I blame Tom for fingers that want to dance along the skin for the fire emerging from sailing within.
The eyes In my mind See all the skies I've crossed Since they were left behind Can you see All the seeds you left Inside me How they grow Do you know It is all you I am turning into.
O meu amigo Ricardo escreve umas coisas - bastantes e boas. Há poucos dias publicou, no seu cantinho virtual, um poema em que pede para não ser traduzido. O que me pareceu a oportunidade perfeita para exercitar os músculos de tradutora e pseudo-poeta. Sem mais demoras, aqui vai: My friend Rick (see what I did there?) … Continue reading Translations
in reality music is more fitting for the measures of this heart but I cannot play all the keys it wants to say so I let it start with these silent songs
Too many bags with too much baggage back from when your heart was savage and oblivious. A bag of lights A bag of doubts An empty bag on where to shout. The bag of tricks you've since collected - their smoke and mirrors have now deflected. So pile it up and build a pyre Make … Continue reading Bag Lady
Dimensões conservadas. Discretamente heterogéneo apenas. Linha sem alterações intrínsecas. Septação fúndica já conhecida já alvo de intervenção. Cavidade virtual. Pequenas imagens líquidas infracentimétricas simples. Visibilidade anexial direita mais satisfatória do que a esquerda. Douglas livre.
it was someone else's book (one still on the shelf) and all its shades of blue poured in at twelve there were waves along the sideway our underwater promenade a bit like Moses a bit like swimming all while asleep under the linen.
Down the spiral ladder Your pet demons’ visiting hour. (Can you truly hate them when you’re their mother?) Can’t you tame them When light shouts louder? You know better. Being born from the water and all The mysteries you claim to know. Just go under.
Watch your step as you tread through the depths. The surface is always safe - all lies rest above the ground. So go ahead out the cave all the way down. You may not even be afraid of the dark or damp dusty tunnels you'll need to cross to get to us. But make sure … Continue reading the miner
I am merely a discarded wooden plank powerless to resist the crushing of steel still, I want to save you no matter if you’re dead or still barely breathing, breathing Liu Xiaobo, June Fourth Elegies Translated from the Chinese by Jeffrey Yang Graywolf Press, 2012
You have been carried for years on someone else's lips (you sound good on paper) with your island descent and abyss ascent and all the spectres forever loyal. I have not met you but know your women and tangled tales (I know far too many details) of you the shy ghost who never shows. We … Continue reading Stygian
Me, the ever restless twins Fast as wings in Hermes’ heels You, Apollo’s racing car Know what is a cinnabar. From chemistry to alchemy Astrology, astronomy An orbit of the highest Eccentricity Coulomb interaction Semi-neurotic reaction To bad grammar and bad spelling That we both find so repelling. You know the capital of Nepal … Continue reading Hg
I am a painfully s l o w writer of prose and soaringwriterofverse. To my mind prose is convention & norm, poetry free form. In a poem, you can cut sentences in half wherever you wish and pile them up together in whatever shape you want You could never have that with prose.
Black phoenix born anew (hatches, hatches) orphan bird tries a flap and then two.
um dia beijo-te ao som do vermelho tinto que trazemos no sangue mesmo que não sintas fervilhar no teu os meus lábios dir-te-ão mais que as palavras e juras que carrego nas veias. um dia beijo-te ao chegar a coragem de dizer sem versos as rimas que sinto na minha pele ansiosa pela tua de … Continue reading um dia beijo-te
i'm pickled with my human fears and purple with self-reproach but i'm waiting, with raw hands, to be washed and struck with a blow from the truly mighty. Sarah Slean, Dinner at 8 (imagem: Vertigo, Sarah Slean)
O blog também fez anos e, em tom nostálgico, reproduzimos aqui o início, agora com foto a condizer. princesas a ervilha que eu temo és tu quem a sente? se eu assinto a escalada dessa pilha aclamada de colchões.
it is quiet my love I do not float away at your sight at your words at your matter of gray it is rooted my love like the ancient cool stream your reflection so close to the one I have seen and they're crappy, my love these words and the rhymes as it's born in … Continue reading it is quiet
One day I found my Joy. Stammering and weeping I asked him where have you been? Ha, he said. I was going to ask you that Sarah Slean, One Day (imagem: Blowing Butterflies, Sarah Slean)
If the sun and moon should doubt, They'd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do, But no good if a passion is in you. William Blake, Auguries of Innocence
not-yet-lover. how you hang in perfection. a knight a white flower an unlying lip upon lip. at an hour past grace i am thinking on the plot of our delicious fiction, a future, ridiculous... our maybe, divine. you're a vessel i fill greedily, the wild tale i tell myself before you are human. be not … Continue reading not-yet-lover
I will not love you for your grey and your blue when I have already loved one thousand like you (and my ears are full of such idle haughty words) I will not chase you down the road when it leads only to time wasted when your feet are not hasting in my direction (and … Continue reading 1.000
passa por mim com tinta e carvão no algodão que nos cobre ao nos descobrirmos tu e eu passa por mim com palavras cantadas pelos teus dedos nos dias em que o veludo é tudo o que não tenho passa por mim mesmo que venhas só de passagem mesmo com a tua plumagem escarlate e … Continue reading pavão
peças pequenas estilhaços bocados de mim aos pedaços só te quero pelo que tens que é meu ou ainda serei e apenas sou quando não te sei
quero a pele que me demarca viva sem a marca dos teus lábios os olhos cerrados do teu corpo trémulo quando te dedilho pequenos montes que temos iguais