Thursday, September 01, 2011

Poesia Americana: Donald Hall


Donald Hall

To grow old is to lose everything.

Aging, everybody knows it.

Even when we are young,

we glimpse it sometimes,

and nod our heads

when a grandfather dies.

Then we row for years on the midsummer

pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,

that began without harm, scatters

into debris on the shore,

and a friend from school drops

cold on a rocky strand. If a new love carries us

past middle age, our wife will die

at her strongest and most beautiful.

New women come and go. All go.

The pretty lover who announces

that she is temporary is temporary.

The bold woman, middle-aged against

our old age, sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.

Another friend of decades estranges himself

in words that pollute thirty years.

Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge

and affirm that it is fitting and delicious to lose everything.

Mais Donald Hall aqui.


sabina said...

que bonito. gostei dessa expressão: plainspoken rural poet.

Paulodaluzmoreira said...

esse cara vai estar aqui semana que vem, na cidade onde ele cresceu, que é ao lado de New Haven. Gostei muito do tom do poema, tbm.