Poema do Domingo

II YOU left me, sweet, two legacies,—
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;
You left me boundaries of pain	5
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me. * * * XXXIII I HELD a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: “’T will keep.”    I woke and chid my honest fingers,—         5 The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own. (Emily Dickinson)

Amores suicidas

Uma certa melancolia me invade às vezes, especialmente quando contemplo as relações amorosas e seus ocasionais resultados trágicos.

O blogueiro Sérgio de Biasi suicidou-se.

Nunca conheci o Sérgio, mas há tempos acompanhava O Indivíduo, desde quando ainda era uma parceria com o Pedro Sette, outro excelente escritor. Ele era pouco mais velho do que eu, fazia praticamente parte da mesma geração e, acho, tínhamos certas coisas em comum. 

Poema do Domingo

Speech after long silence; it is right,
All other lovers being estranged or dead,
Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade,
The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night,
That we descant and yet again descant
Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song:
Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young
We loved each other and were ignorant.

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)

Poema do domingo

Último Soneto

Que rosas fugitivas foste ali!
Requeriam-te os tapetes, e vieste...
--- Se me dói hoje o bem que me fizeste,
É justo, porque muito te devi.

Em que seda de afagos me envolvi
Quando entraste, nas tardes que apareceste!
Como fui de percal quando me deste
Tua boca a beijar, que remordi...

Pensei que fosse o meu o teu cansaço ---
Que seria entre nós um longo abraço
O tédio que, tão esbelta, te curvava...

E fugiste... Que importa? Se deixaste
A lembrança violeta que animaste,
Onde a minha saudade a Cor se trava?...
 

Mário de Sá-Carneiro (1890-1916)

Poema do domingo

Call it a good marriage

Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;
Except one stray graphologist
Who frowned in speculation
At her h's and her s's,
His p's and w's.

Though few would still subscribe
To the monogamic axiom
That strife below the hip-bones
Need not estrange the heart,
Call it a good marriage:
More drew those two together,
Despite a lack of children,
Than pulled them apart.

Call it a good marriage:
They never fought in public,
They acted circumspectly
And faced the world with pride;
Thus the hazards of their love-bed
Were none of our damned business -
Till as jurymen we sat on
Two deaths by suicide.

Robert Graves (1895-1985)

Poema do domingo

NEVER give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)