The trumpet of morning blows in the clouds and through
The sky. It is the visible announced,
It is the more than visible, the more
Than sharp, illustrious scene. The trumpet cries
That is the successor of the invisible.

This is its substitute in stratagems
Of the spirit. This, in sight and memory,
Must take its place, as what is possible
Replaces what is not. The resounding cry
Is like ten thousand tumblers tumbling down

To share the day. The trumpet supposes that
a mind exists, aware of division, aware
Of its cry as clarion, it's dictions way
As that of a personage in a multitude:
Man's mind grown venerable in the unreal.

Wallace Stevens (cortesia de João Costa)


Bom dia!


© José Pacheco Pereira
Site Meter [Powered by Blogger]