Ted Hughes

Ele mesmo, o capeta em pessoa!!!Segundo as feministas de butique, o responsável pelo suicidio da Silvia Plath! Mais fácil encontrar um demonio assim ao lado do que procurar as razões da deterioração da cabeça de uma pessoa tão sensitiva e especial quanto Sylvia. That's life!!!
O que se esquecem sempre de dizer é que Ted é um poeta maior, supersensível, antenas ligadíssimas no mundo e nas pessoas, uma parabólica do bem. Claro, há milhares de histórias a respeito dele, já li pepenta, mas até aonde vai a verdade é que é!

Fate playing

Because the message somehow met a goblin,
Because precedents pripped your expectationa,
Because your London was still a kaleydoscope
of names and places any jolt could scramble,
You waited mistaken. The bus from the North
Came in and emptied and I was not on it.
No matter how much you insisted
and begged the driver, probably with tears,
To produce me or to remember seeing me
Just miss getting on. I was not on it.
Eight in the evening and I was lost and at large
Somewhere in England. You restrained
Your confident inspiration
And did not dash out into the traffic
Milling around Victoria, utterly certain
of bumping into me where I would have to be walking.
I was not walking anywhere. I was sitting
Unperturbed in my seat on the train
Rocking towards King's Cross. Somebody,
calmer than you, had a suggestion. So,
When I got off the train, expecting to find you
Somewhere down at the root of the platform,
I saw that surge and agitation, a figure
Breating the flow of released passengers,
Then your molten face, your molten eyes
And your exclamations, your flinging arms
Your scattering tears
As if I had come back from the dead
Against every possibility, agains
Every negative but your own prayer
To your own gods. There I knew what it was
To be a miracle. And behind you
Your jolly taxi-driver, laughing, like a small god,
To see an American girl being so American,
And to see your frenzied chariot-ride,
Sobbing and goading him and pleading with him
To make happen what you needed to happen.
Succeed so completely, thanks to him.
Well, it was a wonder
That my train was not earlier, even much earlier,
TRhat it pulled in, late, the very moment
You irrupted onto the platform. It was
Natural and miraculous and an omen
Confirming everything
You wanted confirmed. So your huge despair,
Your cross-London panic dash
And now your triumph, splashed over me,
Like love forty-nine times magnified,
Like the first thunder cloudburst engulfing
The drought in August
When the whole cracked earth seems to quake
And every leaf trembles
And everything holds up its arms weeping.

Um desencontro, e voilá!!!C'est de la art!!!

O poema consta da coletânea Cartas de Aniversário, publicada pela editora Relógio D'Água, de Lisboa, edição de 2000. A edição é bilíngue, mas os irmãos Campos que me perdoem, poesia traduzida é uma coisa estranha, mesmo que por gênios como os próprios e Manuel Bandeira... Podem entrar no sitio da editora, o link taí....maravilhas...