Livro e marcador - 95

Foto Maria.

Li este livro nesta col., mas numa ed. de há muitos anos. Acho que ainda a tenho.

Good night!

«Do not go gentle into that good night» de Dylan Thomas, dito por Tom Hiddleston.

Boa noite!

Uma escolha da Maria:

Those were the days

http://www.sloshspot.com/photos/blog/full/photo_1212187143.jpg 

http://images.nymag.com/listings/bar/mainwhitehorsetavern4.jpg

A canção, escrita por Gene Raskin (1909-2004), refere-se a White Horse Tavern, um bar em Greenwich Village, que foi frequentado por Dylan Thomas.

Once upon a time there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two
Remember how we laughed away the hours
And think of all the great things we would do

Those were the days my friend
We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we chose
Big fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way
La la la la la la

Then the busy years went rushing by us
We lost our starry notions on the way
If by chance I'd see you in the tavern
We'd smile at one another and we'd say

Those were the days my friend
We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we chose
Big fight and never lose
Those were the days
Oh yes, those were the days
La la la la la la

Just tonight I stood before the tavern
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass I saw a strange reflection
Was that lonely creature really me?

Through the door there came familiar laughter
I saw your face and heard you call my name
All my friends were older but no wiser
For in our hearts the dreams are still the same

Those were the days my friend
We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we chose
Big fight and never lose
Those were the days
Oh yes those were the days

Outubro

Geneviève Asse (1923-) - Outubro

Óleo sobre tela, 1964

Poem in October

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water -
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sunlight
And the legends of the green chapels

And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and the sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singing birds.

And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.

Dylan Thomas

Poemas - 53

Poema que foi recentemente chamado à colação, na sequência de um post sobre os títulos dos livros de F.Sagan.

De A Dylan Thomas Trilogy

«Fern Hill», da obra A Dylan Thomas Trilogy, de John Corigliano (1938-).
Encontrei um CD com esta obra enquanto procurava (para comprar) um outro com o poema de Dylan Thomas, musicado e cantado por John Cale, colocado por APS no Arpose. Gostei e aqui fica.

«A minha educação foi a liberdade de ler indiscriminadamente e sempre que quisesse, de olhos arregalados.»
Dylan Thomas

ONDE CORRIAM OUTRORA AS ÁGUAS DA TUA FACE

Caitlin e Dylan Thomas.

Onde corriam outrora as águas da tua face
para as minhas hélices, chega o sopro árido do espírito
e os mortos entreabrem os seus olhos;
onde outrora os tritões através do teu gelo
erguiam os cabelos, o árido vento navega
através do sol, ovos de peixes e raízes.

Onde outrora os teus verdes nós mergulharam
as extremidades na corda trazida pelas marés,
eis que aparece o verde ceifeiro
com as suas tesouras oleadas e uma lâmina suspensa
para cortar os braços do mar na sua origem
e deixar cair os húmidos frutos.

O rumor das tuas marés invisíveis
rompe sobre as camas nupciais das algas;
perderam as algas do amor a sua frescura,
e, à volta das tuas pedras, ali caminham
as sombras de crianças que a partir da sua ausência
choram para um mar de delfins.

Áridas como um túmulo, as tuas coloridas pálpebras
não poderão fechar-se enquanto desliza a magia
com solenidade sobre os céus e a terra;
à volta do teu leito haverá corais
e ao longo das tuas marés nascerão serpentes,
até que morra a nossa crença do mar.

Dylan Thomas
In: A mão ao assinar este papel / trad. Fernando Guimarães. Lisboa: Assírio & Alvim, 1989

Depois de ter visto No Limite do Amor.