28 August 2006

24 August 2006

A ressonância da reminiscência

Como um cão afasta uma pulga, procura-se o afastamento das memórias reminiscentes que se imiscuíram no cérebro. A cada safanão uma nuvem de pó assenta sobre as sinapses do tempo passado, procurando a sua eliminação…



Ecoa o trovão na temperança
Na cor verde da esperança
No carmim da lua sorridente
Pelo crepúsculo do sol nascente


Cria a memória um desatino
O presente desafia a dor do destino
Solta a alma um som ardente
Daquela criação crescente


Assombra a visão passada
Em púrpura desenhada
De uma acuidade temível
Com uma genuinidade credível


Tapa a nuvem o espanto
Com uma cor de encanto
Acaba com a clemência
Ressonância da reminiscência

Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage

Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons

Shudders hell through all its regions.

A dog starved at his master's gate

Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare

A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,

A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipped and armed for fight

Does the rising
sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl

Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer wandering here and there

Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misused breeds public strife,

And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won't believe.

The owl that calls upon the night

Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren

Shall never be beloved by men.

He who the ox to wrath has moved

Shall never be by woman loved.

The wanton boy that kills the fly

Shall feel the spider's enmity.

He who torments the chafer's sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war

Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar's dog and widow's cat,

Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song

Poison gets from Slander's tongue.

The poison of the snake and newt

Is the sweat of Envy's foot.

The poison of the honey-bee

Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags

Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

A truth that's told with bad intent

Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so:

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know

Through the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than
swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;

Tools were made and born were hands,

Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright

And returned to its own delight.

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar

Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath

Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the labourer's hands

Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,

Or if protected from on high

Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith

Shall be mocked in age and death.

He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave
shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child's toys and the old man's reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner who sits so sly

Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt

Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race

Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry

Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile

Make lame philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees

Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They'd immediately go out.

To be in a passion
you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state

Licensed, build that nation's fate.

The harlot's cry from street to street

Shall weave old England's winding sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,

Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born.

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not through the eye

Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light

To those poor souls who dwell in night,

But does a human form
display
To those who dwell in realms of day.


William Blake

07 August 2006

O Véu da Noite


Corre a brisa na nocturna trovoada de verão. Assim como quem não quer a coisa a bruma escala a planície como uma sombra no crepúsculo daquela sensação de vazio que nos enche na solidão daquela imensa angústia.
A penumbra estende-se sobre mim. Nocturno é o vulto que se esconde em lamentos. No feminino se estranha os caminhos da incerteza… De azul se veste a dor.



"Na névoa densa da madrugada,
refúgio da dor angustiada, Cantam rios de sangue,
Sem rumo definido, perdido, escondido.
Dançam rosas na berma do trilho,
Da vida pouco resta senão o desatino.
Na insana frescura nocturna,
Germinam sentimentos de falsa clausura.
Uma miríade de formas evocam a dor,
E a ambliopia da vida fecha-se em flor...

Rios púrpura rios carmim,
No verde gotejante do bosque sem fim;
Mares de sorte da lua consorte,
Na praia da angústia com voz de malícia;
Azul de aurora no rasto de Pandora,
Na estrela correu e no crepúsculo morreu.

Sobre o esplendor da Lua cresce a Flor,
Reclusa e crente na dor;
De forma singela acredita no destino,
Esteja ele perdido ou escondido..."