segunda-feira, 13 de janeiro de 2020

PARIS, 1972

O veteraníssimo Richard Estes (n. 1932) passou pelo blogue em 2014 e em 2016. Esta tela hiper-realista de 1972 lança-me no tão borgesiano e querido tema dos espelhos. A semana vai andar por aí, entre realidades que se cruzam e se refletem. Isto anda tudo ligado, como gostam de dizer os da teoria da conspiração.

The Other Side of a Mirror
I sat before my glass one day,
     And conjured up a vision bare,
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,
     That erst were found reflected there –
The vision of a woman, wild
     With more than womanly despair.
Her hair stood back on either side
     A face bereft of loveliness.
It had no envy now to hide
     What once no man on earth could guess.
It formed the thorny aureole
     Of hard unsanctified distress.
Her lips were open – not a sound
     Came through the parted lines of red.
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
     In silence and in secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
     She had no voice to speak her dread.
And in her lurid eyes there shone
     The dying flame of life's desire,
Made mad because its hope was gone,
     And kindled at the leaping fire
Of jealousy, and fierce revenge,
     And strength that could not change nor tire.
Shade of a shadow in the glass,
     O set the crystal surface free!
Pass – as the fairer visions pass –
     Nor ever more return, to be
The ghost of a distracted hour,
     That heard me whisper, "I am she!"
Mary Coleridge (1861-1907)

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