(re)leituras – “The Waste Land”de T.S.Eliot

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses

If there were water

And no rock

If there were rock

And also water

And water

A spring

A pool among the rock

If there were the sound of water only

Not the cicada

And dry grass singing

But sound of water over a rock

Where the hermit thrush sings in the pine trees

Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

But there is no water


(excerto do capítulo “What the Thunder Said”)

Registo fotográfico III – Água horizontal

Chego a Porto Covo e quero sentar-me na arriba e observar o mar, liso e verde no horizonte, a rebentar sem piedade nas rochas e nos pescadores. Sempre gostei de fotografar pescadores. Cuidadosos, aguardam com paciência a próxima criatura, seja ela qual for, lançam engodo, recolhem a pesca, mudam o isco, evitam outra onda sorrateira, À esturra ali ganham o dia, outros nos barcos, embora hoje os marinheiros me pareçam ter ficado em terra. A foto foi tirada em graças de paisagem pois o horizonte é horizontal, não há volta a dar.