![\"Caminante_no_hay_camino_Antonio_Machado.jpg\"](\"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/11\/Caminante_no_hay_camino_Antonio_Machado.jpg\")
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_________________________________________________________________________________________________________<\/span><\/p>\n Tutto passa e tutto resta, Mai cercai la gloria, Mi piace vederle dipingersi Viandante, sono le tue orme<\/strong> Camminando si fa il sentiero<\/strong> Viandante non esiste il sentiero,<\/strong> Colpo a colpo, verso dopo verso\u2026<\/p>\n Il poeta mor\u00ec lontano dal focolare. Colpo a colpo verso dopo verso\u2026<\/p>\n Quando il cardellino non pu\u00f2 cantare. Colpo a colpo, verso dopo verso.<\/p>\n Antonio Machado<\/em><\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Todo pasa y todo queda<\/em> Nunca persegu\u00ed la gloria,<\/em> Me gusta verlos pintarse de sol y grana,<\/em> Caminante son tus huellas el camino y nada m\u00e1s;<\/em><\/span><\/strong> Al andar se hace camino<\/em><\/span><\/strong> Hace alg\u00fan tiempo en ese lugar<\/em> Golpe a golpe, verso a verso…<\/em> Golpe a golpe, verso a verso…<\/em> Golpe a golpe, verso a verso.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n Antonio Machado<\/span><\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Everything goes and everything stays I never pursued glory, I like to see them paint themselves on sun and crimson, Traveler , your footprints are the path, and nothing else.<\/span><\/strong> A path is made by walking,<\/span><\/strong> Some time ago on that place Blow by blow, verse by verse… Blow by blow, verse by verse… Blow by blow, verse by verse.<\/span><\/p>\n Antonio Machado<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":746,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[38],"tags":[154],"class_list":["post-747","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-foto-pensieri","tag-antonio-machado"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/747","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=747"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/747\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/746"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=747"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=747"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.liberopensare.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=747"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nper\u00f2 il nostro \u00e8 passare,
\npassare facendo sentieri,
\nsentieri sul mare.<\/p>\n
\nn\u00e9 di lasciare alla memoria
\ndegli uomini il mio canto,
\nio amo i mondi sottili,
\nlievi e gentili,
\ncome bolle di sapone.<\/p>\n
\ndi sole e scarlatto, volare
\nsotto il cielo azzurro, tremare
\nimprovvisamente e disintegrarsi\u2026
\nMai cercai la gloria.<\/p>\n
\nil sentiero e niente pi\u00f9;<\/strong>
\nviandante, non esiste il sentiero,<\/strong>
\nil sentiero si fa camminando.<\/strong><\/p>\n
\ne girando indietro lo sguardo<\/strong>
\nsi vede il sentiero che mai pi\u00f9<\/strong>
\nsi torner\u00e0 a calpestare.<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nma solamente scie nel mare\u2026<\/strong>
\nUn tempo in questo luogo dove
\nora i boschi si vestono di spine,
\nsi ud\u00ec la voce di un poeta gridare
\n\u201cViandante non esiste il sentiero,
\nil sentiero si fa camminando\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\nLo copre la polvere di un paese vicino.
\nAllontanandosi lo videro piangere.
\n\u201cViandante non esiste il sentiero,
\nil sentiero si fa camminando\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\nQuando il poeta \u00e8 un pellegrino,
\nquando non serve a nulla pregare.
\n\u201cViandante non esiste il sentiero,
\nil sentiero si fa camminando\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\npero lo nuestro es pasar,<\/em>
\npasar haciendo caminos,<\/em>
\ncaminos sobre la mar.<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nni dejar en la memoria<\/em>
\nde los hombres mi canci\u00f3n;<\/em>
\nyo amo los mundos sutiles,<\/em>
\ningr\u00e1vidos y gentiles<\/em>
\ncomo pompas de jab\u00f3n.<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nvolar bajo el cielo azul,<\/em>
\ntemblar s\u00fabitamente y quebrarse…<\/em>
\nNunca persegu\u00ed la gloria.<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ncaminante, no hay camino se hace camino al andar.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\ny al volver la vista atr\u00e1s<\/em><\/span><\/strong>
\nse ve la senda que nunca<\/em><\/span><\/strong>
\nse ha de volver a pisar.<\/em><\/span><\/strong>
\nCaminante no hay camino sino estelas en la mar…<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\ndonde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos<\/em>
\nse oy\u00f3 la voz de un poeta gritar<\/em>
\nCaminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar…<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nMuri\u00f3 el poeta lejos del hogar<\/em>
\nle cubre el polvo de un pa\u00eds vecino.<\/em>
\nAl alejarse, le vieron llorar.<\/em>
\n“Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar…”<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nCuando el jilguero no puede cantar<\/em>
\ncuando el poeta es un peregrino,<\/em>
\ncuando de nada nos sirve rezar.<\/em>
\nCaminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nbut our fate is to pass
\nto pass making a path as we go,
\npaths over the sea,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nor to leave on the memory
\nof the men,this my song:
\nI love the subtle worlds,
\nweightless and gentle
\nlike soap bubbles.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nfly under a blue sky
\nshudder suddenly, and break…
\nI never pursued glory.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nTraveler, there is no path. A path is made by walking.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\nand in looking back one sees<\/span><\/strong>
\nthe trodden road that never<\/span><\/strong>
\nwill be set foot on again.<\/span><\/strong>
\nTraveler, there is no path, but wakes on the sea…<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\nwhere today the woods dress in brambles
\nthe voice of a poet was heard shouting
\n\u00a8Traveler, there is no path. A path is made by walking”.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nThe poet died far from home
\nand is covered by the dust of a neighboring country.
\nAs he went away, he could be heard crying,
\n“Traveler, there is no path. A path is made by walking”.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nWhen the robin can no longer sing,
\nwhen the poet is a pilgrim,
\nwhen praying is no more of use.
\nTraveler, there is no path. A path is made by walking.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n