Ovídio em Ruanda

Enquanto aqui na Zona Sul carioca podemos nos ater a uma espécie de catolicismo burguês e satisfeito consigo, outras pessoas passam por situações extremas e fica a pergunta: o que dizer a elas? Não acredito por um segundo que o mal questione a possibilidade do cristianismo, mas me pergunto, sim, que exemplo ou que palavra eu poderia oferecer às mulheres estupradas de Ruanda.

Clique no link, e veja que, apesar da história de horror que envolve um sacerdote, a filha que nasceu dos estupros em série, praticados por vários homens, usa uma cruz. O que também é um grande exemplo para as pessoas que se julgam puras demais para pertencer a uma igreja.

Ovídio no Terceiro Reich
Geoffrey Hill
Tradução de Pedro Sette-Câmara; ver outra tradução

non peccat, quaecumque poteste peccasse negare,
solaque famosam culpa professa facit.
(AMORES, III, xiv)

Gosto do meu trabalho e de meus filhos. Deus
é distante, difícil. Dão-se coisas.
Perto assim das antigas tinas de sangue
a inocência não é arma terrena.

Uma coisa aprendi: a não desprezar tanto
os condenados. Eles, em seu plano próprio,
têm estranha harmonia com o amor
de Deus. Já eu, no meu, festejo seu coral.

Ovid in the Third Reich
Geoffrey Hill

non peccat, quaecumque poteste peccasse negare,
solaque famosam culpa professa facit.
(AMORES, III, xiv)

I love my work and my children. God
Is distant, difficult. Things happen.
Too near the ancient troughs of blood
Innocence is no earthly weapon.

I have learned one thing: not to look down
So much upon the damned. They, in their sphere,
Harmonize strangely with the divine
Love. I, in mine, celebrate the love-choir.

The Triumph of Love

Geoffrey Hill, The Triumph of Love. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1998

LIV

Entertainment overkill: that amplifier
acts as the brain of the putsch. The old
elixir-salesmen had no such entourage
though their product was superior; as was
their cunning oratory.
For the essentials of the cadre, Wordsworth’s
‘savage torpor’ can hardly be bettered
or his prescience refuted.
What it is they possess — and, at some mean
level, Europe lies naked to their abuse —
is not immediately
in the grasp of their hand. They are as vassal-
lord-puppet-strutters, not great scourges of God.
A simple text would strike them
dumb, and is awaited. Meanwhile
they are undeniable powers of this world,
closely attended in their performance
of sacral baseness, like kings at stool.

LV

Vergine bella — it is here that I enquire
a canzone of some substance. There are sound
precedents for this, of a plain eloquence
which would be perfect. But —
ought one to say, I am required; or, it is
required of me; or, it is requisite that I should
make such an offering, bring in such a tribute?
And is this real obleigation or actual
pressure of expectancy? One cannot purchase
the goodwill of your arduously simple faith
as one would acquire a tobacconist’s cum paper shop
or a small convenience store
established by aloof, hardworking Muslims.
Nor is language, now, what it once was
even in — wait a tick — nineteen hundred and forty-
five of the common era, when your blast-scarred face
appeared staring, seemingly in disbelief,
shocked beyond recollection, unable to recognize
the mighty and the tender salutations
that slowly, with innumerable false starts, the ages
had put together for your glory
in words and in the harmonies of stone.
But you have long known and endured all things
since you first suffered the Incarnation:
endless the extortions, endless the dragging
in of your name. Vergine bella, as you
are well aware, I here follow
Petrarch, who was your follower,
a sinner devoted to your service.
I ask that you acknowledge the work
as being contributive to your high praise,
even if no-one else shall be reconciled
to a final understanding of it in that light.