Literatura Musicada

En 2007 se publicó el álbum No Promises de Carla Bruni, repleto de buena literatura de escritores universalmente conocidos (y reconocidos) como Emily Dickinson, H.D.Auden, Yeats, Christina Rosetti o Dorothy Parker. En mi opinión, ha sido menos difundido que el que le precedía y el que le siguió, ambos en francés.
Aquí dejo una de las canciones. Se trata del poema I Felt my Life with both my Hands de Emily Dickinson.



I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler

I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name
For doubt, that I should know the Sound
To ask the Owner's name
For doubt, that I should know the Sound

I judged my features, jarred my hair
I pushed my dimples by,
and waited, if they twinkled back
Conviction might, of me

I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name
For doubt, that I should know the Sound
To ask the Owner's name
For doubt, that I should know the Sound

I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend,
That was a former time
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!"

I turned my Being round and round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name
For doubt, that I should know the Sound
To ask the Owner's name
For doubt, that I should know the Sound

I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there.

In a Library. Emily Dickinson

Este poema pertenece a la autora estadounidense Emily Dickinson (Amherst, Massachussets 1830 - 1886) cuya ingente y magnífica obra fue publicada en su totalidad tras su muerte.

In a Library
A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warning in our own,
A passage back, or two to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;
When Sappho was a living girl,
And Betarice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you and all your dreams were true;

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.

(Imagen:Emilidickinsonmuseum.org)