Elizabeth Bishop - O iceberg imaginário
Elizabeth Bishop deixou somente 101 poemas, exatos, flores raras como ela. "Já em seu livro inaugural North and South, de 1946, a capacidade de observação da variedade do mundo e a mutação de marcos exteriores (de objetos ou paisagens) em aglutinadores para um discurso do espírito se faziam sentir (...)" - Elizabeth Bishop - Poemas - Tradução e Introdução de Horácio Costa - Editora Companhia das Letras - 1990.
O iceberg imaginário
(Elizabeth Bishop - 1946)
Preferimos o iceberg ao navio,
embora isto significasse o fim da viagem.
Embora ele estivesse melancólico, como pedra de nuvem
e todo o mar em volta fosse moção de mármore.
Preferimos o iceberg ao navio;
preferimos esta planície de neve que respira,
embora as velas do navio jazessem no mar
como segue no mar sem dissolver-se a neve.
Campo flutuante, solene, perceberás
que contigo um iceberg repousa,
que a seu despertar pastará as tuas neves?
Por esta cena um marinheiro daria os olhos.
O navio é ignorado. O iceberg sobe
e afunda de novo; seus pináculos de vidro
corrigem elípticas no céu.
Quem dissimular ante esta cena parecerá
artificialmente retórico. A cortina é o suficiente leve
para levantar-se a partir dos fios invisíveis
que as volutas de neve inventam.
As centelhas destas arestas brancas
competem com as do sol. O iceberg invade
com seu peso um cenário cambiante, e pára, e observa.
Este iceberg lapida-se de dentro as faces.
Como jóias deixadas num sarcófago
preserva-se perpetuamente e só a si
enfeita; talvez também o faça a neve
que tanto nos surpreendeu à flor d’água, inteira.
Adeus, dizemos, adeus, o navio se afasta
até onde as ondas a outras ondas cedem passo
e as nuvens correm por um céu mais cálido.
Os icebergs pedem à alma
(ambos se autoproduzem com elementos pouco visíveis)
vê-los assim: corpóreos, puros, eretos, indivisíveis.
The imaginary iceberg
(Elizabeth Bishop - 1946)
We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship,
although it meant the end of travel.
Although it stood stock-still like cloudy rock
and all the sea were moving marble.
We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship;
we'd rather own this breathing plain of snow
though the ship's sails were laid upon the sea
as the snow lies undissolved upon the water.
O solemn, floating field,
are you aware an iceberg takes repose
with you, and when it wakes may pasture on your snows?
This is a scene a sailor'd give his eyes for.
The ship's ignored. The iceberg rises
and sinks again; its glassy pinnacles
correct elliptics in the sky.
This is a scene where he who treads the boards
is artlessly rhetorical. The curtain
is light enough to rise on finest ropes
that airy twists of snow provide.
The wits of these white peaks
spar with the sun. Its weight the iceberg dares
upon a shifting stage and stands and stares.
The iceberg cuts its facets from within.
Like jewelry from a grave
it saves itself perpetually and adorns
only itself, perhaps the snows
which so surprise us lying on the sea.
Good-bye, we say, good-bye, the ship steers off
where waves give in to one another's waves
and clouds run in a warmer sky.
Icebergs behoove the soul
(both being self-made from elements least visible)
to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected indivisible.
although it meant the end of travel.
Although it stood stock-still like cloudy rock
and all the sea were moving marble.
We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship;
we'd rather own this breathing plain of snow
though the ship's sails were laid upon the sea
as the snow lies undissolved upon the water.
O solemn, floating field,
are you aware an iceberg takes repose
with you, and when it wakes may pasture on your snows?
This is a scene a sailor'd give his eyes for.
The ship's ignored. The iceberg rises
and sinks again; its glassy pinnacles
correct elliptics in the sky.
This is a scene where he who treads the boards
is artlessly rhetorical. The curtain
is light enough to rise on finest ropes
that airy twists of snow provide.
The wits of these white peaks
spar with the sun. Its weight the iceberg dares
upon a shifting stage and stands and stares.
The iceberg cuts its facets from within.
Like jewelry from a grave
it saves itself perpetually and adorns
only itself, perhaps the snows
which so surprise us lying on the sea.
Good-bye, we say, good-bye, the ship steers off
where waves give in to one another's waves
and clouds run in a warmer sky.
Icebergs behoove the soul
(both being self-made from elements least visible)
to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected indivisible.
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