avril 2012
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1. lixarpreocupar polir alisar arear brunir desgastar envernizar esbrugarouesbugar esmerilhar espelhar lapidarlimar lixar lustrar urbanizar
It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;
then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or how small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion.
But if you look long enough
eventually
you will see me.)from: Margaret Atwood, Selected poems, 1965-1975, Vol. 1 (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt), 1987
I’ll never find out now
What A. thought of me.
If B. ever forgave me in the end.
Why C. pretended everything was fine.
What part D. played in E’s silence.
What F. had been expecting, if anything.
Why G. forgot when she knew perfectly well.
What H. had to hide.
What I. wanted to add.
If my being around
meant anything
to J. and K. and the rest of the alphabet.” —
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA
Wislawa Szymborska, Poetry, “ABC,” The New Yorker, December 20, 2004, p. 72
Read more http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2004/12/20/041220po_poem_szymborska#ixzz1nysm8W5j
(via yama-bato)