A arte de ter elegância

Depois do bisturi ter feito o seu serviço, um tempo para tomar fôlego. Para já, e porque a leitura está a ser posta em dia, um poema encontrado numa New Yorker antiga. De Linda Gregg. Com um nome auspicioso: «Elegance».


«All that is uncared for.
Left alone the stillness
in the pure silence married
to the stillness of nature.
A door off its hinges,
shade and shadows in an empty room.
Leaks for light. Raw where
the tin roof rustred through.
The rustle of weeds in their
different kinds of air in the mornings,
year after year.
A pecan tree, and the house
made out of mud bricks. Accurate
and unexpected beauty, rattling
and singing. If not to the sun,
then to nothing and to no one.»


 

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