2 poemas de Mina Loy

Letters of the unliving

The present implies presence
unauthorized by the present
these letters are left authorless -- 
have lost all origin 
since the inscribing hand 
lost life.

The harshness of the past
from creased leaves
covered with unwritten writing
since death's erasure
of the writer --
erased the lover

Well-chosen and so ill-relinquished
the husband heartsease --
acme of communion --

made euphonious
our esoteric universe.

Ego's oasis now's 
the sole companion.

My body and my reason 
you left to the drought of your dying:
the longing and the lack
of a racked creature
to an unanswering hiatus
'reunite us!'

till slyly
patience creeps up on passion
and the elation of youth
dwindles out of season.

ends in an equal grave 
with ecstasy.

An uneasy mist 
rises from this calligraphy of recollection
documenting a terror of dementia.

This package of ago
creaks with the horror of echo.

The bloom of love 
to decay by the finger
of Hazard the swindler --
deathly handler who leaves
no post-mortem mask
but a callous earth.

Posing the extreme enigma
in my Bewilderness
can your face excelling Adonis
have ceased to be
or ever have had existence?

With you no longer the addresser
there is no addressee
to dally with defunct reality.

Can one who still has being 
be inexistent?

I am become 
in answer
to your dead language of amor.

of life's imposture
implies no possible retrial
by my present self --
my cloud-corpse
beshadowing your shroud.

The one I was with you:
inhumed in chasms.
No creator
reconstrues scar-tissue
to shine as birth-star.

But to my sub-cerebral surprise
at last on blase sorrow
dawns an iota of disgust
for life's intemperance:

'As once you were'

Withhold your ghostly reference
to the sweet once were we.

Leave me
my final illiteracy
of memory's languor --

my preference
to drift in lenient coma
an older Ophelia
on Lethe. 

An old woman

The past has come apart

events are vagueing
the future is a seedless pod
the present pain.

Not even pain has that precision
with which it struck youth.

Years like moths
erode internal organs
hanging or falling
in a spoiled closet.

Does you mirror bedevil you?
Or is the impossible
possible to senility?

How could the erstwhile
agile and slim self---
that narrow silhouette---
come to contain
this huge incognito---
this bulbous stranger---
only to be exorcised by death?

Dilation has entirely dominated
your long reality.


4 poemas de Adele Weber

Uma palavra

Insidiosa –
palavra aguda,
punhal penetrante
quando se pronuncia
Não se presta a gritos.
Insidiosa –
o cansaço persiste
se acomoda
nos membros, costas, cabeça.
Não emboscada.
Estratagema. É assim que ela chega.


O velho lavrador está sentado
pouco à vontade
na sua roupa de ver Deus.
Espera um ônibus,
descansa as mãos calosas
no cabo da bengala, outrora curvo,
agora uma reta a se quebrar.

Várias gerações lixaram a bengala.

pertence a ti toda esta tarde

e a tarde pode resumir uma vida inteira.
Finges que compreendes teu amigo
e sorris ou mostras um rosto grave
conforme o assunto debatido.
Te perdes em dúvidas, nem te interessam
os gerânios, jacintos e lilases
destruídos nos versos de Eliot.
A agonia cabe em uma tarde.

...o que vive
Pode apenas morrer.

A escuridão permite um pensamento mais puro?
Fraudar purifica o sensual?
Você discute ou se defende da solidão?

Há os que mergulham no pó
vestidos com as últimas palavras.