26 July 1875 – 22 February 1939
Last Night As I Was Sleeping
The Wind, One Brilliant Day
Fields Of Soria
12 Aug 01:41
The Poem: Traveler, there is no path is so much longer and more intense than the lines published here. It is sad that so few get the chance to read the complete poem. For anyone who is interested to read the whole poem, please follow the link: http: //sophiasmirror.blogspot.com/2018/08/traveler-there-is-no-path_12.html
22 Apr 2016 03:52
I lived in Spain in the later sixties. The college kids I hung around with loved bullfighting, Real Madrid and Machado, not always in that order. He was, they would say to mea calm voice and someone who loved the people. They respected and loved the gypsy flash of Lorca (these were people who recited in the streets, to women from under balconies, in bars amidst the noise) but Machado was their honored and loving friend who gave them back a language that was their own.
05 May 2014 01:02
Bob Sagget! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !