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)
What cares the rose if the buds which are its pride
ResponderEliminarBe 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)