Sylvia Plath
Mirror
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Enviado por João.
Mirror
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Enviado por João.


5 Comments:
At 8:48 PM,
Unknown said…
Realmente aquela tradução não era boa. Mas o poema é ótimo, anyway. Flickers é uma palavra tão gostosa de dizer: flickers!
At 3:35 PM,
Anônimo said…
sylvia: "i am silver". beautiful.
At 3:37 PM,
Anônimo said…
esse poema é sublime.
At 3:40 PM,
Anônimo said…
joão. será que eu vou encontrar este livro caído no chão, perto da esquina do cinema, numa manhã nublada? será que este poema voará até mim, para salvar-me, outra e outra vez? Será que ele tem nome e dono? Não quero emprestado porque não vou devolver. Então, eu aceito o nome do livro de presente, sorrindo de gratidão.
At 10:52 AM,
Anônimo said…
Oi, Dani,
hehe. É mto bom mesmo, né? Eu não tenho nada dela tb. Este aí eu peguei na internet. Mas não deve ser difícil encontrar alguma coisa dela nestas boas livrarias, tipo Travessa ou Da Vinci.
beijos
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