce magazine, where he wrote about economics and about the illustrious men of Cantabrian industry. In 1946 he joined the innovative group "Proel", editor of the poetic magazine of the same name in which he published his first book of poems, Tierra sin nosotros, in 1947. Sing, you tell me. I sing to you to you, asleep, fresh and unique, with your cities in clusters, like dirty doves, like lazy seagulls that make their nests in the rain, with our bodies that return to you like a green and wet mother. Eras of winds and autumns, you were of sour fruit flavor, eras of beaches and fogs, of sea resting in the mist, of fields and early cities, with a big heart of music. <!-- Default Statcounter code for https://www.zazzle.co.uk/mbr/238 http://aracelident.com --> <script type="text/javascript"> var sc_project=12098388; var sc_invisible=0; var sc_security="578f2581"; var sc_https=1; var scJsHost = "https://"; document.write("<sc"+"ript type='text/javascript' src='" + scJsHost+ "statcounter.com/counter/counter.js'></"+"script>"); </script> <noscript><div class="statcounter"><a title="Web Analytics" href="https://statcounter.com/" target="_blank"><img