quinta-feira, 7 de fevereiro de 2013

De "Elsewhere"

... the terrible notion of living life to the full,
the slow advancement of days, all comfortless, all lost
to pleasure, the pain of that, the rack
of memory, slow music, lights coming on at dusk,
all lost, windows wide to the night-air, childrens' voices lost
to the sound of surd, to the seas' clean sweep,
myself, pitched up, you might think, from anywhere, addled, lost

as if I'd come to from a night-long dream of risk
that stationed me on this beach, as if to sleep
were to dream of the place I must wake to, dream
only of that, the tideline rubble, the pull of the waves, the scar
salt leaves on stone, the long, bright line
where the rest of the world falls away ...

David Harsent, Night, Faber & Faber, 2011

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