Mostrando postagens com marcador Mark Strand. Mostrar todas as postagens
Mostrando postagens com marcador Mark Strand. Mostrar todas as postagens
quarta-feira, 13 de fevereiro de 2013
Keeping Things Whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Mark Strand (1934-). "Keeping Things Whole". In: "Selected Poems" (Alfred A. Knopf, 2002)
Imagem: "Wheat Field With a Lark" (1887), de Vincent Van Gogh
Marcadores:
Inglês,
Mark Strand,
Poemas
Lines for Winter
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself—
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.
Mark Strand. "Lines for Winter". In: "The Late Hour" (1978)
Marcadores:
Inglês,
Mark Strand,
Poemas
Assinar:
Postagens (Atom)

