Abrindo a Porta

"If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite."

William Blake

Joan Bennet, O Segredo da Porta Fechada, de Fritz Lang, 1948

Psique no Jardim de Cupido, John William Waterhouse

vida-monólogo

"Existem pessoas tão habituadas a estar só consigo mesmas, que não se comparam absolutamente com outras, mas, com disposição alegre e serena, em boas conversas consigo e até mesmo sorrisos, continuam a tecer a sua vida-monólogo. Se as levamos a compararem-se com outras, tendem a uma cismadora subestimação de si mesmas: de modo que devem ser obrigadas a reaprender com os outros uma opinião boa e justa sobre si: e também dessa opinião aprendida quererão deduzir e rebaixar alguma coisa. Portanto, devemos conceder a certos indivíduos a sua solidão e não ser tolos a ponto de lastimá-los, como frequentemente sucede."

Nietzsche, in Humano, Demasiado Humano

John Wiliam Waterhouse, Destiny

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

John William Waterhouse, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1893


Ballad


I.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.


John Keats (1795-1821)

Shadows of the world

John William Waterhouse, 1915, "I am half sick of shadows", said the Lady of Shalott (Tennyson, 1842)

Lady of Shalott, amaldiçoada, precisa constantemente de tecer uma tapeçaria mágica sem poder olhar directamente para fora, o mundo. Em vez disso, ela vê através de um espelho que reflecte a movimentada estrada vinda de Camelot.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.

Quando pára de tecer para olhar directamente, pela janela, para Lancelot, a maldição cai sobre si...

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

excerto de The Lady of Shalott, Tennyson, 1842