segunda-feira, 1 de março de 2010


You wonder why I sail along in uncertainty
rather than trying another route?
Ask that of the bird who turns round, unharmed
by the long shot and the oversized rose
of explosion.

Even for us without wings
rarefications exist,
made not of lead but of deeds,
not of atmosphere but of vexations.
If a weight loss may save us
remains to be seen.

Eugenio Montale, "Il tiro a volo", in Italian Poetry: 1950 to 1990, Ridinger and Renello (eds.), Dante University Press, 1996.

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