A poem I return to every now and then, if only to remind myself that our grip on life, frail though it may seem, doesn't cease to surprise us in the most testing times - or, harder even, amidst the desultory, futile banality of the everyday.
You've Lived
All through the play, Hamlet's
Looking for some hold in the world.
All through it, he's searching for something in life
To bear the weight of his being
And neither his father's murder,
The adultery of his mother
Nor Ophelia's love --
Things shattering enough
One would have thought --
Is sufficient to root him
In the rank, unweeded garden
Which was what he called life.
He was here without an anchor
In a fruitless sea of being.
And he never evolved an interest
(As we say) 'to keep him going' --
He, with his wayward life; he, the lost one.
So take comfort --
Even if you only grow onions,
Breed rabbits or put ships in bottles,
If that grips you, you are one of the saved,
The light shines on you, you can fear death,
Go in dread of the end.
That is to say, you've lived.
Gwyn Thomas
Photo: Jim Brandenburg
2 comments:
Um belíssimo e comovente poema.
Um poema que ja' conhecias de outras paragens, PJ. Mas creio que nunca e' de mais revisitar os poemas que nos comovem.
Post a Comment