sexta-feira, outubro 27, 2006
Roubado, editado mas apenas intuído
Há um conto de Raymond Carver, Blackbird Pie, sobre uma mulher que deixa o marido de um momento para o outro, depois de escrever uma carta em que explica que o casamento acabou.
O marido não aceita, não compreende, não consegue viver com isso.
Até que, obcecado com a História, chega, no último parágrafo do texto, a esta espantosa consciência da sua condição:
«It could be said (...) that to take a wife is to take a history. And if that’s so, then I understand that I’m outside history now (…). Or you could say that my history has left me. Or that I’m having to go on without history. Or that history will now have to do without me - unless my wife writes more letters, or tells a friend who keeps a diary, say.
Then, years later, someone can look back on this time, interpret it according to the record, its scraps and tirades, its silences and innuendoes.
That’s when it dawns on me that autobiography is the poor man’s history. And that I am saying goodbye to history.
Goodbye, my darling.»
0 comments
O marido não aceita, não compreende, não consegue viver com isso.
Até que, obcecado com a História, chega, no último parágrafo do texto, a esta espantosa consciência da sua condição:
«It could be said (...) that to take a wife is to take a history. And if that’s so, then I understand that I’m outside history now (…). Or you could say that my history has left me. Or that I’m having to go on without history. Or that history will now have to do without me - unless my wife writes more letters, or tells a friend who keeps a diary, say.
Then, years later, someone can look back on this time, interpret it according to the record, its scraps and tirades, its silences and innuendoes.
That’s when it dawns on me that autobiography is the poor man’s history. And that I am saying goodbye to history.
Goodbye, my darling.»
