{"id":3388,"date":"2013-11-14T18:32:41","date_gmt":"2013-11-14T16:32:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=3388"},"modified":"2013-11-14T18:32:41","modified_gmt":"2013-11-14T16:32:41","slug":"the-art-of-poetry-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=3388","title":{"rendered":"The Art of Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong><a title=\"images\" href=\"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/11\/images2.jpg\" rel=\"prettyPhoto-img\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-3389\" alt=\"images\" src=\"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/11\/images2.jpg\" width=\"259\" height=\"194\" \/><\/a><br \/><blockquote class=\"sc-blockquote\">The Art of Poetry<\/p>\n<p><\/strong>To gaze at a river made of time and water<br \/>And remember Time is another river.<br \/>To know we stray like a river<br \/>and our faces vanish like water.<br \/>To feel that waking is another dream<br \/>that dreams of not dreaming and that the death<br \/>we fear in our bones is the death<br \/>that every night we call a dream.<br \/>To see in every day and year a symbol<br \/>of all the days of man and his years,<br \/>and convert the outrage of the years<br \/>into a music, a sound, and a symbol.<br \/>To see in death a dream, in the sunset<br \/>a golden sadness&#8211;such is poetry,<br \/>humble and immortal, poetry,<br \/>returning, like dawn and the sunset.<br \/>Sometimes at evening there&#8217;s a face<br \/>that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.<br \/>Art must be that sort of mirror,<br \/>disclosing to each of us his face.<br \/>They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,<br \/>wept with love on seeing Ithaca,<br \/>humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,<br \/>a green eternity, not wonders.<br \/>Art is endless like a river flowing,<br \/>passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same<br \/>inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same<br \/>and yet another, like the river flowing.<strong><\/p>\n<p><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><em>Jorge Luis Borges<\/blockquote><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3388","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-classic-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3388","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3388"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3388\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3391,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3388\/revisions\/3391"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3388"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3388"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3388"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}