Fragmentos

I Could Give All To Time

To Time it never seems that he is brave
To set himself against the peaks of snow
To lay them level with the running wave,
Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low,
But only grave, contemplative and grave.

What now is inland shall be ocean isle,
Then eddies playing round a sunken reef
Like the curl at the corner of a smile;
And I could share Time's lack of joy or grief
At such a planetary change of style.

I could give all to Time except — except
What I myself have held. But why declare
The things forbidden that while the Customs slept
I have crossed to Safety with? For I am There
And what I would not part with I have kept.

Há um mês pus aqui o poema de Elizabeth Bishop, The Art of Loss. I Could Give All To Time é um poema de Robert Frost (1874-1963), publicado em 1942 no livro A Witness Tree. Tinha 68 anos. Frost sabe que o Tempo, indiferente, destruirá tudo no seu caminho, mesmo as covinhas ao canto de um sorriso. Mas como poeta, ainda mais forte e feroz que E. Bishop, dá-nos, contra o Tempo e o seu verdadeiro ministro, a Morte, a sua versão da arte da contenção: For I am There And what I would not part with I have kept. Sem remorsos nem piedade.