Wilde, La literatura y el deseo, en Punto Radio

Polémico, arrogante, visceral, lúcido... pero con una literatura de calidad tan incuestionable que ha logrado sobrevivir al mito de quien la creó.

Mr. Wilde es todo un referente al que desde Punto Radio
queremos rendir homenaje revisando la
filmografía existente acerca de la vida y

obra de tan controvertido personaje...

El jueves día 9 de julio (cumpleaños de una servidora) en "Protagonistas",

Oscar y su alargada huella se proyectarán dejando el destello para siempre; disfrutemos de una trayectoria vital cargada de éxitos deslumbrantes y caídas mortales, de un verso y una prosa atemporales... Leamos unos versos de este dragón con mayúsculas (in memoriam de otros dos grandes, aquellos a quienes dedicamos nuestro anterior programa).

THE GRAVE OF SHELLEY

Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.

'The Grave of Shelley' was originally published in Poems (1881).

The Grave of Keats

Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain,

He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue:

Taken from life when life and love were new

The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,

Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.

No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,

But gentle violets weeping with the dew

Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.

O proudest heart that broke for misery!

O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!

O poet-painter of our English Land!

Thy name was writ in water--it shall stand:

And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,

As Isabella did her Basil-tree.

ROME.