O Captain, My Captain!

Estive a ver um dos meus filmes preferidos: "The Dead Poets Society" (sim, OUTRA VEZ! E sim, é mais forte do que eu!)
Não me vou pôr aqui a tentar explicar o que o filme significa para mim por duas razões. Primeiro, porque nunca mais iria terminar e segundo porque não acredito que fosse conseguir ilustrar verbalmente ou fazer uma tradução daquilo que o bendito filme representa e me faz sentir - até porque apesar de já estar marreca de saber como vai acabar, reajo e sinto sempre coisas diferentes (embora dentro do mesmo estilo! - calma, eu aínda jogo com o baralho todo) de cada vez que o vejo!
Também não vou tentar fazer uma análise ou comentário ou filme por uma razão muito simples: "Palavras para quê...?"
Assim, vou limitar-me a deixar alguns excertos (os que, por qualquer razão, gosto mais) presentes neste filme.
Que vos façam "pensar" tanto quanto me fazem a mim.


"O Me! O Life!" - Walt Whitman

O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew'd,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring-What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer:
That you are here-that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.


Excerpt from "Walden" - Henry David Thoreau

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear, nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to "glorify God and enjoy him forever."


"The Road Not Taken" - Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair;
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,
And I-I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.