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Sylvia, III

15 de Setembro de 2010

The Triumph of Death (c. 1562), Pieter Brueghel the Elder

Two views of a Cadaver Room

(1)

The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Of the death vats clung to them;
The white-smocked boys started working.
The head of his cadaver had caved in,
And she could scarcely make out anything
In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.
A sallow piece of string held it together.

In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow.
He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.

(2)

In Brueghel’s panorama of smoke and slaughter
Two people only are blind to the carrion army:
He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin
Skirts, sings in the direction
Of her bare shoulder, while she bends,
Fingering a leaflet of music, over him,
Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands
Of the death’s-head shadowing their song.
These Flemish lovers flourish; not for long.

Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country
Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.

Plath, Sylvia
1959 «Two Views of a Cadaver Room»; ed. ut.: in Complete Poems, New York, HarpperCollins, 114.

Anúncios

3 comentários

  1. aqui estão eles.


  2. cf. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mus-eacute-e-des-beaux-arts/

    kiss*


  3. para esse, não tenho palavras.
    Obrigada, meu amigo.



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