terça-feira, 21 de fevereiro de 2012

Jack Karouac - How to Meditate

-lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
'thinking's just like not thinking-
So I don't have to think

Jack Kerouac

Soneto 58 Shakespeare

That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty,
And patience tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you your self may privilage your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Your self to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

Na tradução de Thereza Christina Rocque da Motta,

Que Deus me perdoe, por me tornar teu escravo,
Que eu deva pensar em velar tuas horas de prazer,
Ou para ti contar os momentos de ansiedade,
Sendo teu vassalo disposto a estar à tua mercê.
Ó deixa-me sofrer, sob tua vista,
A ausência aprisionada de tua liberdade,
E domada pela paciência para sofrer a cada vez
Sem te acusar de me injuriares.
Estejas onde estiveres, teu jugo é tão forte,
Que podes privilegiar teu tempo
Para o que quiseres; a ti somente cabe
Perdoar-te por teus próprios crimes.
Devo aguardar, embora esperarseja o inferno,
Sem culpar teu prazer, seja ele o mal ou o bem.

William Shakespeare

A Winter Dream - Rimbaud (English)

In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage
With cushions of blue.
We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits
In each corner too.

You’ll shut your eyes, not to see, through the glass,
Grimacing shadows of evening,
Those snarling monsters, a crowd going past
Of black wolves and black demons.

Then you’ll feel your cheek tickled quite hard…
A little kiss, like a maddened spider,
Will run over your neck…

And you’ll say: “Catch it!” bowing your head,
– And we’ll take our time finding that creature
– Who travels so far…

Arthur Rimbaud