Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere)arranging a window,into which people look(while people stare arranging and changing placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here) and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps Hand in a window (carefully to and fro moving New and Old things,while people stare carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower here placing an inch of air there) and
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery with chasteness of sea-girls Will i complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise After a thousand years lipping flowers And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which I will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh... And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill of under me you quite so new
if strangers meet life begins- not poor not rich (only aware) kind neither nor cruel (only complete) i not not you not possible; only truthful -truthfully,once if strangers(who deep our most are selves)touch: forever
(and so to dark) e.e. cummings
* Não resisti a copiar e publicar este poema, citando descaradamente a Laura Abreu Cravo
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
Vozes variadas atormentam Tom ao longo de "Em Silêncio, Amor" e se bem que em português, no livro, são no original em inglês e vale a pena creditá-las.
Comecemos pela música. A primeira voz, na Livraria Branquinho, é a de Tom Waits, que canta "Alice", do seu álbum do mesmo nome.
…I'll disappear in your name, but you must wait for me somewhere across the sea, there’s the wreck of a ship… (pág. 42)
… And so a secret kiss brings madness with the bliss and I will think of this when I’m dead in my grave… (pág. 44)
… And I must be insane, to go skating on your name and by tracing it twice, I fell through the ice… (pág. 45)
"Hallelujah", de Leonard Cohen, dá nome a todo um capítulo. Poema extenso de que o autor e outros cantam apenas alguns versos seleccionados, é citado directamente.
I've seen this room and I’ve walked this floor, you know, I used to live alone before I knew you (pág. 88)
O resto são "apenas" poemas e que eu saiba nunca serviram de letra a nenhuma canção, mas tal como na voz de Elisa e outras, envolvem Tom na dança do seu som. A sua leitura acompanhou-me durante a escrita do livro e, de uma maneira ou de outra, as suas palavras acabaram por surgir no texto. Uma breve nota para assumir a sua "tradução", capaz de ressoar entre Tom e Elisa e mais preocupada com isso do que com qualquer ideia de fidelidade.
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. (pág. 60) do poema Tears, Idle Tears, de Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Do poema somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond de E. E. Cummings (o poema que Elisa queria ouvir no seu funeral), aparecem vários versos:
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: (pág. 64)
rendering death and forever with each breathing (pág. 65)
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands (pág. 66)
your slightest look will easily unclose me (pág. 68)
De Out of the Craddle Endlessly Rocking de Walt Whitman, surge na página 69 o verso From under that yellow half moon, late risen, and swollen as if with tears
Do belíssimo poema de Dylan Thomas Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night ouvimos na página 176 o princípio, na voz gravada de Tom e na página 73, o verso Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
O poema mais famoso da poetisa Elizabeth Bishop, One Art aparece na página 89
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
Na mesma página, And that has made all the difference, do poema The Road Not Taken, o clássico de Robert Frost que sempre me lembra o "sei que não vou por aí" de José Régio.
Dylan Thomas volta à página 120 com This Side of Truth
This side of the truth, You may not see, my son, King of your blue eyes In the blinding country of youth,
Do mesmo poema, na página 123:
And all your deeds and words, Each truth, each lie, Die in unjudging love.
O poema 22 de Emily Dickinson aparece na página 144:
I gave myself to him, And took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life Was ratified this way
So let us melt, and make no noise, é do mais antigo dos poetas representados, John Donne, no poema A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning, na página 156. E na página seguinte, a variação de Adrienne Rich:
I could say: those mountains have a meaning but further than that I could not say
E pronto. Não mais sobre estes poemas, que são assunto para se ler e não de que falar.