11 de agosto de 2008

Words For Departure
Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten.
When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements,
The window-sills were wet from rain in the night,
Birds scattered and settled over chimneypots
As among grotesque trees.
Nothing was accepted, nothing looked beyond.
Slight-voiced bells separated hour from hour,
The afternoon sifted coolness
And people drew together in streets becoming deserted.
There was a moon, and light in a shop-front,
And dusk falling like precipitous water.
Hand clasped hand
Forehead still bowed to forehead--
Nothing was lost, nothing possessed
There was no gift nor denial.
I have remembered you.
You were not the town visited once,
Nor the road falling behind running feet.
You were as awkward as flesh
And lighter than frost or ashes.
You were the rind,
And the white-juiced apple,
The song, and the words waiting for music.
You have learned the beginning;
Go from mine to the other.
Be together; eat, dance, despair,
Sleep, be threatened, endure.
You will know the way of that.
But at the end, be insolent;
Be absurd--strike the thing short off;
Be mad--only do not let talk
Wear the bloom from silence.
And go away without fire or lantern
Let there be some uncertainty about your departure.
Louise Bogan
LBLouise Bogan

2 comentários:

Cymbron disse...

Às vezes a incerteza é como uns óculos escuros em dias que o sol teima em cegar.

Espero que as férias estejam a correr bem, isto é, que esteja a descansar e a recarregar baterias para o que aí vem (as gerações creio são cada vez mais exigentes a todos os níveis).

O tal cheiro quente servido numa chavena pouco grande, em dia e hora incerto, por enquanto, aguarda a certeza das suas horas e do seu espaço.



Graça disse...

As férias estão a correr. Bem ou mal é sempre relativo. A única certeza é que correm. O tempo e o espaço certos hão-de surgir.