27 outubro 2013

"As canções perderam impacto. Inclusive as boas. Elas estão em toda parte, são ouvidas em todas as situações, sem força".


Este domingo dormi mais pesado que o normal. É data de nascimento da suicide poetess Sylvia Plath, que nos deixou esta bela canção de ninar: "Respirei fundo e escutei o velho e orgulhoso som do meu coração. Eu sou, eu sou, eu sou." (I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.) - The bell jar‎ - Página 199, Sylvia Plath - Bantam Books, 1972 - 216 páginas. Impossível não associar ao que ocorreu, em sincronicidade mórbida, também hoje...

O sono me dragava, enquanto já pipocavam as notícias sobre a morte do mestre Lou Reed, com 71 anos, por complicações devido a um transplante de fígado. Pai da música alternativa, poeta das esquinas norte-americanas, fundador do Velvet Underground, grupo que o artista Pop Andy Warhol fora mentor. Um dia triste para seus fãs, beatnicks, punks e demais que têm bom gosto. Exímio letrista, era admirador de Edgar Allan Poe, Raymond Chandles e James Joyce, a quem faz referências em BLUE MASK:


They tied his arms behind his back
to teach him how to swim
They put blood in his coffee
and milk in his gin
They stood over the soldier
in the midst of the squalor
There was war in his body
and it caused his brain to holler

Make the sacrifice
mutilate my face
If you need someone to kill
I'm a man without a will
Wash the razor in the rain
let me luxuriate in pain
Please don't set me free
death means a lot to me

The pain was lean and it made him scream
he knew he was alive
He put a pin through the nipples on his chest
he thought he was a saint
I've made love to my mother, killed my father and brother
what am I to do
When a sin goes too far, it's like a runaway car
it cannot be controlled

Spit upon his face and scream
there's no Oedipus today
This is no play you're thinking you are in
what will you say
Take the blue mask down from my face
and look me in the eye
I get a thrill from punishment
I've always been that way

I loathe and despise repentance
you are permanently stained
Your weakness buys indifference
and indiscretion in the streets
Dirty's what you are and clean is what you're not
you deserve to be soundly beat

Make the sacrifice
take it all the way
There's no "won't" high enough
to stop this desperate day
Don't take death away
cut the finger at the joint
Cut the stallion at his mount
and stuff it in his mouth

R.I.P

Um comentário:

Tarco disse...

não consigo ficar triste... ele deixou um legado invejável! só conheço e mal o trabalho do velvet mas acabei de ler um artigo sobre a biografia dele que diz o seguinte:

“It simply requires a very secure ego to allow yourself to be loved for what you do rather than who you are, and an even larger one to realize you are what you do. The singer has a soul but feels he isn’t loved off stage. Or, perhaps worse, feels he shines only on stage and off is wilted, a shell as common as the garden gardenia. But we are all common as snowflakes, aren’t we?”

Poesia pura!