Não, não é falta de conhecimento de outras referências, mas um testemunho de encanto incontido sempre que me cruzo com os exigentes poemas sanguíneos de Gerard Manley Hopkins. Desta feita aqui fica o suspiro vital de As kingfishers catch fire. Que possa ser uma boa companhia neste dia.
As kingfishers catch fire
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is -
Chríst - for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.
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