Disseram que este verão seria o da “La Niña” – um verão atípico e fresco. Sem o calor costumeiro, capaz de fritar um ovo no asfalto’. Sem a terrível sensação de que a vida só é possível no ar-condicionado ou dentro d’água.
Na TV, disseram que o calor viria por volta de fevereiro. junto com o carnaval.
Eu super acreditei – especialmente ao ver mangueiras carregadas de mangas verdes em pleno dezembro de ventos e chuvas constantes.
Enquanto o seu lobo não vinha, bateu-me um desejo inusitado por veranear alguns dias em Curitiba. Tão inusitado quanto o verão da La Niña. Passei dias a procurar por passagens aéreas baratas. E também passei dias com saudades da neve apesar do tempo bom…
Contrariando todas essas previsões, o verão chegou quinta-feira, dia 22/12 botando pra quebrar, ou melhor, pra esquentar, e logo entendi essa minha vontade por dias de um fresco verão em Curitiba a saudade da neve.
Repito aqui, o post que fiz no meu fotolog às vésperas do verão – sim, ainda mantenho o meu fotolog e tenho apreciado o silêncio gélido a que foi acometido na era facebook/twitter…
Génie
Il est l’affection et le présent puisqu’il a fait la maison ouverte à l’hiver écumeux et à la rumeur de l’été—lui qui a purifié les boissons et les aliments—lui qu’est le charme des lieux fuyant et le délice surhumain des stations.—Il est l’affection et l’avenir, la force et l’amour que nous, debout dans les rages et les ennuis, nous voyons passer dans le ciel de tempête et les drapeaux d’extase.
Il est l’amour, mesure parfaite et réinventée, raison merveilleuse et imprévue, et l’éternité: machine aimée des qualités fatales. Nous avons tous eu l’épouvante de sa concession et de la nétre: o jouissance de notre santé, élan de nos facultés, affection égoïste et passion pour lui,—lui qui nous aime pour sa vie infinie…
Et nous nous le rappelons et il voyage…Et si l’Adoration s’en va, sonne, sa Promesse, sonne: “Arrière ces superstitions, ces anciens corps, ces ménages et ces ages. C’est cette époque-ci qui a sombré!”
Il ne s’en ira pas, il ne redescendra pas d’un ciel, il n’accomplira pas la rédemption des colères de femmes et des gaîtés des hommes et de tout ce péché: car c’est fait, lui étant, et étant aimé.
O ses souffles, ses têtes, ses courses; la terrible célérité de la perfection des formes et de l’action.
O fécondité de l’esprit et immensité de l’univers!
Son corps! Le dégagement rêvé, le brisement de la grâce croisée de violence nouvelle!
Sa vue, sa vue! tous les agenouillages anciens et les peines relevés à sa suite.
Son jour! l’abolition de toutes souffrances sonores et mouvantes dans la musique plus intense.
Son pas! les migrations plus énormes que les anciennes invasions.
O Lui et nous! l’orgueil plus bienveillant que les charités perdues.
O monde!—et le chant clair des malheurs nouveaux!
Il nous a connu tous et nous a tous aimé, sachons, cette nuit d’hiver, de cap en cap, du pôle tumultueux au château, de la foule à la plage, de regards en regards, forces et sentiments las, le héler et le voir, et le renvoyer, et sous les marées et au haut des déserts de neige, suivre ses vues,—ses souffles—son corps,—son jour.
Genie
He is affection and the present moment because he has thrown open the house to the snow foam of winter and to the noises of summer—he who purified drinking water and food—who is the enchantment fleeing places and the superhuman delight of resting places.—He is affection and future, the strength and love which we, erect in rage and boredom, see pass by in the sky of storms and the flags of ecstasy.
He is love, perfect and reinvented measure, miraculous, unforeseen reason, and eternity: machine loved for its qualities of fate. We have all known the terror of his concession and ours: delight in our health, power of our faculties, selfish affection and passion for him,—he who loves us because his life is infinity…
And we recall him and he sets forth…And if Adoration moves, rings, his Promise, rings: “Down with these superstitions, these other bodies, these couples and ages. This is the time which has gone under!”
He will not go away, he will not come down again from some heaven, he will not redeem the anger of women, the laughter of men, or all that sin: for it is done now, since he is and since he is loved.
His breathing, his heads, his racings; the terrifying swiftness of form and action when they are perfect.
Fertility of the mind and vastness of the world!
His body! the dreamed-of liberation, the collapse of grace joined with new violence!
All that he sees! all the ancient kneelings and the penalties canceled as he passes by.
His day! the abolition of all noisy and restless suffering within more intense music.
His step! migrations more tremendous than early invasions.
O He and I! pride more benevolent than lost charity.
O world!—and the limpid song of new woe!
He knew us all and loved us, may we, this winter night, from cape to cape, from the noisy pole to the castle, from the crowd to the beach, from vision to vision, our strength and our feelings tired, hail him and see him and send him away, and under tides and on the summit of snow deserts follow his eyes,—his breathing—his body,—his day.
from Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters, a Bilingual Edition
Translated by Wallace Fowlie and revised by Seth Whidden
fonte: http://www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/719774_poem5.html
Trilha sonora: Nico
‘Frozen Warnings’
‘Roses in the Snow’
salve-se quem puder - a vida! 