Els boscos de Maine
- Idioma:
- anglès
- Completesa:
- Obra completa
- Autoria:
- Escrita per l'autor
- Estat del text:
- Sense soroll d'escaneig detectat (mesura automàtica sobre tot el text, no revisada a mà)
- Extensió:
- ~110.000 paraules · 502 passatges
Cita aquesta obra
- APAHenry David Thoreau. (n.d.). The Maine Woods [Els boscos de Maine]. Digital reproduction: SigPhi. https://sigphiai.com/ca/works/thoreau/the-maine-woods
- MLAHenry David Thoreau. The Maine Woods [Els boscos de Maine]. Digital reproduction, SigPhi, https://sigphiai.com/ca/works/thoreau/the-maine-woods.
- ChicagoHenry David Thoreau. The Maine Woods [Els boscos de Maine]. Digital reproduction, SigPhi. https://sigphiai.com/ca/works/thoreau/the-maine-woods.
Referència de l’edició reproduïda. SigPhi és la reproducció digital, no l’editor. S’hi inclouen l’any, l’editorial i el traductor quan consten; «n.d.» indica que no consta l’any. La responsabilitat d’un pròleg o d’una nota es determina segons el passatge citat.
De què tracta
El relat de tres viatges als boscos del nord del Maine, entre el 1846 i el 1857, i el llibre on Thoreau troba una natura que no s'assembla gens a la de Walden.
Context i història
Walden era un estany a tres quilometres del poble; aixo es bosc de debo, i el canvi es nota. El moment mes conegut es l'ascensio al mont Katahdin, on Thoreau es troba amb un paisatge que el rebutja, i escriu unes pagines desconcertades sobre la materia pura, inhumana, que no espera ningu: «Contacte! Contacte! Qui som? On som?». La resta son travessies en canoa amb guies penobscot —Joe Polis sobretot, que hi surt com una persona i no com un tipus—, i observacions precises sobre arbres, rius i el negoci de la fusta que ja se'ls estava menjant. Es va publicar postumament el 1864. Es el Thoreau menys domesticat i el que mes es llegeix avui a l'ecologia.
Context editorial, no una font citable: a diferència dels passatges de l'obra, aquestes dades no es poden contrastar amb el corpus.
whistler duck on the river, of the jay and chickadee around us, and of the pigeon woodpecker in the openings, were the sounds that we heard. This was what you might call a bran-new country; the only roads were of Nature’s making, and the few houses were camps. Here, then, one could no longer accuse institutions and society, but must front the true source of evil. There are three classes of inhabitants who either frequent or inhabit the country which we had now entered: first, the loggers, who, for a part of the year, the winter and spring, are far the most numerous, but in the summer, except a few explorers for timber, completely desert it; second, the few settlers I have named, the only permanent inhabitants, who live on the verge of it, and help raise supplies for the former; third, the hunters, mostly Indians, who range over it in their season. At the end of three miles we came to the Mattaseunk stream and mill, where there was even a rude wooden railroad running down to the Penobscot, the last railroad we were to see. We crossed one tract, on the bank of the river, of more than a hundred acres of heavy timber, which had just been felled and burnt over, and was still smoking. Our trail lay through the midst of it, and was well-nigh blotted out. The trees lay at full length, four or five feet deep, and crossing each other in all directions, all black as charcoal, but perfectly sound within, still good for fuel or for timber; soon they would be cut into lengths and burnt again. Here were thousands of cords, enough to keep the poor of Boston and New York amply warm for a winter, which only cumbered the ground and were in the settler’s way. And the whole of that solid and interminable forest is doomed to be gradually devoured thus by fire, like shavings, and no man be warmed by it.…