MiniBiografia

(...) On 22October, Allen stood before the lion-faced doorbell of the narrow three-floor house on Calle Querini that Olga Rudge had owned since 1928. Pound was silent throughout the visit. (...) Allen recorded in his journals: 'He had come upstairs swiftly when I asked him to listen, and folded self in chair, silent hands crossed on lap, picking at skin, absorbed.' Allen put on the Beatles' 'Eleanor Rigby' and 'Yellow Submarine'. Pound smiled lightly at the line 'no one was  saved'. Allen played Dylan's 'Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands', and 'Gates of Eden', sometimes repeating words aloud for Pound to hear clearly. Allen even brought along Donovan's 'Sunshine Superman'. (...)'Sat there all along,' Allen wrote. 'I drunk, he impassive, earnest, attentive, asmile.' Allen continued the concert by chanting mantras to Krishna, Tara and Manjusri. Hearing the Manjusri mantra, Olga Rudge came to the top floor ...

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 Porque não escreves? Quando ontem me fizeram esta pergunta, apercebi-me de como ela me é repetida de tempos a tempos por uma pessoa diferente, como um eco. A minha resposta é vaga ou silenciosa, denota provavelmente insegurança. Mas o que se responde a uma pergunta destas? Diz-se que não se tem jeito, que lemos o suficiente para nos apercebermos de que não sabemos escrever... Que está tudo escrito, que hoje o que fazemos são apenas adaptações... Que não se tem vida suficiente. Mas e isso importa? Melhor seria deixar de lado as constantes e impeditivas racionalizações e somente escrever. Pensa antes nisto: I began typing, not with the idea of writing a formal poem, but stating my imaginative sympathies, whatever they were worth. As my loves were impractical and my thoughts relatively unworldly, I had nothing to gain, only the pleasure of enjoying on paper those sympathies most intimate to myself and most awkward in the great world of family, formal education, bus...

Sunflower Sutra Ah, Sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves and aspire Where my Sunflower whishes to go! William Blake , in Songs of Innocence and Experience A páginas cem, a visão. Há pedaços de livros que por mais que sejam lidos por milhares de outros, serão sempre nossos.