Saturday, June 30, 2007

Ponto zero

desde que partiu, o dia ganhou
cinco horas e o corredor cor-de-
vinho é estreito, mal cabe nas escadas
espiraladas que
em seqüência
definem o tubo de dias
para chegar.
o que restou foi
uma cidade dobrada a partir do
chão:
no alto caminha em linha
reta. embaixo só lhe resta
desviar de tudo (sabe apenas que precisa
chegar ao point zero, de onde são
medidas as distâncias, onde
tudo começa, mas nunca encontra
a marca, tudo se dissolve quando
se aproxima)
– queria que estivesse aqui
não diz porque dizer é um
deserto aberto sobre a
mala. queria que
pudesse ser real mas não é. tudo
no lugar de sempre, quase assim
tão objetivo.

Marília Garcia

Friday, June 29, 2007

Clepsidra (I)

Tenho sonhos cruéis; n'alma doente
Sinto um vago receio prematuro.
Vou a medo na aresta do futuro,
Embebido em saudades do presente...

Saudades desta dor que em vão procuro
Do peito afugentar bem rudemente,
Devendo, ao desmaiar sobre o poente,
Cobrir-me o coração dum véu escuro!...

Porque a dor, esta falta d'harmonia,
Toda a luz desgrenhada que alumia
As almas doidamente, o céu d'agora,

Sem ela o coração é quase nada:
Um sol onde expirasse a madrugada,
Porque é só madrugada quando chora.

Camilo Pessanha

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Do fundo...






Amanhã é aniversário do Jayro, logo tinha que resgatar essas fotos do fundo do baú.
Adoro nossas caras nessa foto... (bem, no meu caso, a nuca)

Friday, June 08, 2007

Like a Scarf

The directions to the lunatic asylum were confusing,
more likely they were the random associations
and confused ramblings of a lunatic.
We arrived three hours late for lunch
and the lunatics were stacked up on their shelves,
quite neatly, I might add, giving credit where credit is due.
The orderlies were clearly very orderly, and they
should receive all the credit that is their due.
When I asked one of the doctors for a corkscrew
he produced one without a moment's hesitation.
And it was a corkscrew of the finest craftsmanship,
very shiny and bright not unlike the doctor himself.
"We'll be conducting our picnic under the great oak
beginning in just a few minutes, and if you'd care
to join us we'd be most honored. However, I understand
you have your obligations and responsibilities,
and if you would prefer to simply visit with us
from time to time, between patients, our invitation
is nothing if not flexible. And, we shan't be the least slighted
or offended in any way if, due to your heavy load,
we are altogether deprived of the pleasure
of exchanging a few anecdotes, regarding the mentally ill,
depraved, diseased, the purely knavish, you in your bughouse,
if you'll pardon my vernacular, O yes, and we in our crackbrain
daily rounds, there are so many gone potty everywhere we roam,
not to mention in one's own home, dead moonstruck.
Well, well, indeed we would have many notes to compare
if you could find the time to join us after your injections."
My invitation was spoken in the evenest tones,
but midway though it I began to suspect I was addressing
an imposter. I returned the corkscrew in a nonthreatening manner.
What, for instance, I asked myself, would a doctor, a doctor of the mind,
be doing with a cordscrew in his pocket?
This was a very sick man, one might even say dangerous.
I began moving away cautiously, never taking my eyes off of him.
His right eyelid was twitching guiltily, or at least anxiously,
and his smock flapping slightly in the wind.
Several members of our party were mingling with the nurses
down by the duck pond, and my grip on the situation
was loosening, the planks in my picnic platform were rotting.
I was thinking about the potato salad in an unstable environment.
A weeping spell was about to overtake me.
I was very close to howling and gnashing the gladiola.
I noticed the great calm of the clouds overhead.
And below, several nurses appeared to me in need of nursing.
The psychopaths were stirring from their naps,
I should say, their postprandial slumbers.
They were lumbering through the pines like inordinately sad moose.
Who could eat liverwurst at a time like this?
But, then again, what's a picnic without pathos?
Lacking a way home, I adjusted the flap in my head and duck-walked
down to the pond and into the pond and began gliding
around in circles, quacking, quacking like a scarf.
Inside the belly of that image I began
recycling like a sorry whim, sincerest regrets
are always best.

James Tate

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

thirty-three

speak to me in a language i can hear
humour me before i have to go
deep in thought i forgive everyone
as the cluttered streets greet me once again
i know i can't be late, supper's waiting on the table
tomorrow's just an excuse away
so I pull my collar up and face the cold, on my own
the earth laughs beneath my heavy feet
at the blasphemy in my old jangly walk
steeple guide me to my heart and home
the sun is out and up and down again
i know i'll make it, love can last forever
graceful swans of never topple to the earth
and you can make it last, forever you
you can make it last, forever you
and for a moment i lose myself
wrapped up in the pleasures of the world
i've journeyed here and there and back again
but in the same old haunts i still find my friends
mysteries not ready to reveal
sympathies i'm ready to return
i'll make the effort, love can last forever
graceful swans of never topple to the earth
tomorrow's just an excuse
and you can make it last, forever you
you can make it last, forever you

Smashing Pumpkins