Do jazz à poesia
Conheci a poesia de Robert Creeley (1945-2005) através da música de Steve Swalow (contrabaixo) acompanhado pelo piano de Steve Kuhn, pelos saxofones de David Liebman, pelas teclas de Lyle Mays e pela bateria de Bob Moses. Sheila Jordan deu a sua magnífica voz. O álbum, intitulado Home, foi editado pela ECM em 1980 e reeditado em cd mais tarde. Quanto a mim acho-o imprescindível para quem aprecia jazz. Midnight é um dos poemas musicado. Goodbye não faz parte do álbum mas faz parte da arte de Creeley.
MIDNIGHT
When the rain stops
and the cat drops
out of the tree
to walk
Away, when the rain stops
when the other come home, when
the phone stops
the drip of water, the
potential of a caller
and Sunday afternoon
GOODBYE
Now I recognize
it was always me
like a camera
set to expose
itself to a picture
or a pipe
through which the water
might run
or a chicken
dead for dinner
or a plan
inside the head
of a dead man.
Nothing so wrong
when one considered
how it all began.
It was Zukofsky's
"Born very young into a world
already very old..."
The century was well along
when I came in
and now that it's ending,
I realize it won't
be long.
But couldn't it all have been
a little nicer,
as my mother'd say. Did it
have to kill everything in sight,
did right always have to be so wrong?
I know this body is impatient.
I know I constitute only a meager voice and mind.
Yet I loved, I love.
I want no sentimentality.
I want no more than home
MIDNIGHT
When the rain stops
and the cat drops
out of the tree
to walk
Away, when the rain stops
when the other come home, when
the phone stops
the drip of water, the
potential of a caller
and Sunday afternoon
GOODBYE
Now I recognize
it was always me
like a camera
set to expose
itself to a picture
or a pipe
through which the water
might run
or a chicken
dead for dinner
or a plan
inside the head
of a dead man.
Nothing so wrong
when one considered
how it all began.
It was Zukofsky's
"Born very young into a world
already very old..."
The century was well along
when I came in
and now that it's ending,
I realize it won't
be long.
But couldn't it all have been
a little nicer,
as my mother'd say. Did it
have to kill everything in sight,
did right always have to be so wrong?
I know this body is impatient.
I know I constitute only a meager voice and mind.
Yet I loved, I love.
I want no sentimentality.
I want no more than home
eubozeno 18:14
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