A bullet through his head

Harriet, mi profesora de inglés, trajo este poema que siempre le ha gustado y que de forma sintética habla directamente de la condición humana. No será tan popular como la Canción del Pirata de Espronceda, pero debe de tener bastante predicamento en la cultura americana. En cualquier caso, e incluso en inglés, se reconoce fácilmente la belleza de las palabras y la poesía de Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935).

Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

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