retorno à caverna


Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.
In tortures all this is taken into account.

Nothing has changed.
The body shudders as it shuddered
before the founding of Rome and after,
in the twentieth century before and after Christ.
Tortures are as they were, it's just the earth that's grown smaller,
and whatever happens seems right on the other side of the wall.

Nothing has changed. It's just that there are more people,
besides the old offenses new ones have appeared,
real, imaginary, temporary, and none,
but the howl with which the body responds to them,
was, is and ever will be a howl of innocence
according to the time-honored scale and tonality.

Nothing has changed. Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances.
Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.
The body writhes, jerks and tries to pull away,
its legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,
it turns blue, swells, salivates and bleeds.
Nothing has changed. Except for the course of boundaries,
the line of forests, coasts, deserts and glaciers.
Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,
disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,
alien to itself, elusive, at times certain, at others uncertain of its own
while the body is and is and is
and has no place of its own.

Wislawa Szymborska

2 comentários:

  1. Não, pois... é tudo uma questão de politica, dos...

    “Os filhos da epoca”

    Somos os filhos da época,
    e a época é política.
    Todas as coisas - minhas, tuas, nossas,
    coisas de cada dia, de cada noite
    são coisas políticas.
    Queiras ou não queiras,
    teus genes têm um passado político,
    tua pele, um matiz político,
    teus olhos, um brilho político.
    O que dizes tem ressonância,
    o que calas tem peso
    de uma forma ou outra - político.
    Mesmo caminhando contra o vento
    dos passos políticos
    sobre solo político.
    Poemas apolíticos também são políticos,
    e lá em cima a lua já nao dá luar.
    Ser ou não ser: eis a questão.
    Oh, querida que questão mal parida.
    A questão política.
    Não precisas nem ser gente
    para teres importância política.
    Basta ser petróleo, ração,
    qualquer derivado, ou até
    uma mesa de conferência cuja forma
    vem sendo discutida meses a fio.
    Enquanto isso, os homens se matam,
    os animais são massacrados,
    as casas queimadas,
    os campos se tornam agrestes
    como nas épocas passadas
    e menos políticas