Per què creieu que a un professor de literatura li agraden les il·lusions òptiques? Les millors respostes tindran un premi

Aquesta setmana ha mort J.D.Salinger. Va escriure una de les novel·les contemporànies més interessants, The Catcher in the Rye (El guardià en el camp de sègol).  Holden Caulfield, explica, en primera persona, les seves aventures a Nova York després que l’expulsessin de l’escola. La història, el pensament i el llenguatge del protagonista han apassionat molts lectors des que es va publicar, el 1951.

Green Day li va dedicar una cançó:

I aquí hi ha la lletra:

“Who Wrote Holden Caulfield?”

A thought burst in my head and I need to tell you
It’s news that I for thought
Was it just a dream that happened long ago?
I think that I just forgot

Well it hasn’t been the first time
And it sure does drive me mad

There’s a boy who fogs his world and now he’s getting lazy
There’s no motivation and frustration makes him crazy
He makes a plan to take a stand but always ends up sitting.
Someone help him up or he’s gonna end up quitting

I shuffle through my mind
To see if I can find
The words I left behind
Was it just a dream that happened long ago?
Oh well…
Never mind.

Well it hasn’t been the first time
And it sure does drive me mad

There’s a boy who fogs his world and now he’s getting lazy
There’s no motivation and frustration makes him crazy
He makes a plan to take a stand but always ends up sitting.
Someone help him up or he’s gonna end up quitting

There’s a boy who fogs his world and now he’s getting lazy
There’s no motivation and frustration makes him crazy
He makes a plan to take a stand but always ends up sitting.
Someone help him up or he’s gonna end up quitting

There’s a boy who fogs his world and now he’s getting lazy
There’s no motivation and frustration makes him crazy
He makes a plan to take a stand but always ends up sitting.
Someone help him up or he’s gonna end up quitting

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CANÇÓ DE SOLEIA (IV)

Soleia de les boscúries,
Soleia de les ciutats,
donzella de les vedrunes,
genoll de les soledats.

Tinc els cabells d’aigua llarga.
Tinc la passa sense son.
Tinc un gest ocult de saba.
Tinc un nom d’atzar i font.

Escorcollo tot crepuscle
i recordo, entre cascalls,
les llàgrimes de la fusta
i l’èpica dels vitralls.

No sóc carroll de verema,
la llarga nit no m’ajup.
D’Homer va néixer ma trena,
de la sang, el meu parrup

Agustí BARTRA