Tapeçaria (Tapestry)

A pedidos, a tradução da letra Tapestry (Carole King).
Trata-se de tradução livre, com as permissões interpretativas que tal modo compreende. Enjoy!

TAPEÇARIA

Minha vida tem sido uma peça de tapeçaria de rica e real matiz

Uma visão sempre presente de uma imagem em eterna mutação
Uma magia entrelaçada com maravilhas em pontos de azul e dourado
Uma tapeçaria para se sentir e ver, impossível de ter nas mãos


Certa vez entre prateada e terna tristeza no céu
Surgiu um homem do acaso, um viajante sem destino
Usava panos esfarrapados, rasgados ao redor de sua montaria em couro
E um casaco de muitas cores, verde amarelo em cada um dos lados
Movia-se com alguma incerteza, como se não soubesse
Simplesmente para que estava ali, ou para onde deveria ir


Eu o vi buscar algo dourado que se pendurava de uma árvore
Mas suas mãos voltaram vazias
Logo, dentro de minha tapeçaria, ao longo de sua trilha
Ele sentou-se em uma pedra no rio e transformou-se em um sapo
Pareceu-me que havia caído sob o feitiço malvado de alguém
E chorei forte ao vê-lo sofrer, embora não o conhecesse bem
À medida que o olhava com pesar, de repente vi surgir
Um figura cinza, fantasmal, por detrás de uma barba que parecia fluir com o vento
Em épocas de profunda tristeza, eu o vi vestido de preto
Agora minha tapeçaria se desvenda – ele veio me levar de volta
Veio me levar de volta.


(c) 1971

Tapestry (Carole King)

My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue
An everlasting vision of the ever-changing view
A wondrous, woven magic in bits of blue and gold
A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold

Once amid the soft silver sadness in the sky
There came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by
He wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide
And a coat of many colors, yellow-green on either side
He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn't know
Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go

Once he reached for something golden hanging from a tree
And his hand came down empty
Soon within my tapestry along the rutted road
He sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad
It seemed that he had fallen into someone's wicked spell
And I wept to see him suffer, though I didn't know him well

As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared
A figure gray and ghostly beneath a flowing beard
In times of deepest darkness, I've seen him dressed in black
Now my tapestry's unraveling--he's come to take me back
He's come to take me back

© 1971 ColGems-EMI Music, Inc. (ASCAP)

“I’ve just seen a face I can’t forget the time or place where we just met…” (Lennon-McCartney)

What’s with the memory of places we’ve been and people we’ve met?

There must be a way to save that piece of thought, that byte of memory that lies misplaced in the hard drive of our brain into the right directory. Locked, and bound, and retrievable as it was originally set up to be.

I say that because I feel the value and perception of each and every bit of what we recall changes as fast as I try to finish this very sentence.

The sweetness of a look, the candid expression created by that dimple in her face, it all revolves about the scenario set for that imprint. Try this recipe of experiment: Ask someone to recollect his or her most precious moment in terms of related feeling, jot that down and leave it to rest. Return to the oven of that image a year later, and redo the whole process.

Try that one more time a year later and afterwards get the three pieces together to compare them. Do you know what you are going get? This: The value imposed to that thought and recollection will have changed. The creation and narrative core may still be the same, but actually, it is the teller who is not.

Acknowledging the weight of that feeling, anytime we approach it, we tend to reconnect to our core values and beliefs and, like a painter who does not allow himself to let the wall paint of his living room to grow old and full of stains, we apply another layer of feeling to that piece of mind fabrication.

And, come to think of it, it is all a momentary fabrication, a sweet but yet, fleet snapshot of a feeling. Funny thing is, I feel we are, as player on a Shakespearian stage of life, the sum of those snapshots. Not a regular linear sum, though. It is more like a web, a tapestry woven with a myriad of textiles we collect upon our walk on earth. The image produced by such tapestry work might inspire our fellow man and vice versa - Exchange and interaction.

And on I go, in search of the next click of my senses, or yours.

Note: Check the lyrics of the beautiful song by Carole King, “Tapestry” at http://www.caroleking.com/index.php?p=discography&subp=ck_songs&letter=T&order= ou na seção "Músicas que eu gosto".