Troubled Water

“The two men dined alone. They ate parsley soup, whiting, roast veal, cabinet pudding; they drank whisky and soda. Lord Copper explained Nazism, Fascism and Communism; later, in his ghastly library, he outlined the situation in the Far East. “The Beast stands for strong mutually antagonistic governments everywhere,” he said. “Self-sufficiency at home, self-assertion abroad.” Mr. Salter’s side of the conversation was limited to expressions of assent. When Lord Copper was right, he said, “Definitely, Lord Copper”; when he was wrong, “Up to a point.” “Let me see, what’s the name of the place I mean? Capital of Japan? Yokohama, isn’t it?” “Up to a point, Lord Copper.” “And Hong Kong belongs to us, doesn’t it?” “Definitely, Lord Copper.” Scoop (1938) “As ants, so soldiers. In the years to come he was to see the process at work again and again, sometimes in grim circumstances, sometimes in pleasant domesticity. Men unnaturally removed from wives and family began at once to build substitute h...

"Aproxima-te um pouco de nós, e vê. O país perdeu a inteligência e a consciência moral. Os costumes estão dissolvidos, as consciências em debandada, os carácteres corrompidos. A prática da vida tem por única direcção a conveniência. Não há principio que não seja desmentido. Não há instituição que não seja escarnecida. Ninguém se respeita. Não há nenhuma solidariedade entre os cidadãos. Ninguém crê na honestidade dos homens públicos. Alguns agiotas felizes exploram. A classe média abate-se progressivamente na imbecilidade e na inércia. O povo está na miséria. Os serviços públicos são abandonados a uma rotina dormente. O desprezo pelas ideias em cada dia. Vivemos todos ao acaso. Perfeita, absoluta indiferença de cima abaixo! Toda a vida espiritual, intelectual, parada. O tédio invadiu todas as almas. A mocidade arrasta-se envelhecida das mesas das secretárias para as mesas dos cafés. A ruína económica cresce, cresce, cresce. As quebras sucedem-se. O pequeno comércio definha. A indús...

[...] As previsões estimam que em 2050 seja necessário aumentar 60% a produção mundial de alimentos para conseguir dar resposta às necessidades alimentares da população. E demasiados grupos, todos eles, obviamente, provenientes de países ricos, continuam a demonizar os alimentos geneticamente modificados, mesmo quando a ciência continua a demonstrar a sua segurança e quando reside neles a nossa maior esperança de combater a fome no mundo. A possibilidade de colocar genes de cacto, resistentes à seca, em culturas de milho ou mandioca em África, a possibilidade de enriquecer o arroz com vitamina A, a possibilidade de tornar os alimentos mais resistentes ao apodrecimento… Tudo isto são formas concretas e seguras de lidar com o problema da fome que mata mais do que qualquer guerra ou doença no mundo. E só este dado deveria ser suficiente para fazer pensar quem se manifesta contra os alimentos geneticamente modificados, renunciando à ciência, e quem, escondido atrás de uma causa, despeja le...

Now it is Loneliness who comes at night Instead of Sleep, to sit beside my bed. Like a tired child I lie and wait her tread, I watch her softly blowing out the light. Motionless sitting, neither left or right She turns, and weary, weary droops her head. She, too, is old; she, too, has fought the fight. So, with the laurel she is garlanded. Through the sad dark the slowly ebbing tide Breaks on a barren shore, unsatisfied. A strange wind flows… then silence.  I am fain To turn to Loneliness, to take her hand, Cling to her, waiting, till the barren land Fills with the dreadful monotone of rain Loneliness (1910) I wish I had not got a cold, The wind is big and wild, I wish that I was very old, Not just a little child. Somehow the day is very long Just keeping here, alone; I do not like the big wind's song, He's growling for a bone He's like an awful dog we had Who used to creep around And snatch at things—he was so bad, With just that horrid sound. I'm sitting up and nurse ...

Amidst the dust of bookshops, wide dispersed     And never purchased there by anyone, Yet similar to precious wines, my verse     Can wait: its turn will come. Trad: Vladimir Nabokov I know the truth! All former truths are swept away! No longer now do people need to fight each other. And see: the evening’s here; and see, night ends the day. So what have you to say, O poet, general, lover? And now a wind blows up; the dew begins to seep, And in the sky a starry blizzard soon will harden, And we on earth who never let each other sleep, Will soon be sleeping underneath an earthy burden. Trad: Rupert Moreton Autumn, 1908. Moscow There, where a million lampade-stars Burn in the face of ancient time, Where evening ringing's sweet to heart, Where towers are in love with sky; There, where in shade of airy folds Transparent-white wander the dreams, I fathomed meaning of old riddles, A moon-believer I became. In madness, with a fitful breathing, To know all to the root s...

"Elle a trente ans, elle est professeur, mariée à un «cadre», mère de deux enfants. Elle habite un appartement agréable. Pourtant, c'est une femme gelée. C'est-à-dire que, comme des milliers d'autres femmes, elle a senti l'élan, la curiosité, toute une force heureuse présente en elle se figer au fil des jours entre les courses, le dîner à préparer, le bain des enfants, son travail d'enseignante. Tout ce que l'on dit être la condition «normale» d'une femme." La Femme Gelée (1979) "Depuis peu, je sais que le roman est impossible. Pour rendre compte d'une vie soumise à la nécessité, je n'ai pas le droit de prendre d'abord le parti de l'art, ni de chercher à faire quelque chose de passionnant, ou d'émouvant. [...] Aucune poesie du souvenir, pas de dérision jubilante. L'écriture plate me vient naturellement, celle-là même que j'utilisais en écrivant autre-fois à mes parents pour leur dire de nouvelles essentielles."...

Je vous salue ma France, arrachée aux fantômes ! Ô rendue à la paix ! Vaisseau sauvé des eaux... Pays qui chante : Orléans, Beaugency, Vendôme ! Cloches, cloches, sonnez l'angélus des oiseaux ! Je vous salue, ma France aux yeux de tourterelle, Jamais trop mon tourment, mon amour jamais trop. Ma France, mon ancienne et nouvelle querelle, Sol semé de héros, ciel plein de passereaux... Je vous salue, ma France, où les vents se calmèrent ! Ma France de toujours, que la géographie Ouvre comme une paume aux souffles de la mer Peur que l'oiseau du large y vienne et se confie. Je vous salue, ma France, où l'oiseau de passage, De Lille à Roncevaux, de Brest au Montcenis, Pour la première fois a fait l'apprentissage De ce qu'il peut coûter d'abandonner un nid ! Patrie également à la colombe ou l'aigle, De l'audace et du chant doublement habitée ! Je vous salue, ma France, où les blés et les seigles Mûrissent au soleil de la diversité... Je vous salue, ma France, o...

Sweet, oh sweet, from the fields to-day Wafts the breath of the new-mown hay. Sewing away in a happy dream, I sit in the porch with my long white seam. The very silence is like a tune, Sung to the golden afternoon. While the house is still, and the meadows lie Fast asleep 'neath the radiant sky. Only at intervals, now and then, I hear the farmer call to his men. And the farmer's voice is dear to me As ever a mortal voice can be. You may talk of the love of youth and maid, Of two in childhood, perhaps, who played Together by rill and fount and tree, Till their hearts had grown one heart to be; You may tell of the loyal faith and life Of the husband dear and the gentle wife; But the widowed mother leans closest on The tender strength of her only son. Ah! what if that farmer of mine one day Should seek him a bride, as well he may, And bring her home! Would I be loath, Mother and friend, to live for both? For somehow the scent of the new-mown hay Carries me back to a far-off day, W...