A Wallace Stevens, nos 63 anos de sua morte! A poesia vive…

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Walt Whitman, Oh! Pioneers

Poema de W. Whitman*

1
COME, my tan-faced children, 
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; 
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp edged axes?  

Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
2
For we cannot tarry here, 
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,  

Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
3
O you youths, Western youths, 
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship, 
Plain I see you, Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,  

Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
4
Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied, over there beyond the seas? 
We take up the task eternal, and the burden, and the lesson,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
5
  All the past we leave behind; 
We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world, 
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,  Pioneers! O pioneers!
  
6
  We detachments steady throwing, 
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, 
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing, as we go, the unknown ways,  Pioneers! O pioneers!
    
  
7
  We primeval forests felling, 
We the rivers stemming, vexing we, and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
8
  Colorado men are we, 
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus, 
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,  Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
9
  From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental blood intervein’d,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,  Pioneers! O pioneers!
               
  
10
  O resistless, restless race! 
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all! 
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,  
Pioneers! O pioneers!
  
11
  Raise the mighty mother mistress, 
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress, (bend your heads all,) 
Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d mistress,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
12
See, my children, resolute children, 
By those swarms upon our rear, we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions, frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
13
  On and on, the compact ranks, 
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill’d, 
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,  
Pioneers! O pioneers!
    
  
14
  O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come? 
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d,
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
15
  All the pulses of the world, 
Falling in, they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving, to the front, all for us,  
Pioneers! O pioneers!
  
16
  Life’s involv’d and varied pageants, 
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work, 
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,  Pioneers! O pioneers!
    
  
17
  All the hapless silent lovers, 
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
18
  I too with my soul and body, 
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, 
Through these shores, amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
19
 
  Lo! the darting bowling orb! 
Lo! the brother orbs around! all the clustering suns and planets, 
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
20
  These are of us, they are with us, 
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
21
  O you daughters of the West! 
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives! 
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
22
  Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands! you may rest, you have done your work,) 
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
23
  Not for delectations sweet; 
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious, 
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,  
Pioneers! O pioneers!
  
24
  Do the feasters gluttonous feast? 
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors? 
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,  
Pioneers! O pioneers! 
  
25
  Has the night descended? 
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged, nodding on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,  
Pioneers! O pioneers!
    
  
26
  Till with sound of trumpet, 
Far, far off the daybreak call — hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind, 
Swift! to the head of the army! — swift! spring to your places,  
Pioneers! O pioneers.

+++++
Fonte: “Walt Whitman, Complete Poetry an Collected Prose“, Ed. The Library of America, 1982, p.371-375.
Incorporei os números aos versos para facilitar futuras citações. Infelizmente, não achei minha velha tradução, para transcrever. Concordo Manuel Frias Martins que a obra de Whitman é “fragmentariamente traduzida em português” e que “merecia há muito ser traduzida na totalidade” – o que aconteceu em Portugal, mas não sei de tradução completa no Brasil.
Conheci um volume da década de 80, da Edit. Brasiliense (Folhas das Folhas da Relva) que era tradução parcial. Agora soube da tradução da Editora Martin Claret e da Iluminuras, nas não possuo nenhuma dessas e perdi o livrinho que li em muitas reuniões com amigos no final dos anos oitenta… provavelmente, esse livrinho faz parte do acervo de algum amigo da época, conquistado pela força dos versos deste que é considerado o maior poeta americano. O poema transcrito acima, como sabem, serviu de inspiração a Willa Cather na composição de o seu inolvidável romance “O Pioneers”. Terminei de ler o romance e ainda devo refletir mais antes de ousar uma resenha. Boa semana! (AQ)

No mínimo, um poema ao dia…#4

UM POEMA POR DIA (4) – ELIZABETH BISHOP (1911-1979).

i. Original e, logo abaixo, ii. Tradução de Nélson Ascher.

i. Poema original.


One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
faces, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next- to- last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

*.*
Do livro “Geography iii” (1976).

ii. Poema traduzido em Português por Nélson Ascher assim:

Uma certa arte


(trad. Nélson Ascher)*


A arte da perda é fácil de estudar:
a perda, a tantas coisas, é latente
que perdê-las nem chega a ser azar.

Perde algo a cada dia. Deixa estar:
percam-se a chave, o tempo inutilmente.
A arte da perda é fácil de abarcar.

Perde-se mais e melhor. Nome ou lugar,
destino que talvez tinhas em mente
para a viagem. Nem isto é mesmo azar.

Perdi o relógio de mamãe. E um lar
dos três que tive, o (quase) mais recente.
A arte da perda é fácil de apurar.

Duas cidades lindas. Mais: um par
de rios, uns reinos meus, um continente.
Perdi-os, mas não foi um grande azar.

Mesmo perder-te (a voz jocosa, um ar
que eu amo), isso tampouco me desmente.
A arte da perda é fácil, apesar
de parecer (Anota!) um grande azar.

*****
BISHOP, Elizabeth. In: ASCHER, Nelson. Poesia alheia. 124 poemas traduzidos. Rio de Janeiro: Imago, 1998. – Consultado hoje, 14h47p.m. Miami, Flórida.
Em “How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love With Poetry”, Edward Hirsch comenta sobre este poema que é o modelo de “design” – o como fazer da Poesia; neste caso um exercício na forma franco-italiana de “Villanelle”, proveniente da canção folclórica italiana e trazida para a América no final do séc. XiX. (c) imagem destacada – Blog Poets United.

 

Eric Ponty traduz emily dickinson

There is another sky*

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,

Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields –

Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

© Emily Dickinson.

Não existe outro dum céu*

Não existe outro dum céu,
foi sempre sereno e justo,
E havendo há um outro sol,

Apesar sejam véus não existentes
Nunca mentem fracas florestas, Austin,
Nunca mentem silenciosos dos campos –

Aqui está uma pequena floresta,
cuja folha é sempre imatura.

Aqui está um brilhante jardim,
Onde não houve uma geada ida.
Em suas indefectíveis flores.
Estou a escutar o murmúrio das abelhas vivas.
Por favor meu irmão
no meu jardim! .

Trad.ERIC PONTY.

Emily Dickinson (“uma centena de poemas”)

QUÃO SABOROSAS SÃO AS MANHÃS DE SÁBADO… Tanto mais quando as completamos com poesia.

ABRO “Uma Centena de Poemas”(*) ao acaso, como quem abrisse um breviário. E me vem este presente:

Trad., introd. e notas de Aíla de Oliveira Gomes
Trad., introd. e notas de Aíla de Oliveira Gomes

Dizem, ‘com o tempo se esquece’,
Mas isto não é verdade,
Que a dor real endurece,
Como os músculos, com a idade.

O tempo é o teste da dor,
Mas não é o seu remédio –
Prove-o e, se provado for,
É que não houve moléstia.
(686)
School

E virando a página:

“Um pensamento me veio hoje à mente
Que já antes me ocorreu.
Não o concluí; foi tempo atrás; que ano
Não lembro corretamente;

Nem para onde foi, nem porque veio
A mim por segunda vez;
Nem, em definitivo, o que ele era
Tenho a arte de dizer.

Mas – em algum canto – em minha alma – eu sei
Que já encontrei Coisa assim –
Foi só um relembrar – foi tão somente –
E já não mais veio a mim.
(701)

 

+++++
Fonte: DICKINSON, Emily. “Uma Centena de Poemas”. Trad., introd. e notas por Aíla de Oliveira Gomes. T.A. Queiroz/USP, S.Paulo, 1984, p. 100/103.

Ver também os poemas no original:
606
They say that “Time assuages” –
Time never did assuage –
An actual suffering strengthens
As Sinews do, with age –

Time is a Test of Trouble –
But not a Remedy –
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no Malady –


701
A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish – some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went – nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know –
I’ve met the thing before –
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more –
© Emily Dickinson, trad. AÍLA DE OLIVEIRA GOMES.

Emily Dickinson (“uma centena de poemas”)

QUÃO SABOROSAS SÃO AS MANHÃS DE SÁBADO… Tanto mais quando as completamos com poesia.

ABRO “Uma Centena de Poemas”(*) ao acaso, como quem abrisse um breviário. E me vem este presente:

Trad., introd. e notas de Aíla de Oliveira Gomes
Trad., introd. e notas de Aíla de Oliveira Gomes

Dizem, ‘com o tempo se esquece’,
Mas isto não é verdade,
Que a dor real endurece,
Como os músculos, com a idade.

O tempo é o teste da dor,
Mas não é o seu remédio –
Prove-o e, se provado for,
É que não houve moléstia.
(686)
School

E virando a página:

“Um pensamento me veio hoje à mente
Que já antes me ocorreu.
Não o concluí; foi tempo atrás; que ano
Não lembro corretamente;

Nem para onde foi, nem porque veio
A mim por segunda vez;
Nem, em definitivo, o que ele era
Tenho a arte de dizer.

Mas – em algum canto – em minha alma – eu sei
Que já encontrei Coisa assim –
Foi só um relembrar – foi tão somente –
E já não mais veio a mim.
(701)

 

+++++
Fonte: DICKINSON, Emily. “Uma Centena de Poemas”. Trad., introd. e notas por Aíla de Oliveira Gomes. T.A. Queiroz/USP, S.Paulo, 1984, p. 100/103.

Ver também os poemas no original:
606
They say that “Time assuages” –
Time never did assuage –
An actual suffering strengthens
As Sinews do, with age –

Time is a Test of Trouble –
But not a Remedy –
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no Malady –


701
A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish – some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went – nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know –
I’ve met the thing before –
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more –
© Emily Dickinson, trad. AÍLA DE OLIVEIRA GOMES.

Feliz 2012

Bem-Vindos a 2012, com Emily Dickinson em áudio do LibriVox (*)

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I’ve known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.
++++
OBS.: Sem acesso ao livro (sempre citado ao longo de 2011) de minha amada dona Aíla de Oliveira Gomes*, que sempre trago nas traduções dos poemas de Emily, para meu blog, posto este comentário em inglês, transcrito do site
AcademicBrooklyn, esperando que os anglófonos aproveitem e que aqueles que não dominam a língua de Emily, recorram ao Google Translator.
Amitiés, BetoQ.

“This poem about friendship or of love, if you prefer, illustrates why Dickinson has been called the poet of exclusion. The poem describes choosing a friend (or lover), and rejecting (excluding) all others. Do you feel a difference in her presentation of these two actions, selecting and rejecting? does she emphasize selecting the friend more than rejecting all others, or is the act of excluding emphasized?

“Dickinson presents the individual as absolute and the right of the individual as unchallengeable. In this poem, the soul’s identity is assured. The unqualified belief in the individual and in self-reliance is characteristically and quintessentially American.

“This poem also illustrates Dickinson’s tendency to write lines in units of two. If you look at the lines, you will see that all the lines in this poem are organized in units of two.

Stanza 1

In lines 1 and 2, what sound is repeated? Is she emphasizing key words with this alliteration?

Dickinson has the “soul” doing the choosing. What aspects or part of the human being does “soul” represent? For example, the stomach would represent appetite and hunger or express our physical needs; the brain, as we discussed in class, our rational or intellectual side. Does using “soul” give a high or a low value to the way this individual selects friends? Does she have admirably high standards or is she despicably vain and insensitive?

The phrase “divine majority” is interesting. “Divine” does more than just continue the image of “soul.” It confers status (what higher status or rank could one have?), and status is an important idea in Dickinson’s poetry. We must now consider the meaning of “majority.”Majorityhas several meanings: (1) more than half, (2) the age of legal adulthood, no longer a minor, (3) the military rank of major, (4) superiority (an obsolete meaning today). Which definition or definitions are meant here? Think about how each one fits into the meaning of the poem and how it adds to the effect of the poem and choose. It is possible, in a poem, for all these meanings to be intended.

What kind of a gesture is shutting the door? Is it, for example, an action that leaves open the possibility of change, or is it a final action? What are the connotations of the word “obtrude”? Does it suggest a charming interruption, an offensive action, or some other type of behavior on the part of the people who have been excluded?

Stanza 2

The soul is not won by worldly rank or power. A number of words indicate status: chariot, low gate, emperor, kneeling, mat. Who has the superior worldly status? Is there a suggestion of status and superiority in some other scale of values? Consider that the emperor has come to her, for his chariot is at her gate. Is there a hint that he is courting her?

In line 3, Dickinson eliminates words; a careless reader might think that it is the emperor who is unmoved, a confusing reading since he has come to her and is kneeling before her. Dickinson has omitted the subject and verb, which she stated explicitly in line 1, “she notes.” It is the soul who is unmoved by the emperor’s kneeling before her.

Stanza 3

Dickinson depicts the rigor and the finality of the soul’s choice. The numerous field (“ample nation”) she has to choose among is contrasted with the narrowing of her choice, “one.” What is the effect of “ample” and “nation”? Having chosen, the soul closes the “valves” of her attention. Does the soul have choice or control over valves? Do closed valves allow anything in? Would her valves let anyone in? Is the phrase “like stone” relevant here? What is like stone–the soul’s choice, her attention, or the valves? What qualities do we associate with stone–warmth, cold, softness, flexibility, hardness? Is it a coincidence that the poem ends with “stone” or is it appropriate? Openings and closings get more attention than or stand out from the rest of a text because of their position.

The last point I want to make concerns meter and line length. In every stanza, the first line is longer (has more syllables and feet) than the other three. The second and fourth lines are shorter (have fewer syllables and feet). However, in the last stanza, the second and fourth lines are shorter than in the preceding stanzas; each line has only two syllables. This exceptionally short line calls attention to itself; these lines sound hard, emphatic, and final, an appropriate effect for the idea expressed in these lines”.
+++++
Fontes:
LibriVox, lido por Becky Miller (poema em domínio público). Texto do site AcademicBrooklyn
Help – To Obtrude = 1. To impose (oneself or one’s ideas) on others with undue insistence or without invitation. 2. To thrust out; push forward.
(*) Oliveira Gomes, Aila de. Emily Dickinson. Uma Centena de Poemas”, Traduções de Aila de Oliveira Gomes, T.A. Queiroz-Editora da USP, S.Paulo, 1984.