ONE ART

O filme era de uma mediocridade absoluta e nem o estava a ver. Ia espreitando, enquanto escrevia. Às tantas ouço alguém ler um poema. Que começava "the art of losing isn't hard to master". Aí pensei "eh lá", isto é melhor que o filme. Segui o resto do poema. Era um texto de Elizabeth Bishop. Um poema muito bom. O que tem o arco nabateu de Bosra (Síria) a ver com o poema? Nada. Quase nada. É só a recordação de um sítio extraordinário. Que está perdido.

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:
places, 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.