De como uma aldrabice do eduardo pitta me levou a este maravilhoso poema ou deus escreverá direito por linhas tortas [obrigada, nuno, sejas tu quem fores]

ESTE POST TEM QUE VER COM ESTE (cf. caixa de comentários)

"Escrevo ainda sobre o livro de contos Nos Sonhos Começam as Responsabilidades, de Delmore Schwartz (1913-1966), a obra que o consagrou. Admirado por Nabokov e T. S. Eliot, Schwartz é um dos poetas mais importantes dos anos 1930-40 americanos. Convidado habitual da Casa Branca, morreu aos 52 anos na miséria extrema. (...)."
[do senhor citado mais abaixo]

"In addition to being known as a gifted writer, Schwartz was considered a great conversationalist and spent much time entertaining friends at the White Horse Tavern in New York City."
[daqui]


E AGORA VAMOS AO QUE INTERESSA

Nothing is given which is not taken.

Little or nothing is taken which is not freely desired,
       freely, truly and fully.

"You would not seek me if you had not found me": this is
       true of all that is supremely desired and admired...

"An enigma is an animal," said the hurried, harried 
        schoolboy:

And a horse divided against itself cannot stand;

And a moron is a man who believes in having too many 
       wives: what harm is there in that?

O the endless fecundity of poetry is equaled 
By its endless inexhaustible freshness, as in the discovery
        of America and of poetry.

Hence it is clear that the truth is not strait and narrow but infinite:
All roads lead to Rome and to poetry
        and to poem, sweet poem
       and from, away and towards are the same typography.

Hence the poet must be, in a way, stupid and naive and a 
       little child;

Unless ye be as a little child ye cannot enter the kingdom 
        of poetry.

Hence the poet must be able to become a tiger like Blake; a
       carousel like Rilke.

Hence he must be all things to be free, for all impersonations
a doormat and a monument
to all situations possible or actual
The cuckold, the cuckoo, the conqueror, and the coxcomb.

It is to him in the zoo that the zoo cries out and the hyena:
"Hello, take off your hat, king of the beasts, and be seated, 
Mr. Bones."

And hence the poet must seek to be essentially anonymous.
He must die a little death each morning.
He must swallow his toad and study his vomit
as Baudelaire studied la charogne of Jeanne Duval.

The poet must be or become both Keats and Renoir and
Keats as Renoir.
Mozart as Figaro and Edgar Allan Poe as Ophelia, stoned 
out of her mind
drowning in the river called forever river and ever...

Keats as Mimi, Camille, and an aging gourmet.
He must also refuse the favors of the unattainable lady
(As Baudelaire refused Madame Sabatier when the fair 
blonde summoned him,

For Jeanne Duval was enough and more than enough, 
although she cuckolded him
With errand boys, servants, waiters; reality was Jeanne Duval.
Had he permitted Madame Sabatier to teach the poet a greater whiteness,
His devotion and conception of the divinity of Beauty
would have suffered an absolute diminution.)

The poet must be both Casanova and St. Anthony,

He must be Adonis, Nero, Hippolytus, Heathcliff, and
Phaedre,
Genghis Kahn, Genghis Cohen, and Gordon Martini
Dandy Ghandi and St. Francis,

Professor Tenure, and Dizzy the dean and Disraeli of Death.

He would have worn the horns of existence upon his head, 
He would have perceived them regarding the looking-glass, 
He would have needed them the way a moose needs a hatrack;
Above his heavy head and in his loaded eyes, black and scorched,
He would have seen the meaning of the hat-rack, above the glass
Looking in the dark foyer.

For the poet must become nothing but poetry, 
He must be nothing but a poem when he is writing 
Until he is absent-minded as the dead are
Forgetful as the nymphs of Lethe and a lobotomy...
("the fat weed that rots on Lethe wharf").

DAQUI