On the 23rd of April we commemorate the death of 3 great worldwide known writers: William Shakespeare (1564), Miguel de Cervantes and Garcilaso de la Vega, who both died in 1616.The first celebration, which became part of the celebrations of Sant Jordi, was made in Catalonia in 1923 honouring Cervantes. On this day, it was a medieval tradition for men to give roses to their lovers; from 1925 it also started the tradition for women to give books in exchange.

In 1995 UNESCO declared this day as The World Book Day, becuase of the Catalonian festival and the anniversary of birth or death of some great writers, apart from the three already mentioned.

As a curiosity, the coincidence of dates in Cervantes and Shakespeare’s deaths is not strictly precise. Cervantes died the 23rd of April according to the Gregorian calendar; however, England was still using the Julian calendar. The fact is that Shakespeare died ten days later than Cervantes due to this discrepancy of calendars.

The winner of this year 2008

The winners of this Sant Jordi 2008 in the English Language are the following:

1st category: Me and My World

Lara Bonilla and Carla Sabatés

2nd category: Short Stories

Clàudia Alòs and Cristina Pulvé

Nice Poems for Saint George

Here you are some interesting poems to learn:

William Shakespeare – Sonnet #18

Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft’ is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare – Sonnet #130

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.

William Blake – The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

William Blake – The Tiger

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?