James Stewart il poeta

Forse non tutti sanno che James Stewart, il grande attore dei migliori film di Hitchcock (su tutti “Vertigo“, incomprensibilmente distribuito in Italia con il titolo di “La donna che visse due volte” – tradizione che pare non morire se è vero che il bel film, con un bel titolo, del francese Michel Gondry “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in Italia si intitola “Se mi lasci ti cancello“), è stato anche poeta.

Un libro pubblicato da Crown nel 1989, mai tradotto in italiano, raccoglie le sue liriche migliori ed è acquistabile su Amazon. Non crediamo sia stato molto venduto se è vero che non è su nessuno scaffale di Anobii.

Una poesia di Stewart è rimasta nella storia della televisione americana in quanto commosse Johnny Carson, il conduttore del Tonight Show (la trasmissione condotta ora da Jay Leno). La poesia era dedicata a Beau, il suo amato cane appena morto. Qui sotto, grazie a Youtube, possiamo riproporvi quell’episodio risalente al lontano 1981. Inoltre troverete il testo originale della poesia (ripreso da “Jimmy Stewart and His Poems” , James Stewart, Crown Publishers, 1989).

BEAU

He never came to me when I would call

Unless I had a tennis ball,

Or he felt like it,

But mostly he didn’t come at all.

When he was young

He never learned to heel

Or sit or stay,

He did things his way.

Discipline was not his bag

But when you were with him things sure didn’t drag.

He’d dig up a rosebush just to spite me,

And when I’d grab him, he’d turn and bite me.

He bit lots of folks from day to day,

The delivery boy was his favorite prey.

The gas man wouldn’t read our meter,

He said we owned a real man-eater.

He set the house on fire

But the story’s long to tell.

Suffice it to say that he survived

And the house survived as well.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,

He was always first out the door.

The Old One and I brought up the rear

Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,

What a beautiful pair they were!

And if it was still light and the tourists were out,

They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks

And with a frown on his face look around.

It was just to make sure that the Old One was there

And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house–

I guess I’m the first to retire.

And as I’d leave the room he’d look at me

And get up from his place by the fire.

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,

And I’d give him one for a while.

He would push it under the bed with his nose

And I’d fish it out with a smile.

And before very long

He’d tire of the ball

And be asleep in his corner

In no time at all.

And there were nights when I’d feel him

Climb upon our bed

And lie between us,

And I’d pat his head.

And there were nights when I’d feel this stare

And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there

And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.

And sometimes I’d feel him sigh

and I think I know the reason why.

He would wake up at night

And he would have this fear

Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,

And he’d be glad to have me near.

And now he’s dead.

And there are nights when I think I feel him

Climb upon our bed and lie between us,

And I pat his head.

And there are nights when I think

I feel that stare

And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,

But he’s not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn’t so,

I’ll always love a dog named Beau.

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