Outra TransCriação

SHAKESPEARE

SONNET XVII

"Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts"...

22.
(Felipe da Costa Marques)

Tenho áurea de fausto, homem do homem,
Artista Inca, mais velho do que os Incas,
Encontrado num túmulo sem nome,
Onde as coisas têm colorido cinza.
Idade de gémeos, vários cadeados
Do véu aos pés estava perto de Deus,
Quando o grande legado é um pecado
E minha alma e casa são simples "eus".
Pergunto a sina de ser protagonista.
Meu olhar que de repente se perdera
Na sensação de ter, não veio à vista
Abri os olhos, nem memória tivera
Recorda a ressalva de quem recorda
Um vazio de não ter visto as bordas.

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XXII.
(Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa)

My soul is a stiff pageant, man by man,
Of some Egyptian art than Egypt older,
Found in some tomb whose rite no guess can scan,
Where all things else to coloured dust did moulder.
Whate'er its sense may mean, its age is twin
To that of priesthoods whose feet stood near God,
When knowledge was so great that 'twas a sin
And man's mere soul too man for its abode.
But when I ask what means that pageant I
And would look at it suddenly, I lose
The sense I had of seeing it, nor can try
Again to look, nor hath my memory a use
That seems recalling, save that it recalls
An emptiness of having seen those walls.