segunda-feira, 11 de abril de 2016

Relendo Suttree

Depois de reler Ruído Branco, Fogo Pálido, agora a vez do Cormac. Na semana passada terminei meu segundo romance (a gaveta não estava satisfeita com só um), bem mais enxuto que o primeiro. Daí resolvi ir ler a obra-prima menos enxuta que eu conheço, só pra dar uma variada.

Paragrafozinho traduzido rapidamente:



Ele subiu andando a Front Street respirando o frio do anoitecer, o céu ocidental ante ele ainda num azul profundo e ciânico perfurado pelas formas de morcegos cruzando cegos e espásticos feito esporos sob microscópio. Um ranço de verduras fervidas se depreendia da noite e um fiapo de música de rádio o acompanhava casa a casa. Ele passava por jardins e quintais de concreto rançosos com os mudos de galináceos alojados e pelas aberturas obscuras entre cabanas onde a música se deflagrava e morria novamente, passando por luzes de janela apagadas onde sombras descendiam cúpulas de papel rachado e amarelecido. Pelas tábuas de madeira malcheirosas criações de coelho onde crianças choravam e covardes cães-vigia semipelados ladravam e escapuliam.

quinta-feira, 7 de abril de 2016

Poema do Wallace Stevens escrito em homenagem ao meu blog

Connoisseur of Chaos
Wallace Stevens

                           I.

A. A violent order is disorder; and
B. A great disorder is an order. These
Two things are one. (Pages of illustrations.)

                           II.

If all the green of spring was blue, and it is;
If the flowers of South Africa were bright
On the tables of Connecticut, and they are;
If Englishmen lived without tea in Ceylon, and they do;
And if it all went on in an orderly way,
And it does; a law of inherent opposites,
Of essential unity, is as pleasant as port,
As pleasant as the brush-strokes of a bough,
An upper, particular bough in, say, Marchand.

                           III.

After all the pretty contrast of life and death
Proves that these opposite things partake of one,
At least that was the theory, when bishops' books
Resolved the world. We cannot go back to that.
The squirming facts exceed the squamous mind,
If one may say so. And yet relation appears,
A small relation expanding like the shade
Of a cloud on sand, a shape on the side of a hill.

                             IV.

A. Well, an old order is a violent one.
This proves nothing. Just one more truth, one more
Element in the immense disorder of truths.
B. It is April as I write. The wind
Is blowing after days of constant rain.
All this, of course, will come to summer soon.
But suppose the disorder of truths should ever come
To an order, most Plantagenet, most fixed…
A great disorder is an order. Now, A
And B are not like statuary, posed
For a vista in the Louvre. They are things chalked
On the sidewalk so that the pensive man may see.

                                V.

The pensive man…He sees that eagle float
For which the intricate Alps are a single nest.