STOPPARD, Tom – The Invention of Love. London: Faber and Faber, 1998.
a minha relação com tom stoppard
sir tom stoppard
só não é mais carnal porque ele não deixa
é a história dos acasos outra vez
ter-me aparecido à frente aquela versão
do ros and guil are dead
e pôs-se mais um lugar à mesa
imediatamente
(é assim que eu organizo
as pessoas de bem
com a minha cabeça)
de tal maneira que em havendo guerra
e sobrando só uma lata
(potencialmente de pork ‘n’ beans porque não
a realidade imita a arte
na medida em que é toda inútil)
abrimos a lata eu e o bernhard
e a colher três é do tom
:
Nome: Lord Malquist and Mr Moon
Autor: Tom Stoppard
Formato: 192 páginas
Dimensões (em centímetros): 1,6 x 18,6 x 12,4
Data de publicação: 1993 (1ª ed., 1966)
Descrição: Dramatis Personæ and Other Coincidences
Temas: Bombas, Cowboys, Cristo Relevantado, Leões, Lordes, Londres, Sangue.
Tipos de letra: ?
Primeira frase do livro: ‘When the battle becomes a farce the only position of dignity is above it,’ said the ninth earl (the battle raging farcically beneath him).
Última frase do livro: The horses bolted again, dispersing Moon and O’Hara and bits of pink and yellow wreckage at various points along the road between the Palace and Parliament Square.
Dedicatória: Não
:
e depois resolvemos
quem come a seguir
quando estivermos mortos eu e ele
vou casar-me com o stoppard
:
Moon tried to think of something to say that would give him courage, expiate his guilt, dignifiy the moment.
‘I think I love you,’ he said.
‘That isn’t necessary, Bosie, or relevant.’
:
‘Turn your backs!’
‘If my presence embarrasses you, dear lady, pray close your eyes.’
Nevertheless Lord Malquist turned round. Moon also began to turn but remembering his status he went on turning until he faced her again just as she hoisted her dressing-gown to squat on the bidet, so deciding then that he had been alright the first time, he continued until he faced the wall, at which point in sudden fury he revised again his assessment of marital privilege and turned on another hundred-and-eighty degrees and was at once shamed into the concession that certain intimacies were, after all, sacred, so completed the circle, closing his eyes for penance, and felt dizzy and opened his eyes to the realisation that he had turned too far. He closed his eyes, tried to reverse his turn and fell backwards into the bath.
Spin deaf and blind in soft white warmth. If this is death let it come.
But he was pulled out all too quickly.
‘I got dizzy,’ he explained.
‘I should think you did — what were you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ said Moon. ‘I was trying to face one way or the other and I got confused and fell over.’
Let that be my epitaph.
:
It was all a question of preparing one’s material. There was no point in beginning to write before one’s material had been prepared. Moon, who had experimented on a number of variations of a first sentence, felt this quite strongly. He found the vastness of his chosen field reassuring rather than daunting but it did cramp his style; he could not put down a word without suspecting that it might be the wrong one and that if he held back for another day the intermediate experience would provide the right one. There was no end to that, and Moon fearfully glimpsed himself as a pure writer who after a lifetime of absolutely no output whatever, would prepare on his deathbed the single sentence that was the distillation of everything he had saved up, and die before he was able to utter it.
é uma fogueira que irrita completamente às quatro da manhã
percebe-se muito melhor a impossibilidade de não amar
quando se ouve stoppard sobre isso
ser uma tábua cuidadosamente feita das melhores madeiras
segundo as regras do jogo
aprende-se tudo ao mesmo tempo
dá vontade de parar tudo e nunca mais escrever
mas é precisamente por isso que eu tenho de
