Poem
Vasco Graça Moura
clara haskill
and there’s always a human story that speaks to who we are,a narrative that prolongs the acoustics of our inner suns, destinies
as the afternoon starts waning, for instance, at
age sixty-five clara haskill fell on the platform
at the station in brussels and eventually died
of complications from the fall. but she’d already had
problems with her eyes and her back. she’d already
been forced to flee from germany. these notes
are on the jacket of the record where she, mozart’s
intermediary, plays the d-minor concerto, in an aura
of grave densities. you’re lying on the couch
reading a book when i tell you this. i don’t know
if you’re paying attention or just smiling as the music demands
and haskill would like. music is always autobiographical
for the listener, an accelerated anguish exacerbating what
we dared to know. and an intimate pact with light
and the ineffable part of experience make
for the sublime in these marginalia of life.
© Translation: 1998, Richard Zenith
clara haskill
clara haskill
e há sempre uma história das pessoas ouvida com o que somos,uma narração a prolongar a acústica dos sóis interiores, destinos
quando a tarde esmorece, por exemplo, aos
sessenta e cinco anos, clara haskill caiu na plataforma
da gare de bruxelas. veio a morrer
das complicações da queda. mas antes já tivera
problemas da coluna e da vista, já
tivera de fugir da alemanha. estas notas
vêm na capa do disco em que ela, a intermediária
de mozart, toca o concerto em ré menor, numa aura
de densidades graves. você está deitada no sofá
a ler um livro, quando eu lhe digo isto. não
sei se presta atenção, ou se apenas sorri como a música requer
e a haskill desejaria. a música é sempre autobiográfica
para o ouvinte, uma acelerada angústia desmedindo o que
ousávamos saber. e uma íntima aliança com a luz
e o inominável da experiência fazem
o sublime dessas marginalidades da vida.
© 1987, Vasco Graça Moura
From: A furiosa paixão pelo tangível
Publisher: Quetzal, Lisbon
From: A furiosa paixão pelo tangível
Publisher: Quetzal, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of Vasco Graça Moura
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clara haskill
and there’s always a human story that speaks to who we are,a narrative that prolongs the acoustics of our inner suns, destinies
as the afternoon starts waning, for instance, at
age sixty-five clara haskill fell on the platform
at the station in brussels and eventually died
of complications from the fall. but she’d already had
problems with her eyes and her back. she’d already
been forced to flee from germany. these notes
are on the jacket of the record where she, mozart’s
intermediary, plays the d-minor concerto, in an aura
of grave densities. you’re lying on the couch
reading a book when i tell you this. i don’t know
if you’re paying attention or just smiling as the music demands
and haskill would like. music is always autobiographical
for the listener, an accelerated anguish exacerbating what
we dared to know. and an intimate pact with light
and the ineffable part of experience make
for the sublime in these marginalia of life.
© 1998, Richard Zenith
From: A furiosa paixão pelo tangível
From: A furiosa paixão pelo tangível
clara haskill
and there’s always a human story that speaks to who we are,a narrative that prolongs the acoustics of our inner suns, destinies
as the afternoon starts waning, for instance, at
age sixty-five clara haskill fell on the platform
at the station in brussels and eventually died
of complications from the fall. but she’d already had
problems with her eyes and her back. she’d already
been forced to flee from germany. these notes
are on the jacket of the record where she, mozart’s
intermediary, plays the d-minor concerto, in an aura
of grave densities. you’re lying on the couch
reading a book when i tell you this. i don’t know
if you’re paying attention or just smiling as the music demands
and haskill would like. music is always autobiographical
for the listener, an accelerated anguish exacerbating what
we dared to know. and an intimate pact with light
and the ineffable part of experience make
for the sublime in these marginalia of life.
© 1998, Richard Zenith
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