Na era do digital, se voltássemos para o analógico, qual seria o resultado?

Dublin fotografada por câmeras descartáveis.

This is what language is:
a habitual grief. A turn of speech
for the everyday and ordinary abrasion
of losses such as this:
which hurts
just enough to be a scar
And heals just enough to be a nation.

- Eavan Boland "The Lost Land: Poems"

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

-  W.B. Yeats "The Lake Isle of Innisfree"

Percy, golden-hearted boy,
In the heyday of his joy
Left his new-made bride and chose
The steep way that Honour goes.

Took for his the deathless song
Of the love that knows no wrong:
Could I love thee, dear, so true
Were not Honour more than you?

- Katherine Tynan "A Lament"

When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

-W.B. Yeats "When You are Old"

O commemorate me where there is water,
Canal water, preferably, so stilly
Greeny at the heart of summer. Brother
Commemorate me thus beautifully

- Patrick Kavanagh "Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin"