"O bom selvagem"

Posts Tagged ‘linguagem’

Irlanda: a beleza bucólica e além…

In Cinema / Livro / Teatro, English Version, Textos Variados, Viagens on July 2, 2010 at 00:34

Eu adoro esse tipo de natureza bruta que mais parece com uma obra de arte incompleta.

“At first
I was land

I lay on my back to be field


I did not see.
I was seen.”

Eavan Boland ‘Mother Ireland’ (Lost Land, 42-3)

— — Na poesia de Eavan Boland a pátria em si ganha linguagem e subjetividade. De fato, ela pode ser entendida como uma dona de casa deixando o lar, assim como todo e qualquer resquício de uma vida orquestrada por uma estrutura patriarcal antiquada para encontrar o seu verdadeiro eu.  — —

“Now I could tell my story.

It was different

from the story told about me.”

“The spurred and booted garrisons.

The men and women

they dispossessed.

What is a colony

if not the brutal truth

that when we speak

the graves open.

And the dead walk?” (‘Witness’)

“- a picture held us captive

and we could not get outside it

for it lay in our language in the uniform

of a force that no longer existed.

Peace was the target he was aiming at,

the point at which doubt becomes senseless,

the last thing that will find a home.”

(Tulsus Paradoxus’)

Medbh McGuckian Shelmalier

— — A autora vai além da visão platônica de Boland quanto à linguagem como retórica política, acrescentando

que ela opera no nível inconsciente da ideologia. O que ela chama de as “sombras” do poder (“shadows” of power) sugere a idéia de que poder pode ser exercido pelos heróis que perderam, assim como os que ganharam

as guerras do passado. — —

“At first something like an image was there:

he had for me a pre-love which leaves

everything as it is. We do not see everything

as something, everything that is brown,

we take for granted the incorruptible

colouredness of the colour. But a light

shines on them from behind, they do not

themselves glow. As a word has only

an aroma of meaning, as the really faithful

memory is the part of a wound

that goes quiet.”

“A flame burnt up the paper

On which my gold was written,

The wind like a soul

Seeking to be born

Carried off half

Of what I was able to say.”

Medbh McGuckian On her second birthday

“The more it changed

The more it changed me into itself,

Till I regarded it as more real

Than all else, more ardent

Than love. Higher than the air

Of a dream,

A field in which I ripened

From an unmoving, continually nascent

Light into pure light.”

***

As poesias foram extraídos de:

Campbell, M. (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Contemporary Irish Poetry, Cambridge University Press, 2003.

***

Veja também:

No lado ensolarado dos Alpes / On the sunny side of the Alps / Na sončni strani Alp

mais um verão que se vem, quantos mais virão?

As artimanhas do amor

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