Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Sweetness

Automat
Edward Hopper, Automat, 1927

Just when it has seemed I couldn’t bear
one more friend
waking with a tumor, one more maniac

with a perfect reason, often a sweetness
has come
and changed nothing in the world

except the way I stumbled through it,
for a while lost
in the ignorance of loving

someone or something, the world shrunk
to mouth-size,
hand-size, and never seeming small.

I acknowledge there is no sweetness
that doesn’t leave a stain,
no sweetness that’s ever sufficiently sweet ....

Tonight a friend called to say his lover
was killed in a car
he was driving. His voice was low

and guttural, he repeated what he needed
to repeat, and I repeated
the one or two words we have for such grief

until we were speaking only in tones.
Often a sweetness comes
as if on loan, stays just long enough

to make sense of what it means to be alive,
then returns to its dark
source. As for me, I don’t care

where it’s been, or what bitter road
it’s traveled
to come so far, to taste so good.

Stephen Dunn

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

No fim da azinhaga, corre uma fonte
as maiores árvores crescem aí,
lançam as raízes pela terra fora
bebendo a água, que a terra dá.

É aí, que paramos e decidimos o que faremos em seguida.

J.

Claudia said...

Muito bonito, J! Obrigada.

Anonymous said...

Que poema tão verdadeiro e tão bonito. Adoro as tuas escolhas.
M.

Claudia said...

Escolher as palavras dos outros para tentar exprimir o que nos vai na alma nem sempre resulta mas neste caso achei perfeita a sintonia. Obrigada.