Escuro



Pergunto-me desde quando


deixou de haver futuro


nas janelas.


Janeiro dói nos olhos


como areia


e tu e eu estamos para sempre


sentados às escuras


no Verão.





Rui Pires Cabral

Mad Girl's Love Song




I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.


I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.


I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)



I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)




Sylvia Plath


 
 

Dear visitor from Mountain View, California:



A few long due words of gratitude for making me feel that this blog is somewhat useful, that someone does in fact read it almost on a daily basis. Whenever I feel tempted to put an end to it – and I frequently do, especially on Sundays – I think “Well, my Mountain View reader will miss it” and change my mind. Though I’m not an obsessed visits tracker, I sometimes read what you read, just to re-encounter myself.


I think I could have written this in Portuguese, but chose English instead, just in case. And for the same reason Portuguese teenagers prefer to write their first poems in English.


Thank you.




Graça

QUARTO




Os posters, colados com fita-cola,

arderam nas paredes. Os ursos de

peluche fecharam os braços e, por

quase nada, arderam sobre a cama.

Os cartões de estudante antigos, os

postais de férias e os três poemas

passados a limpo arderam dentro

da gaveta da mesinha-de-cabeceira.

Fiz dezasseis anos, chegou o verão e

os bombeiros não tiveram meios

técnicos e humanos suficientes.



José Luís Peixoto, Gaveta de Papéis 

LES RÊVES FOUS

Je suis en deuil de rêves morts,

Je suis en grand deuil de mes rêves

À la dérive sur les grèves,

À la dérive loin des ports.





Blancs nénuphars des eaux moroses

Et lys tombés de vierges mains,

Lauriers austères, folles roses,

Fleurs mortes de mes rêves vains !





Des poisons sont tombés des astres,

Des poisons sur mes frêles fleurs

À la dérive, sous les astres,

À la dérive, frêles fleurs !





Paul Géraldy, Les chansons naïves