«Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality»

Kazuaki Tanahashi, Miracles of Each Moment

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Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future

And time future contained in time past.

If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable.

What might have been is an abstraction

Remaining a perpetual possibility

Only in a world of speculation.

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage which we did not take

Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden. My words echo

Thus, in your mind.

But to what purpose

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves

I do not know.

Other echoes

Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?

Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,

Round the corner. Through the first gate,

Into our first world, shall we follow

The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.

There they were, dignified, invisible,

Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,

In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,

And the bird called, in response to

The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,

And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses

Had the look of flowers that are looked at.

There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.

So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,

Along the empty alley, into the box circle,

To look down into the drained pool.

Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,

And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,

And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,

The surface glittered out of heart of light,

And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.

Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,

Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.

Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind

Cannot bear very much reality.

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

II

(...)

Time past and time future

Allow but a little consciousness.

To be conscious is not to be in time

But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,

The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,

The moment in the draughty church at smokefall

Be remembered; involved with past and future.

Only through time time is conquered.

(...)

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T. S. Eliot, Burnt Norton (excerto) (1935)

Cf. Todo o poema in Maria Pavlova, «The Still Point of the Turning World: T.S. Eliot Reads His Timelss Ode to the Nature of Time in a Rare Recording», in Brain Pickings

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Nota pessoal:

A minha noção do tempo, e da vida no tempo, cada vez mais se prende com a ideia de que uma vida é uma colecção de momentos, uma série de fragmentos de tempo, que ficam na nossa memória, ou são esquecidos. Há momentos bons e momentos maus, momentos maravilhosos e outros extremamente dolorosos, há momentos que permanecem, outros que são fugazes. Nem todos esses momentos pertencem à realidade física e objectiva. Alguns estão em histórias que vimos, lemos, ouvimos ou até imaginámos. Alguns são acontecimentos, sensações, outros são pessoas e diálogos - ou até animais a que nos afeiçoámos. E nós vamos mudando e construindo o nosso ser ao longo desses momentos. Penso que é o conjunto desses momentos, desses segundos, dessas sensações (memórias ?) que faz as nossas vidas e aquilo que somos.

Neste momento, há uma canção de que gosto e que deixo aqui, em registo.