Bem, este poema é complexo... é na verdade uma nova maneira de abordar o tema do amor, que toda a gente aborda (no mundo da musica) com as musicas que todos conhecemos em que ouvimos repetidamente "i love you" ou "i miss you", etc...
Este é um ângulo diferente daquilo que é o amor. Do mundo que é o amor. Das dificuldades, das mentiras, dos nossos esconderijos de que ninguem fala. Acho que apesar de não ser muito falado é também o que faz o amor crescer e andar para a frente quando se está numa relação. É uma perspectiva um pouco fria, sim. Mas é aquela ideia de que mesmo que corra tudo mal, valeu a pena.
PROZAC
There are sides of me you’ll never know
Lies and anxiety that tend to grow
It’s enough the part of me that I show
So you can love
So you can care
So you can fuck
So you can bear
There’s a kind of love you’ll never find
A kind of shame I tend to hide
A life of me I put aside
So we can love
So we can care
So we can fuck
So we can share
Some days I’ll lift you up
Someday I’ll have enough
And I’ll let you know
I will show…
(There’ll be a side of me you’ll start to know
There’ll be a kind of love that we may bear
Maybe a kind of life that we can share)
So I will love
So I will care
So I will choose
So I will bear
So I won’t cry
So I will say
That we are there
Wherever we may be
You came to set me free.
4 comments:
Que andas tu a tomar? jk Ainda no outro dia tinhas esse nick no msn e o meu pai no comp e leu-me "prozac" :X ups e eu "é uma música" uff :P
Eu tb já tinha lido. É bem verdade :).
P.S.:Já agora, punhas uns acentozinhos no textinho inicial, não?;)
E estamos aqui para caminhar lado a lado com todos esses lados que tens.
Beijo
Your Prozac made me think about 'The waves', from the difficultly complex Virginia Woolf. You and Bernard seem to have some things in common. I think you’ll like him.
"Every hour something new is unburied in the great bran pie. What am I? I ask. This? No, I am that. Especially now, when I have left a room, and people talking, and the stone flags ring out with my solitary footsteps, and I behold the moon rising, sublimely, indifferently, over the ancient chapel - then it becomes clear that I am not one and simple, but complex and many. Bernard, in public, bubbles; in private, is secretive. That is what they do not understand, for they are now undoubtedly discussing me, saying I escape them, am evasive. They do not understand that I have to effect different transitions; have to cover the entrances and exits of several different men who alternately act their parts as Bernard. I am abnormally aware of circumstances. (…) But "joined to the sensibility of a woman" (I am here quoting my own biographer) "Bernard possessed the logical sobriety of a man." Now people who make a single impression, and that, in the main, a good one (for there seems to be a virtue in simplicity), are those who keep their equilibrium in mid-stream. (…) you understand that I am only superficially represented by what I was saying tonight. Underneath, and, at the moment when I am most disparate, I am also integrated. I sympathize effusively; I also sit, like a toad in a hole, receiving with perfect coldness whatever comes. Very few of you who are now discussing me have the double capacity to feel, to reason. (…) I also am too complex. In my case something remains floating, unattached."
Oh, it's Carol here, by the way.
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