Categoria: Walt Whitman

Song of the Open Road. Walt Whitman

the open road

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Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well.

Allons! be not detain’d!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Walt Whitman

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O Captain! my Captain! Walt Whitman

IJsland 26-5-2003 (04).jpgO Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

Só raízes e folhas. Walt Whitman

IMG_8743
Só raízes e folhas.
Odores trazidos dos bosques bravios e das margens do lago até aos homens e às mulheres,
Azeda-do-seio e cravos de amor, dedos que se enlaçam mais apertados que trepadeiras,
Jorros das gargantas dos pássaros ocultos na folhagem das árvores enquanto o sol se ergue,
Brisas da terra e do amor que sopram das praias vivas até vós sobre o mar vivo, até vós, ó marinheiros!
Bagas amolecidas pela geada e rebentos de Março oferecidos frescos aos jovens que vagueiam pelos campos
quando o inverno termina,
Botões de amor postos à tua frente e dentro de ti, quem quer que sejas,
Botões que vão desabrochar como sempre,
Se trouxeres o calor do sol até eles, hão-de abrir para te trazerem forma, cor, perfume,
Se te tornares sustento e humidade, eles vão ser flores, frutos, altos ramos e árvores.

Walt Whitman
Tradução: Maria de Lourdes Guimarães

Come. Walt Whitman

details flower

Come, said my Soul

Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)

That should I after death invisibly return,

Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,

There to some group of mates the chants resuming,

(Tallying Earth’s soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)

Ever with pleas’d smiles I may keep on,

Ever and ever yet the verses owning – as, first, I here and now,

Singing for Soul and Body, set to them my name

 

Walt Whitman