Floresta outonal com casas
Walter Moras (Alemanha,1856 – 1925)
óleo sobre tela, 60 x 100 cm
“Minha tristeza, quando está aqui comigo, pensa que esses dias escuros, chuvosos do outono são tão bonitos possível; ela ama a árvore ressequida, nua; e caminha pela trilha encharcada do pasto.”
Robert Frost
Do poema: My November Guest
tradução: Ladyce West
My sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
This poem is in the public domain.
Nota: Robert Frost está entre os muitos poetas americanos que admiro. Tenho um cantinho de meu coração reservado para seu domínio. E quanto mais admiro mais difícil se torna a tradução porque sei de conotações que ligam à obra inteira do escritor.
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