martes, 5 de mayo de 2009

The Pantiers and Emily Sparks in Spoon River Anthology


Benjamin Pantier

TOGETHER in this grave lie Benjamin Pantier, attorney at law,
And Nig, his dog, constant companion, solace and friend.
Down the gray road, friends, children, men and women,
Passing one by one out of life, left me till I was alone
With Nig for partner, bed-fellow, comrade in drink.
In the morning of life I knew aspiration and saw glory.
Then she, who survives me, snared my soul
With a snare which bled me to death,
Till I, once strong of will, lay broken, indifferent,
Living with Nig in a room back of a dingy office.
Under my jaw-bone is snuggled the bony nose of Nig—
Our story is lost in silence. Go by, mad world!


Mrs. Benjamin Pantier

I KNOW that he told that I snared his soul
With a snare which bled him to death.
And all the men loved him,
And most of the women pitied him.
But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes,
And loathe the smell of whiskey and onions.
And the rhythm of Wordsworth’s “Ode” runs in your ears,
While he goes about from morning till night
Repeating bits of that common thing;
“Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?”
And then, suppose:
You are a woman well endowed,
And the only man with whom the law and morality
Permit you to have the marital relation
Is the very man that fills you with disgust
Every time you think of it—while you think of it
Every time you see him?
That’s why I drove him away from home
To live with his dog in a dingy room
Back of his office.


Reuben Pantier

WELL, Emily Sparks, your prayers were not wasted,
Your love was not all in vain.
I owe whatever I was in life
To your hope that would not give me up,
To your love that saw me still as good.
Dear Emily Sparks, let me tell you the story.
I pass the effect of my father and mother;
The milliner’s daughter made me trouble
And out I went in the world,
Where I passed through every peril known
Of wine and women and joy of life.
One night, in a room in the Rue de Rivoli,
I was drinking wine with a black-eyed cocotte,
And the tears swam into my eyes.
She thought they were amorous tears and smiled
For thought of her conquest over me.
But my soul was three thousand miles away,
In the days when you taught me in Spoon River.
And just because you no more could love me,
Nor pray for me, nor write me letters,
The eternal silence of you spoke instead.
And the black-eyed cocotte took the tears for hers,
As well as the deceiving kisses I gave her.
Somehow, from that hour, I had a new vision—
Dear Emily Sparks!


Emily Sparks

WHERE is my boy, my boy—
In what far part of the world?
The boy I loved best of all in the school?—
I, the teacher, the old maid, the virgin heart,
Who made them all my children.
Did I know my boy aright,
Thinking of him as spirit aflame,
Active, ever aspiring?
Oh, boy, boy, for whom I prayed and prayed
In many a watchful hour at night,
Do you remember the letter I wrote you
Of the beautiful love of Christ?
And whether you ever took it or not,
My boy, wherever you are,
Work for your soul’s sake,
That all the clay of you, all of the dross of you,
May yield to the fire of you,
Till the fire is nothing but light!...
Nothing but light!

Edgar Lee Masters

9 comentarios:

Rosigerante dijo...

Mmmmnn, este me suena conocido... ¿No lo habías puesto antes?

Alan Elías dijo...

No, en el pasado coloqué otra entrada de Spoon River Anthology, pero era acerca de Chase Henry y Judge Somers.

Aparecen ahora bajo la etiqueta de "Masters, Edgar Lee".

Estoy haciendo un intento por ser más específico con las etiquetas, pero esto me llevará tiempo porque tengo que clasificar todo desde el inicio.

Rosigerante dijo...

¡Obsesivo!

Alan Elías dijo...

¿Cómo?

Rosigerante dijo...

No te ofendas, ni te enojes. Me salió muy natural. Lamento si... pues si... no te gusto mi comentario. Lo dije porque me pareció una actitud obsesiva eso de las etiquetas.

Pero era un comentario en broma. Sin malas intenciones escondidas, ni nada.

Alan Elías dijo...

No, no te preocupes, Rosigerante. No lo dije molesto.

Lo de reetiquetar todo me vino a la mente días antes de que ocurrera este comentario, creo que fue apenas la semana pasada. Estaba pensando que en un futuro sería difícil encontra determinado texto dentro de más de 300 "Textos y fragmentos que amo" o "Poemas que amo", y el número seguirá creciendo. Ya era hora de clasificarlos por autor o por temas más específicos por si algún día me interesara a mí o a uno de los lectores volver a alguna entrada con facilidad.

Rosigerante dijo...

Mmmnn, comprendo. Es una buena y práctica idea. Por cierto, ¿alguna vez vas a poner eso de los autores y libros que te gustan en el espacio donde, desde el principio, has anunciado que lo haráis (allí, en la columna derecha de la plantilla)?

Saludos.

Alan Elías dijo...

Lo que pasa es que nunca tuve en mente ponerlos ahí, sino que ese espacio describía qué era la etiqueta de "autores y obras para comentar". Pero ahora que lo pienso, sí se pudo haber interpretado como dices. Tal vez un cambio de tiempo verbal o la supresión de esa parte de la columna resuelva el problema.

Gracias.

Rosigerante dijo...

Mmmjjjum... Y también yo hubiera podido interpretarlo como dices...

De nada.