# data[].attributes.body
La primavera se deshace en píos

píos piando que a la luz del aire

bajo revolotean al socaire

de la intermedia noche de los fríos.

Cálido amor de amanecer incierto

llena vibrando la estelada vía

que se desencadena en la agonía

del mundo en marcha, corazón abierto.

Por mi corriente se ha metido el pozo

de la esperanza caminando aprisa

para llevarme al mar de lo que existe,

y alza en mi centro alborotada risa

de irreverente gesto hacia el embozo

prendido en el bogar callado y triste.

# data[].attributes.body
At the bottom of my heart there is an enormous sadness because of it is cold and everybody is sad and depressed. But it seems that when today I got up, I started to hear beautiful songs to announce the arriving of spring. They are birds whose songs brighten us the day and make us happier because they are also happy. On this way my heart come back to beat again with happiness because it is sunny and the weather is good. A season which we look forward with excitement and happiness inside our hearts. A happiness of love and friendship to the others and also to nature and animals and so we come back to smile again. Because of this we are reborn to a new life which is full positiveness. A new life of peace, happiness and fraternity where there aren´t conflicts inside our hearts or wars in the world and this is the path to happiness.

# data[].attributes.body
“GOLONDRINAS”

Not too many years ago, the late poetess, translator and French language teacher Sol Acín Monrás, wrote her only poetry book “En ese cielo oscuro” in Spanish. One of the poems in this book is entitled “Golondrinas”.

In this poem, Sol depicts how the arrival of spring affects nature and her own spirit. After a long winter, when everything seems to be asleep and on stand-by, the arrival of sping means the blossoming of life in the realm of plant and animal life, while in that backdrop we have the boisterous songs of swallows tirelessly announcing it. In the same way, the arrival of an early spring affects the mood of the poetess. It is time for hope, time to catch a glimpse of hapiness or at least a positive change, a ray of light in her life.

Sol Acín was able to write it not too many years ago when there was still spring, when climate change was just a threatening possibility. Unfortunately, that is not a threat any more, it is dramatic reality. Global warming is a current process that is deleting the differences between seasons. The world is heading to a perpetual torrid and arid summer where the only songs of the dwindling swallows are like horrified screams while fleeing from the increasing number of forest fires. And...that will be so while there are real swallows and forest!

It is just a good thing that our descendants, in their brave new world, will enjoy a perfect virtual climate and nature through their artificial intelligence (AI) screens.

Jose Luis Calvete Palacio

# data[].attributes.headline
REGARD INTÉRIEUR (RÉCIT / POÉSIE POUR L’ÉCOLE DE LANGUES) GUADA C2 FRANÇAIS

# data[].attributes.subject
REGARD INTÉRIEUR (RÉCIT / POÉSIE POUR L’ÉCOLE DE LANGUES) GUADA C2 FRANÇAIS

# data[].attributes.body
Dans ma maison, je garde l’espoir

De ne pas rester emprisonnée entre murs.

À travers ces murs je me refugie, je fuis les bruits et le rythme extérieur.

Je regarde mon intérieur…

Mes souvenirs me remplissent d’un monde riche, sans préjudices.

Et le printemps arrive,

J’attends les premières pluies,

J’écoute les oiseaux qui chantent beau.

Les fleurs poussent…

Et je me souviens du froid

Pour l’oublier ne serait-ce qu’une fois.

Puisqu’il habite en moi.

Et la vie, ardente, m’attends à cœur ouvert.

Pour transformer ce printemps en amour

Et dire aurevoir à l’hiver.

Dans ma maison il fait beau,

Chaud ou froid, froid au chaud,

Les oiseaux de mon cœur chantent beau.

Les fleurs poussent, les fleurs fanent…

Avec un doux sourire, je prends soin de

mon âme.

# data[].attributes.headline
GOODBYE TO WINTER – SHORT STORY EOI (GUADA B2 ENGLISH)

# data[].attributes.subject
GOODBYE TO WINTER – SHORT STORY EOI (GUADA B2 ENGLISH)

# data[].attributes.body
Through my window, I can see

The awakening of the hours,

The arrival of good weather

And goodbye to the cold.

When I open my window

I listen the birds

I hear the flowers

The breeze caresses my skin.

I leave the window open

And I clear the time

Walking through the memories

Accompanies and friends

The birds flutter with the wind

And me with my past.

When closing the window,

I leave behind the fears

And I cling to life.

I say goodbye

To winter.

Hope has entered me

Like a window that lets me see the sea.

And I smile because I trust

In the passing of time,

In the pose of time.

# data[].attributes.body
DISPOSSESSED

The neighbourhood was as run down as he was.

That was what Stewart thought while he was looking out the window. Both him and the old uninhabited buildings were slowly collapsing. Only a part of the abandoned houses harbored life: an army of swifts had  chosen the tiles of their old terracotta roofs to nest as it was the only place in the town where they could take refuge.

Hundreds of them crossed the sky incessantly  , dodging  obstacles with  impossible turns, showing an almost offensive vitality for him, who had been bedridden for so long…..

Every dawn they were the ones who woke him up with their boisterous and unmistakable chirp.

However, that morning it wasn´t the sound of swifts what woke him, but the thunderous noise of  buildings falling down. The nearby dilapidated houses were being demolished and, together with them, the refuges for swifts. They wouldn't have a place to take shelter  anymore.

Where there used to be perfect tile rows, now there was only rubble. Instead of the joyful chirping of swifts, the next dawns only  an oppressive silence would be heard. Swifts weren't going to return.

Maybe it was also time to leave.

M.J.Ferrer

# data[].attributes.body
Spring     by a B2. 2 student

The seasonal cycle is like climbing a high mountain. Just as spring is the rise, summer will be the summit, autumn  the descent and, eventually, winter will be the base, the setting of the end and the beginning of everything, like a computer reboot.

It goes without saying that the cycle of people is identical because we are a part of Nature.

While we are rising to the top of the mountain, life is about being young ,happiness, love, sex, growing up, colors , sounds and sparkling lights. Nature is a lady dressed in her finery made up of yellow daffodils and songbirds or poetic swallows.

That is why, after the winter blues, I  reborn and so full of optimism that I don't want the spring to go by as quickly as youth does. .

Oh, young heart!

Enjoy the pleasure of every single day, slowly, until the moment you reach the summit where you will wait for the moment to face Fall, losing the leaves and watching the bright colors fade away…

Until you reach Winter at the end of your journey.

# data[].attributes.body
My grandmother had three black swallows, on the all of the living room, a brazier table that she adorned with a doily and a blue vase, with red plastic flowers. I liked to ask about the swallows, they told me that they were very good birds that had taken the thorns from the crown of Jesus. I didn’t understand it, but I liked how her hands interpreted the story she told me. She took the birds as if they were real animals, cleaned them with a cotton cloth, dried them and kissed them before placing them on the wall.

A few years ago, on a trip to France, we saw white swallows in a pottery shop. When I picked them up, I remembered the smell of French omelet from my grandmother’s tea times and bought them.

When my daughter asked me why I had put those birds in the room, I told her that they were a family looking for paradise to live and that placing them there helped us remember that we always have to look for our particular paradise. She looked at me with a very strange smile said, don’t worry, in that quest I will always be your “co-pilot”

Mayka Carrera Sausán.
Estudiante de A1 en That´s English.

# data[].attributes.body
Vado in barca. Il fiume si restringe. Diventa pericoloso. Devo essere attenta . Sento il cinguettio degli uccelli sulle rive selvagge, proseguo il viaggio , i pescatori mi salutano, diversi bambini fanno il bagno. Adesso la barca si muove velocemente, non devo quasi remare. Non è sempre stato così. Passo vicino ad un villaggio, sento il verso delle cicogne che hanno fatto il nido sulla torre, il fiume adesso è calmo, posso rilassarmi. Sono uscita di casa molto tempo fa, da allora ho avuto giornate belle e brutte, le acque non sono sempre calme. Passa uno stormo di rondini. Arriva il profumo della primavera. Incontro altre barche, ne vedo una che si è capovolta. Non si vede nessuno in acqua. Nessuno ha bisogno di aiuto. Sento già l'odore del mare ma ancora non lo vedo. Non so quando arriverò. Devo continuare, è il mio destino. Vedo già i gabbiani, mi salutano. Il mare è già vicino.

# data[].attributes.body
Parmi les cyprès, le vol de l’hirondelle m’a emmené jusqu’à toi. J’aurais souhaité que tu fasses comme elles, et que tu sois retourné chez toi pour le printemps, mais cette idée n’a traversé pas ton esprit. Je me souviens souvent des après-midis à la campagne, quand on courait jusqu’au lac naïfs et dénués de préjugés. Le temps est comme l’eau poussée par la noria de ce moulin -tu me disais- une fois parti ne revient jamais. Alors, la vie, il faut en profiter, elle ne s’arrête jamais, elle n’attend personne.

Néanmoins cette joie de vivre n’a pas été suffisante pour accomplir tes rêves. Tu voulais nager à contre-courant. La vie au village ne te satisfaisait pas et tu n’allais pas y rester. Mais le fleuve de la vie que tu avais choisi se jetait à la mer de l’inconnu, de l’obscurité, de la déception. L’éclat de tes yeux a subitement et cruellement été éteint même si tu as vécu la vie que tu voulais.

Aujourd’hui, devant ta tombe, le chant des hirondelles est plutôt un sanglot, mais je te promets qu’on ne t’oubliera jamais, mon cher ami. Tu viens de partir pour ton dernier voyage et tu me manques déjà.

Élève français B2.2

# data[].attributes.body
Zaragoza, 10 luglio 1942

Cara María,

Quando finirà questa querra? Un'altra guerra. Mi hai chiesto nella tua lettera cosa proavo, cosa si notava nell'ambiente prima del 18 luglio 1936. Non so cosa dirti. Quella primavera fu molto strana. Ricordo che a fine aprile le rondini volavano bassissime e stridavano tutto il giorno, sopratutto all'alba e al tramonto. Sotto il tetto della nostra casa c'erano al meno dieci nidi. La mia casa, sempre così felice, e stata per alcuni giorni una casa "silenziosa e triste", piena di cattivi presagi. In qualche modo sapevamo ci arrebbero rovinato la nostra vita. Inoltre, per più tristezza, l' 11 giugno è morta zia Enriqueta, la sorella carissima di papà. Non so perchè mio padre ci abbia letto a Katia e me l'articolo che ha publicato su di lei sul Diario de Huesca. Il suo ultimo articolo, ma all'ora no lo sapevamo.
Le rondini stridono e stridono. Ho il pianto nella testa tutto il tempo.
Maledette le guerre! Abbi cura di te.
Baci e abracci,
Sol Acín Monrás

# data[].attributes.body
La speranza è sovrastimata. Mi resi conto quando l’anno scorso vidi come un pulcino di rondine che era nato sotto la terrazza de casa mia aveva caduto a terra morto di freddo per causa delle gelate soppravenute inaspettatamente in aprile. Che peccato! Mi sembrava molto simpatico quando mi pigolava mentre preparavo le piante di primavera al cortile.

Se le rondini portano buona fortuna, che significa la sua morte? Nella primavera torna la luce, i colori scintillanti, le rondini instancabile... e pensiamo che le cose diventeranno migliore. Può essere. Ciò nonostante, i problemi non si risolveranno da soli malgrado il nostro stato d’animo, ma dei nostri coraggio e determinazione. Tanti proverbi et poemi ottimisti ci hanno addormentato come la gioia de la contemplazione del volo ci ipnotizza, e siamo più felici per un attimo fugace. Ma quel uccello passa volando e se ne va, come la nostra speranza istantanea.

Non dovremmo piggolare dentro il nido pensando che la mamma o il papà verranno sempre ai nostro soccorso. Dobbiamo crescere, maturare. Non dovremmo sperare che la soluzione arriverà come per magia quando vediamo una sola rondine in cielo. La primavera non c’è ancora qui... Usciamo a cercarla, voliamo da soli.

Manuel Clarimón

Italiano A-2

# data[].attributes.body
Soft, this evening as I lay listening to my child breathing

Slow and shallow in the darkness of her sleep.

In oceans that open between each breath, I find myself sinking

The whole world halts in the cold of the moment, the water so deep

Swallow, swallow

Each time that you leave comes the cold and the sorrow

Oh for sorrow, Swallow

Fly back to me and the summer shall follow

Grieving beckons, colours flee, the sun is un-dawning

Dear life suspended in a moment's failing light

Saved when you swooped down towards us, your streamers a-flowing

Drawing the morning with swooping and sewing Swallow flight

Swallow, swallow

Each time that you leave comes the cold and the sorrow

Oh for sorrow, Swallow

Fly back to me and the summer shall follow

And in a single stroke, the sun renews its turning

The trees all bloom and the birds reclaim their song

The month turns to May and bright shines the day, the stars are still burning

And softly she breathes in the air of the evening, and life rushes in

Swallow, swallow

Each time that you leave comes the cold and the sorrow

Oh for sorrow, Swallow

Fly back to me and the summer shall follow