Windianápolis #2

 This is how the wind shifts:
Like the thoughts of an old man,
Who still thinks eagerly
And despairingly.
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions,
Who still feels irrational things within her.
The winds shifts like this:
Like humans approaching proudly,
Like humans approaching angrily.
This is how the wind shifts:
Like a human, heavy an heavy,
Who does not care.

Wallace Stevens, «The Wind shifts» in Harmonium, 1923 (recolhido da "Antologia" ed. Relógio de Água, 2005)

1 comentário:

blanche disse...

What cares the rose if the buds which are its pride
Be plucked for the breast of the dead or the hands of a bride?

The mother-drift if its pebbles be dull inglorious things,
Or diamonds fit to shine from the diadems of kings?

Sing, O poet, the moods of thy moments each
Perfect to thee whatever the meaning it reach.

Let the years find if it be as a soulless stone,
Or under the words which hide there be a glory alone.

Thomas William Heney, «To The Poet», in In The Middle Harbour And Other Verse, chiefly Australian, University of California Libraries, 1890 (p. 72)