marți, 12 aprilie 2011

Death Is Nothing at All

Nu mai ştiu de la cine a primit Uca poezioara asta în 1992, după moartea lui Dănuţ al ei, dar a devenit sfîntă pentru ea, o recita ca pe-o rugăciune. Şi aşa a şi trăit, for an interval.

Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow in it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well

(Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918, Canon of St Paul's Cathedral)

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