4.5.13

En tiempos de intensa maternidad


[Esta mujer con ojos de loca sabía tantas cosas... Y además las escribió.]

Paul wanted children, or at least a child , in the decisive and possessive way in which he wanted all the objects which he drew into his life. The sense of family was strong in him and he preserved an ancestral nostalgia for the dignity and ceremonial of kinship. He yearned for a son, a little Paul whom he could instruct and encourage, and finally converse with as an equal and even consult as a rival intelligence. Dora however was alarmed at the thought of children. She felt in no way prepared for them; though it was typical of the paralysis which affected her dealings with Paul that she made no effort to prevent conception. Had she been able to examine her lot more dispassionately she might have felt that a child would give her an independence and a status in Paul's entourage which she now sadly lacked. It was in her to become a prompt and opinionated mother to whom even Paul would defer. As a child-wife she irritated him continually by the vitality for which he had married her: motherhood would have invested her no doubt with some more impersonal significance drawn from the past. But Dora had no taste for such genealogical dignities, and deliberately to commit herself thus was not in her nature. Though so much under Paul's sway, she depended, like some unprotesting but significantly mobile creature, upon the knowledge of her instant hability to whisk away. To have to abandon this animal readiness by becoming two people was a prospect that Dora could not face. She did not face it.

[Iris MURDOCH 2004 The Bell. London: Vintage. Page 4-5]

3.5.13

El gran plan

[En la foto masterplans sin actualizar, árboles de decisión erróneos...
¿Por qué ocurren ciertas cosas? Destino o libre albedrío, estamos perdidos, a ciegas]

Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path—how soft to pace!
This May—what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,
Uncoil thee from the waking man!
Do I hold the Past
Thus firm and fast
Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?
This path so soft to pace shall lead
Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms and strangers: we
Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she,—
I and she!
 
[Robert Browning, "Never the Time and the Place"]
 
De vez en cuando me sorprende una película de ciencia ficción, y ésta que estoy viendo (Destino oculto, o The Adjustment Plan) lo ha conseguido: no sé, tal vez porque justo ha coincidido que estaba buscando este preciso poema de Browning, y como tantas otras veces, todas las piezas parecen encajar de pronto en este puzzle sideral. No puedo ser yo la única persona que tiene la sensación de que hay planes que desconozco y controlan mi vida bastante más que mis decisiones. Ni la única que se encuentra a menudo en la misma encrucijada, sin saber por qué. O que ve cómo hay otras trayectorias que avanzan en líneas paralelas y nunca se cruzarán con la mía