A escala Warhol (2)
O entretém «A escala Warhol» teve alguma resposta nos blogues e mais alguma na caixa de correio. A ideia não era tanto comparar as pessoas famosas que cada um conheceu (um exercício pateta), mas dar conta da frustração que é conhecer uma «celebridade». Eles não têm nada para nos dizer, nós só temos patacoadas e clichés. Entre os mails que recebi, houve relatos de alguns bacalhaus e autógrafos avulsos a estrelas mundiais, encontros geralmente decepcionantes ou problemáticos com escritores nacionais e também uma leitora a quem Pedro Santana Lopes galou as pernas.
Sobre o facto (essencial) de não sabermos absolutamente nada sobre as «celebridades», por mais «factos» que conheçamos, deixo por sugestão de dois leitores um poema de Auden, de 1934, chamado «Who’s who»:
A shilling life will give you all the facts:
How Father beat him, how he ran away,
What were the struggles of his youth, what acts
Made him the greatest figure of his day;
Of how he fought, fished, hunted, worked all night,
Though giddy, climbed new mountains; named a sea:
Some of the last researchers even write
Love made him weep his pints like you and me.
With all his honours on, he sighed for one
Who, say astonished critics, lived at home;
Did little jobs about the house with skill
And nothing else; could whistle; would sit still
Or potter round the garden; answered some
Of his long marvellous letters but kept none.
Sobre o facto (essencial) de não sabermos absolutamente nada sobre as «celebridades», por mais «factos» que conheçamos, deixo por sugestão de dois leitores um poema de Auden, de 1934, chamado «Who’s who»:
A shilling life will give you all the facts:
How Father beat him, how he ran away,
What were the struggles of his youth, what acts
Made him the greatest figure of his day;
Of how he fought, fished, hunted, worked all night,
Though giddy, climbed new mountains; named a sea:
Some of the last researchers even write
Love made him weep his pints like you and me.
With all his honours on, he sighed for one
Who, say astonished critics, lived at home;
Did little jobs about the house with skill
And nothing else; could whistle; would sit still
Or potter round the garden; answered some
Of his long marvellous letters but kept none.
