No dog knows my smell.

Coloquei no dia 20 de outubro um texto publicado no blog da Paris Review que falava sobre um amor que acontecia inicialmente através de cartas e que terminava, obviamente, com uma. Esses dias, minha grande amiga e companheira de cyber devaneios J. mandou para mim o mesmo link. Alguns dias depois ela pegou o trecho do poema de Robert Lowell que a autora do post citava e fez um postal, que eu adorei, e que me lembrou a capa do cd do Teenage Fanclub "Four thousand seven hundred and sixty-six seconds". Procurando achei o poema de origem, descobri que existe um livro só de correspondências entre ele e Elizabeth Bishop, e percebi que fazia tempo não ouvia esse cd.

Homecoming - Robert Lowell

What was is . . . since 1930;
the boys in my old gang
are senior partners.  They start up
bald like baby birds
to embrace retirement.

At the altar of surrender,
I met you
in the hour of credulity.
How your misfortune came out clearly
to us at twenty.

At the gingerbread casino,
how innocent the nights we made it
on our Vesuvio martinis
with no vermouth but vodka
to sweeten the dry gin--

the lash across my face
that night we adored . . .
soon every night and all,
when your sweet, amorous
repetition changed.

Fertility is not to the forward,
or beauty to the precipitous--
things gone wrong
clothe summer
with gold leaf.

Sometimes
I catch my mind
circling for you with glazed eye--
my lost love hunting
your lost face.

Summer to summer,
the poplars sere
in the glare--
it's a town for the young,
they break themselves against the surf.

No dog knows my smell.

Uma música refrescante do cd.