Galeria (23)

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa (1888-1935)

Começos... (35)

PHILINTE
Qu'est-ce donc? Qu'avez-vous?
ALCESTE
Laissez-moi, je vous prie.
PHILINTE
Mais, encor, dites-moi, quelle bizarrerie...
ALCESTE
Laissez-moi là, vous dis-je, et courez vous cacher.
PHILINTE
Mais on entend les gens, au moins, sans se fâcher.
ALCESTE
Moi, je veux me fâcher, et ne veux point entendre.
PHILINTE
Dans vos brusques chagrins, je ne puis vous comprendre;
Et quoique amis, enfin, je suis tous des premiers...
ALCESTE
Moi, votre ami? Rayez cela de vos papiers.
J'ai fait jusques ici, profession de l'être;
Mais après ce qu'en vous, je viens de voir paraître,
Je vous déclare net, que je ne le suis plus,
Et ne veux nulle place en des cœurs corrompus.
PHILINTE
Je suis, donc, bien coupable, Alceste, à votre compte?
ALCESTE
Allez, vous devriez mourir de pure honte,
Une telle action ne saurait s'excuser,
Et tout homme d'honneur s'en doit scandaliser.
Je vous vois accabler un homme de caresses,
Et témoigner, pour lui, les dernières tendresses;
De protestations, d'offres, et de serments,
Vous chargez la fureur de vos embrassements:
Et quand je vous demande après, quel est cet homme,
À peine pouvez-vous dire comme il se nomme,
Votre chaleur, pour lui, tombe en vous séparant,
Et vous me le traitez, à moi, d'indifférent.
Morbleu, c'est une chose indigne, lâche, infâme,
De s'abaisser ainsi, jusqu'à trahir son âme:
Et si, par un malheur, j'en avais fait autant,
Je m'irais, de regret, pendre tout à l'instant.
PHILINTE
Je ne vois pas, pour moi, que le cas soit pendable;
Et je vous supplierai d'avoir pour agréable,
Que je me fasse un peu, grâce sur votre arrêt,
Et ne me pende pas, pour cela, s'il vous plaît.
ALCESTE
Que la plaisanterie est de mauvaise grâce!
PHILINTE
Mais, sérieusement, que voulez-vous qu'on fasse?
ALCESTE
Je veux qu'on soit sincère, et qu'en homme d'honneur,
On ne lâche aucun mot qui ne parte du cœur.

MOLIÈRE, Le Misanthrope [1688]

Grandes são os desertos, e tudo é deserto...

Grandes são os desertos, e tudo é deserto.
Não são algumas toneladas de pedras ou tijolos ao alto
Que disfarçam o solo, o tal solo que é tudo.
Grandes são os desertos e as almas desertas e grandes -
Desertas porque não passa por elas senão elas mesmas,
Grandes porque de ali se vê tudo, e tudo morreu.

Grandes são os desertos, minha alma!
Grandes são os desertos.

Não tirei bilhete para a vida,
Errei a porta do sentimento,
Não houve vontade ou ocasião que eu não perdesse.
Hoje não me resta, em vésperas de viagem,
Com a mala aberta esperando a arrumação adiada,
Sentado na cadeira em companhia com as camisas que não cabem,
Hoje não me resta (à parte o incómodo de estar assim sentado)
Senão saber isto:
Grandes são os desertos, e tudo é deserto.
Grande é a vida, e não vale a pena haver vida.

Arrumo melhor a mala com os olhos de pensar em arrumar
Que com arrumação das mãos factícias (e creio que digo bem).
Acendo o cigarro para adiar a viagem,
Para adiar todas as viagens,
Para adiar o universo inteiro.

Volta amanhã, realidade!
Basta por hoje, gentes!
Adia-te, presente absoluto!
Mais vale não ser que ser assim.

Comprem chocolates à criança a quem sucedi por erro,
E tirem a tabuleta porque amanhã é infinito.

Mas tenho que arrumar a mala,
Tenho por força que arrumar a mala,
A mala.
Não posso levar as camisas na hipótese e a mala na razão.
Sim, toda a vida tenho tido que arrumar a mala.
Mas também, toda a vida, tenho ficado sentado sobre o canto das camisas empilhadas,
A ruminar, como um boi que não chegou a Ápis, destino.

Tenho que arrumar a mala de ser.
Tenho que existir a arrumar malas.
A cinza do cigarro cai sobre a camisa de cima do monte.
Olho para o lado, verifico que estou a dormir.
Sei só que tenho que arrumar a mala,
E que os desertos são grandes e tudo é deserto,
E qualquer parábola a respeito disto, mas dessa é que já me esqueci.

Ergo-me de repente todos os Césares.
Vou definitivamente arrumar a mala.
Arre, hei de arrumá-la e fechá-la;
Hei de vê-la levar de aqui,
Hei de existir independentemente dela.

Grandes são os desertos e tudo é deserto,
Salvo erro, naturalmente.

Pobre da alma humana com oásis só no deserto ao lado!

Mais vale arrumar a mala.
Fim.

ÁLVARO DE CAMPOS [1930]

Galeria (22)

Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein (1889-1951)

Começos... (34)

Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17__ and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof.

I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow - a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man, his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cover and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest - Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, Treasure Island [1881]

Para ler em voz alta (27)

Cantiga, partindo-se

Senhora, partem tam tristes
meus olhos por vós, meu bem,
que nunca tam tristes vistes
outros nenhuns por ninguém.

Tam tristes, tam saudosos,
tam doentes da partida,
tam cansados, tam chorosos,
da morte mais desejosos
cem mil vezes que da vida.
Partem tam tristes os tristes,
tam fora d'esperar bem,
que nunca tam tristes vistes
outros nenhuns por ninguém.

JOÃO ROIZ DE CASTELO-BRANCO [séc. XV]

Galeria (21)

Charles Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921)

Começos... (33)

"The cow is there," said Ansell, lighting a match and holding it out over the carpet. No one spoke. He waited till the end of the match fell off. Then he said again, "She is there, the cow. There, now."
"You have not proved it," said a voice.
"I have proved it to myself."
"I have proved to myself that she isn't," said the voice. "The cow is not there." Ansell frowned and lit another match.
"She's there for me," he declared. "I don't care whether she's there for you or not. Whether I'm in Cambridge or Iceland or dead, the cow will be there."
It was philosophy. They were discussing the existence of objects. Do they exist only when there is some one to look at them? Or have they a real existence of their own? It is all very interesting, but at the same time it is difficult. Hence the cow. She seemed to make things easier. She was so familiar, so solid, that surely the truths that she illustrated would in time become familiar and solid also. Is the cow there or not? This was better than deciding between objectivity and subjectivity. So at Oxford, just at the same time, one was asking, "What do our rooms look like in the vac?"
"Look here, Ansell. I'm there -in the meadow- the cow's there. You're there - the cow's there. Do you agree so far?" "Well?"
"Well, if you go, the cow stops; but if I go, the cow goes. Then what will happen if you stop and I go?"
Several voices cried out that this was quibbling.
"I know it is," said the speaker brightly, and silence descended again, while they tried honestly to think the matter out.

E. M. FORSTER, The Longest Journey [1907]

Para ler em voz alta (26)

Der Panther

Im Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden,daß er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille -
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.

RAINER MARIA RILKE [1903]

Galeria (20)

Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy (1828-1910)

Para ler em voz alta (25)

The Doer of Good

It was night-time and He was alone.
And He saw afar-off the walls of a round city and went towards the city.
And when He came near He heard within the city the tread of the feet of joy, and the laughter of the mouth of gladness and the loud noise of many lutes. And He knocked at the gate and certain of the gatekeepers opened to Him.
And He beheld a house that was of marble and had fair pillars of marble before it. The pillars were hung with garlands, and within and without there were torches of cedar. And He entered the house.
And when He had passed through the hall of chalcedony and the hall of jasper, and reached the long hall of feasting, He saw lying on a couch of sea-purple one whose hair was crowned with red roses and whose lips were red with wine.
And He went behind him and touched him on the shoulder and said to him, `Why do you live like this?'
And the young man turned round and recognised Him, and made answer and said, `But I
was a leper once, and you healed me. Now else should I live?'
And He passed out of the house and went again into the street.
And after a little while He saw one whose face and raiment were painted and whose feet were shod with pearls. And behind her came, slowly as a hunter, a young man who wore a cloak of two colours. Now the face of the woman was as the fair face of an idol, and the eyes of the young man were bright with lust.
And He followed swiftly and touched the hand of the young man and said to him, `Why do you look at this woman and in such wise?'
And the young man turned round and recognised Him and said, `But I was blind once, and you gave me sight. At what else should I look?'
And He ran forward and touched the painted raiment of the woman and said to her, `Is there no other way in which to walk save the way of sin?'
And the woman turned round and recognised Him, and laughed and said, `But you forgave me my sins, and the way is a pleasant way.'
And He passed out of the city.
And when He had passed out of the city
He saw seated by the roadside a young man who was weeping.
And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and said to him, `Why are you weeping?'
And the young man looked up and recognised Him and made answer, `But I was dead once and you raised me from the dead. What else should I do but weep?'

OSCAR WILDE [1894]

Começos... (32)

Si un auteur pouvait avoir quelque droit d'influer sur la disposition d'esprit des lecteurs qui ouvrent son livre, l'auteur des Contemplations se bornerait à dire ceci: Ce livre doit être lu comme on lirait le livre d'un mort.

VICTOR HUGO, Les Contemplations [1856]

Galeria (19)

Oskar Josef Beschließmayer, alias Oskar Werner (1922-1984)

Para ler em voz alta (24)

To a Young Ass
its mother being tethered near it

Poor little foal of an oppressèd race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismayed,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
"Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes"?
Or is thy sad heart thrilled with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shortened chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot -
Chained to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity - best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famished in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend!
It seems to say, "And have I then one friend?"
Innocent foal! thou poor despised forlorn!
I hail thee Brother - spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE [1794]

Das Erdbeben und die Wasserbewegung vom 1. November 1755.

Der Augenblick, in dem dieser Schlag geschah, scheint am richtigsten auf 9 Uhr 50 Minuten Vormittags zu Lissabon bestimmt zu sein, diese Zeit stimmt genau mit derjenigen, da es in Madrid wahrgenommen worden, nämlich 10 Uhr 17 bis 18 Minuten, wenn man den Unterschied der Länge beider Städte in den Unterschied der Zeit verwandelt. Zu derselben Zeit wurden die Gewässer in einem erstaunlichen Umfange, sowohl diejenige, die mit dem Weltmeere eine sichtbare Gemeinschaft haben, als auch welche darin auf eine verborgene Art stehen mögen, in Erschütterung gesetzt. Von Abo in Finnland an bis in den Archipelagus von Westindien sind wenig oder gar keine Küsten davon frei geblieben. Sie hat eine Strecke von 1500 Meilen fast in eben derselben Zeit beherrscht. Wenn man versichert wäre, daß die Zeit, darin sie zu Glückstadt an der Elbe verspürt worden, nach den öffentlichen Nachrichten ganz genau auf 11 Uhr 30 Minuten zu setzen wäre, so würde man daraus schließen, daß die Wasserbewegung 15 Minuten zugebracht habe, von Lissabon bis an die holsteinischen Küsten zu gelangen. In eben dieser Zeit wurde sie auch an allen Küsten des Mittelländischen Meeres verspürt, und man weiß noch nicht die ganze Weite ihrer Erstreckung.
Die Gewässer, die auf dem festen Lande von aller Gemeinschaft mit dem Meere scheinen abgeschnitten zu sein, die Brunnquellen, die Seen,wurden in vielen weit von einander entlegenen Ländern zu gleicher Zeit in außerordentliche Regung versetzt. Die meisten Seen in der Schweiz, der See bei Templin in der Mark, einige Seen in Norwegen und Schweden geriethen in eine wallende Bewegung, die weit ungestümer und unordentlicher war als bei einem Sturme, und die Luft war zugleich stille. Der See bei Neuchatel, wenn man sich auf die Nachrichten verlassen darf, verlief sich in verborgene Klüfte, und der bei Meiningen that dieses gleichfalls, kam aber bald wiederum zurück. In eben diesen Minuten blieb das mineralische Wasser zu Töplitz in Böhmen plötzlich aus und kam blutroth wieder. Die Gewalt, womit das Wasser hindurch getrieben war, hatte seine alte Gänge erweitert, und es bekam dadurch einen stärkern Zufluß. Die Einwohner dieser Stadt hatten gut te Deum laudamus zu singen, indessen daß die zu Lissabon ganz andere Töne anstimmten. So sind die Zufälle beschaffen, welche das menschliche Geschlecht betreffen. Die Freude der einen und das Unglück der andern haben oft eine gemeinschaftliche Ursache. Im Königreich Fez in Afrika spaltete eine unterirdische Gewalt einen Berg und goß blutrothe Ströme aus seinem Schlunde. Bei Angoulême in Frankreich hörte man ein unterirdisches Getöse, es öffnete sich eine tiefe Gruft auf der Ebene und hielt unergründliches Wasser in sich. Zu Gçmenos in Provence wurde eine Quelle plötzlich schlammicht und ergo sich darauf roth gefärbt. Die umliegende Gegenden berichteten gleiche Veränderungen an ihren Quellen. Alles dieses geschah in denselben Minuten, da das Erdbeben die Küsten von Portugal verheerte. Es wurden auch hin und wieder in eben diesem kurzen Zeitpunkte einige Erderschütterungen in weit entlegenen Ländern wahrgenommen. Allein sie geschahen fast alle dicht an der Seeküste. Zu Cork in Irland, imgleichen zu Glückstadt und an einigen andern Orten, die am Meere liegen, geschahen leichte Bebungen. Mailand ist vielleicht derjenige Ort, der noch in der weitesten Entfernung von dem Seeufer an eben demselben Tage erschüttert worden. Eben diesen Vormittag um 8 Uhr tobte der Vesuvius bei Neapolis und ward stille gegen die Zeit, da die Erschütterung zu Portugal geschah.

IMMANUEL KANT, Geschichte und Naturbeschreibung der merkwürdigsten Vorfälle des Erdbebens, welches an dem Ende des 1755sten Jahres einen großen Theil der Erde erschüttert hat [1756]