quinta-feira, 29 de agosto de 2013

A História Mais Bela do Mundo - Parte II

«A minha imaginação era um espelho gasto. Ou não reflectia, ou reflectia só com um esbatido triste, as figuras com que eu me esforçava por povoá-la. As personagens da narrativa não se animavam ou tornavam maleáveis com qualquer calor que eu acendesse na minha forja intelectual. Nem tomavam o rubor da paixão ou a suavidade do sentimento, mas conservavam a rigidez de corpos mortos, fitando-me com um sorriso fixo e espectral de desafio desdenhoso.»

A Letra Encarnada, Nathaniel Hawthorne


Girl at Mirror, Norman Rockwell

domingo, 25 de agosto de 2013

The Street Girl

You don't want to marry me honey,
Though just to hear you ask me is sweet;
If you did you'd regret it tomorrow
For I'm only a girl of the street.
Time was when I'd gladly have listened,
Before I was tainted with shame,
But it wouldn't be fair to you honey;
Men laugh when they mention my name.

Back there on the farm in Nebraska,
I might have said yes to you then,
But I thought the world was a playground;
Just teeming with Santa Claus men.
So I left the old home for the city,
To play in its mad, dirty whirl,
Never knowing how little of pity,
It holds for a slip of a girl.

You think I'm still good-looking honey!
But no I am faded and spent,
Even Helen of Troy would look seedy,
If she followed the pace I went.
But that day I came in from the country,
With my hair down my back in a curl;
Through the length and the breadth of the city,
There was never a prettier girl.

I soon got a job in the chorus,
With nothing but looks and a form,
I had a new man every evening,
And my kisses were thrilling and warm.
I might have sold them for a fortune,
To some old sugar daddy with dough,
But youth called to youth for its lover,
There was plenty that I didn't know.

Then I fell for the "line" of a "junker",
A slim devotee of hop,
And those dreams in the juice of a poppy;
Had got me before I could stop.

But I didn't care while he loved me,
Just to lie in his arms was a delight,
But his ardour grew cold and he left me;
In a Chinatown "hop-joint" one night.

Well I didn't care then what happened,
A Chink took me under his wing,
And down there in a hovel of hell --
I laboured for Hop and Ah-Sing
Oh no I'm no longer a "Junker",
The police came and got me one day,
And I took the one cure that is certain,
That island out there in the bay.

Don't spring that old gag of reforming,
A girl hardly ever goes back,
Too many are eager and waiting;
To guide her feet off of the track.
A man can break every commandment
And the world will still lend him a hand,
Yet a girl that has loved, but un-wisely
Is an outcast all over the land.

You see how it is don't you honey,
I'd marry you now if I could,
I'd go with you back to the country,
But I know it won't do any good,
For I'm only a poor branded woman
And I can't get away from the past.
Good-bye and God bless you for asking
But I'll stick out now till the last.
Bonnie Parker



Fuye Dunaway, Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

quarta-feira, 21 de agosto de 2013

multiplicação

penso-te enquanto te espero. espero-te enquanto memorizo o que vou dizer à tua chegada, para te fazer sentir a inteligência do meu acolhimento. como se depois me faltasse a composição para frases longas, ou como se o diálogo fosse dirigido só por mim. realizo um filme durante a espera. no momento, grande será o prazer da espontaneidade a percorrer-me e a derrubar todas as palavras encaixadas, permanecendo apenas uma. antes de sermos dois.


bonjour 



quinta-feira, 8 de agosto de 2013

de olhos fechados

Fechei os olhos, tal como pediu.
- Estão fechados? - perguntou. - Não vale espreitar.
- Estão fechados - confirmei.
- Mantém-nos fechados - disse ele. - E não pares agora. Desenha.
(...)
Depois ele disse:
- Acho que já chega. Acho que conseguiste. Dá uma olhada. O que te parece?
Mas eu tinha os olhos fechados. Apeteceu-me continuar assim durante mais um pouco. Achei que era uma coisa que devia fazer.
- Então? - perguntou ele. - Estás a ver?
Ainda tinha os olhos fechados. Estava em minha casa. Sabia isso. Mas não sentia que estivesse dentro de lugar nenhum.
- É extraordinário - respondi.


Catedral, Raymond Carver