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Quote by Przemyslaw Olgierd Piwkowski

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Przemyslaw Olgierd Piwkowski

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“Matilde había sido siempre fea, trabajadora, decían que inteligente. Su familia era muy humilde. A costa de becas y de esfuerzos le habían pagado una carrera universitaria. Pero ella tenía un tipo refinado, de intelectual nata; un desparpajo natural, una autoridad que encubría cierta timidez muy oculta. A los veintisiete años Matilde no había tenido un solo pretendiente a sus encantos. Muy allá dentro sabía ella que esto no le hubiera importado lo más mínimo si no existiera esa manía, inculcada desde la cuna en las mujeres, de que han nacido para gustar a los hombres, y que si no su vida puede considerarse un puro fracaso. Matilde no podía decir la verdad; no podía decir: ‘No me interesan lo más mínimo los asuntos amorosos…’ Esta verdad encontraba siempre una sonrisa compasiva. Y esta sonrisa compasiva fue la que la hizo sentirse preocupada y amargada por tal asunto. Compuso unas poesías muy oscuras, muy intelectualizadas, sobre el ansia del amor carnal -ansia que jamás había sentido-, ya que el espiritual le parecía un poco ridículo como tema. Entre su grupo de amigos aquellas poesías tuvieron franco éxito. Ahora sabía ella que aquellos versos no valían nada; que ella no era artista, sino organizadora, constructora. Hasta se avergonzaba al pensar en ello.”

FeminismoPoetaMatilde
Book:La isla y los demonios
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“Mais que um órgão que toca fundo no peito, Esse sujeito, o coração não é uma couraça Feita de vidraça, Mas uma chama que reclama carinho, respeito, amor... É eterna, é sincera, Mas quando ama, vai laceando e lança um laço Logo ali, bem lá, no compasso, bem feito, E se torna de sujeito a suspeito, e quando sofre se dilacera, em virtudes de vertigens e descompasso... e so sossega, sofrego em sacolejos, no mesmo leito onde o divino com um traço de rebeldia o seu destino entrega. E ali ele sofre em quimeras. E com o passar das eras e das iras eu diria ao mesmo tempo que desacelera ele ganha em sabedoria...”

RomanceAmorPoesiaTempoPoemaPoetaCoraçãoCoragemDiarioSofrimentoIlusãoAmoresRitmoMemoriasDelirioLembrançasDevaneioQuimeraRimaSeduzirEsperançasAmor DelirioCompassoSofrego
Book:O Diario Real
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“Silence the lambs The quiet of the night brings the peaceful of the moonlight of the sky. As through the forest you hear the lambs' cries as they have wandered too far into the darkness. It is cold as to the flock be nowhere in sight. The lamb has to be found some way, somehow. Silence the lamb of the fear as to stop weeping. It will attract the attention of the wolves in the distance. It is to the owl of wisdom to seek out the ravens' omen to see the future of the lamb's way back home or the path of certain death. The owl makes the swift decision. As the magic fills the air to the breeze of the wind that is to carry the guidance of the lamb to the herd it came from. The omen of the raven is to silence the lambs fear as to be safe as well as warm amongst the flock of sheep it was separated from. Silence the lambs to the peaceful sleep til the morning. Under the owl as well the raven's protection of the morning sun. Silence be the lambs for a new day has started. The lambs be silent now for they are both fed as well as protected amongst the herd. Quiet as they sleep amongst the lambs' counting sheep as the night races time to daybreak. Now the lamb has survived another day, another night. Tapping of the ravens without the screeching of the owl. The lamb be special as the birds know this isn’t a sacrificial lamb. For it has made its way home. By the moon as well as the stars. With the guidance of the owl's wisdom and the ravens the omen. As well as the magical divinity of the power of magic. For now, the lambs be silent through darkness of the night to save souls from the devil himself.”

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Book:The trilogy of poems
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