Sculpting in Time (II)
Neste que se proclama como sendo o Dia Mundial da Poesia, deixo o devido destaque a um grande poeta soviético. Falo de Arseny Tarkovsky, pai do mestre Andrei Tarkovsky. Eurydice A person has one body, Singleton, all on its own, The soul has had more than enough Of being cooped up inside A casing with ears and eyes The size of a five-penny piece And skin—just scar after scar— Covering a structure of bone. Out through the cornea it flies Into the bowl of the sky, On to an icy spoke, To a wheeling flight of birds, And hears through the barred window Of its living prison-cell The crackle of forests and corn-fields The trumpet of seven seas. A bodyless soul is sinful Like a body without a shirt— No intention, nothing gets done, No inspiration, never a line. A riddle with no solution: Who is going to come back After dancing on the dance-floor Where there's nobody to dance? And I dream of a different soul Dressed in ot...