segunda-feira, 18 de janeiro de 2010

The Composer

All the others translate: the painter sketches
a visible world to love or reject;
Rummaging into his living, the poet fetches
The images out that hurt and connect,

From Life to Art by paintstaking adaption,
Relying on us to cover the rift;
Only your notes are pure contraption,
Only your song is absolute gift.

Pour out your presence, a delight cascading
The falls of the knee and the weirs of the spine,
Our climate of silence and doubt invading;

You alone, alone, imaginary song,
Are unable to say an existence is wrong
And pour out forgiveness like a wine.

W. H. Auden
, O Massacre dos Inocentes: Uma Antologia, José Alberto Oliveira, Assírio & Alvim, 1994

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