The Lake

Per als qui estigueu avorrits o preparant el Halloween, una cançó d'Antony and the Johnsons, adaptada d'un poema d'Edgar Allan Poe. El poema és difícil d'interpretar perquè, com acostuma a passar en poesia, és més simbòlic i evocador que no pas descriptiu. El meu millor intent fins al moment és aquest:

com de vegades passa, els fantasmes no són aparicions òbvies, sinó presències, memòries o estats d'ànim lligats a llocs físics.

THE LAKE
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less --
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody --
Then -- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremolous delight --
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define --
Nor Love -- although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining --
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.