To a stranger
by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
ASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
- You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
- I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
- All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
- You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
- I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
- You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
- I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
- I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
- I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
sexta-feira, 5 de novembro de 2010
it comes to me as of a dream
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As usual with Whitman he captures this hauntingly pleasant feeling that occurs too often in our lives to be pure accident. Where does this feeling come from? What is its origin? Most likely we'll never know with certainty; nevertheless, it is there, when our eyes connect with a stranger, who is not a stranger, in a park, on a street, in a bus, on a boat crossing over.....
We want to stop everything and talk until the memory evoked in this regard is made clear and we understand, once again (for surely what catches our eye, our heart, is but an echo of this previous understanding)who this “other” is to us and we to them.
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