Poema à noite #22

Langour

I have come back to the couch-

hands behind my head,

legs crossed at the ankles-

to resume my lifelong study

of the ceiling and its river-like crack,

its memory of a water stain,

the touch of civilization

in the rounded steps of the molding,

and the lick of time in the flaking plaster.

To move would only ruffle

the calm surface of the morning,

and disturb shadows of leaves in the windows.

And to throw open a door

would startle the fish in the pond,

maybe frighten a few birds from the hedge.

Better to stay here,

to occupy the still room of thought,

to listen to the dog breathing on the floor,

better to count my lucky coins,

or redesign my family coat of arms-

remove the plow and hive, shoo away the bee.

Billy Collins, in Nine Horses

Da beleza #7

Na origem da beleza está unicamente a ferida, singular, diferente para cada qual, escondida ou visível, que todos os homens guardam dentro de si, preservada, e onde se refugiam ao pretenderem trocar o mundo por uma solidão temporária mas profunda. Fora de miserabilismos. A arte de Giacometti parece querer revelar essa ferida secreta dos seres e das coisas, para que ela os ilumine. Jean Genet , in O Estúdio de Alberto Giacometti Alberto Giacometti no seu estúdio em Paris (fonte aqui)