25.8.17
Violeta Parra - o outro lado de Gracias a la Vida
Maldigo del alto cielo
la estrella con su reflejo,
maldigo los azulejos
destellos del arroyuelo,
maldigo del bajo suelo
la piedra con su contorno,
maldigo el fuego del horno
porque mi alma está de luto,
maldigo los estatutos del tiempo
con sus bochornos,
cuánto será mi dolor.
Maldigo la cordillera
de los Andes y de La Costa,
maldigo, señor, la angosta
y larga faja de tierra,
también la paz y la guerra,
lo franco y lo veleidoso,
maldigo lo perfumoso
porque mi anhelo está muerto,
maldigo todo lo cierto
y lo falso con lo dudoso,
cuánto será mi dolor.
Maldigo la primavera
con sus jardines en flor
y del otoño el color
yo lo maldigo de veras;
y a la nube pasajera
la maldigo tanto y tanto
porque padezco un quebranto.
Maldigo el invierno entero
con el verano sincero,
maldigo profano y santo,
grande será mi dolor.
Maldigo a la solitaria
figura de la bandera,
maldigo cualquier emblema,
la Venus y la Araucaria,
el trino de la canaria,
el cosmos con sus planetas,
la tierra y todas sus grietas
porque me aqueja un pesar,
maldigo del ancho mar
sus puertos y sus caletas,
grande será mi dolor.
Maldigo luna y paisaje,
los pueblos y los desiertos,
maldigo muerto por muerto
y el vivo de rey a paje,
las aves con sus plumajes
las maldigo a sangre fría,
las aulas, las sacristías
porque me aflige un dolor,
maldigo el vocablo "amor"
con toda su brujería,
cuánto será mi dolor.
Maldigo por fin lo blanco,
lo negro con lo amarillo,
obispos y monaguillos,
ministros y predicandos
yo los maldigo cantando;
lo libre y lo prisionero,
lo dulce y lo pendenciero
yo pongo mi maldición
en griego y en español
por culpa de un traicionero,
cuánto será mi dolor.
Vashti Bunyan Don't Believe What They Say
You say that you'll always love me
That you'll never leave me blue
Don't you know that that's all fallacy
Don't you know it's not true
You may want the love they talk about
But it isn't like they say
You will find that come tomorrow
You won't feel this way
When you say that you're in love with me
Do you really know what you mean
Or are you saying it because you've heard of it
Or because of something you've seen
Oh don't believe that love brings happiness
Gone tomorrow here today
Love involves so much unhappiness
Don't believe what they say
24.8.17
Pat Parker
Don't let the fascist speak
"Don't let the fascist speak."
"We want to hear what they have to say."
"Keep them out of the classroom."
"Everybody is entitled to freedom of speech."
I am a child of America
a step child
raised in the back room
yet taught
taught how to act
in her front room
my mind jumps
the voices of students
screaming
insults threats
"Let the Nazis speak."
"Let the Nazis speak."
Everyone is entitled
to speak
I sit a greasy-legged
Black child
in a Black school
in the Black part of town
look to a Black teacher
the bill of rights
guarantees
us all the right
my mind
remembers chants
article I article I
& my innards churn
they remember
the Black teacher
in the Black school
in the Black part
of the very white town
who stopped us
when we attacked
the puppet principal
the white Board
of mis-Education
cast-off books
illustrated with
cartoons and
words of wisdom
written by white
children in the
other part of town
missing pages
caricatures
of hanging niggers -
the bill of rights
was written to
protect
us
my mind remembers
& my innards churn
conjure images
police
break up
illegal demonstrations
illegal assemblies
conjure image
of a Black Panther
"if tricky Dick
tries to stop us
we'll stop him."
conjure image
of that same Black man
going to jail
for threatening
the life of
THE PRESIDENT
every citizen
is entitled to
freedom of speech
my mind remembers
& my innards churn
conjure images
of jews in camps -
of homosexuals in camps -
of socialists in camps -
"Let the Nazis speak."
"Let the Nazis speak."
faces in a college
classroom
"You're being fascist too."
"We want to hear what
they have to say."
faces in
a college classroom
young white faces
speak let them speak
speak let them speak
Blacks jews some whites
seize the bull horn
"We don't want to hear
your socialist rhetoric"
socialist rhetoric
survival
rhetoric
the supreme court
says it is illegal
to scream fire
in a crowded theatre
to scream fire
in a crowded theatre
cause people to panic
to run to hurt each other
my mind remembers
& now i know
what my innards
say
illegal to cause
people
to panic
to run
to hurt
there is
no contradiction
what the Nazis say
will cause
people
to hurt
ME.
23.8.17
22.8.17
19.8.17
9.8.17
3.8.17
1.8.17
1 poema de May Ayim (1960-1996)
autumn in germany
it is not true
that it is not true
that’s how it was
first at first and then again
that’s how
it is kristallnacht:
in november 1938
first shattered
were windowpanes
then
again and again
human bones
of jews and blacks
of the weak and the sick
of sinti and roma
and poles of lesbians and
gays of and of
and of and of
and and
first a few then many
more and more:
arms lifted and joined in
applauded clapping
or stealthily gaping
as they and them
and he and she
and him and her
first once in a while
then again and again
again so soon?
a singular incident:
in november 1990
antonio amadeu from angola
was murdered
in eberswalde
by neo-nazis
his child born shortly after by a
white german
woman
her house
shortly after
trashed
ah yes
and the police
came so late
it was too late
and the newspapers were so short
of words it equaled silence
and on TV no picture
of this homicide
no comment on the incident:
in the newly united germany
that so much likes to
likes too much
to call itself re-united
it happened
that here and there
it was first houses
then people
that burnt down
first in the east then in the west
then
the whole country
first at first and then again
it is not true
that it is not true
that’s how it was
that’s how it is:
autumn in germany
i dread the winter
-- In blues in schwarz weiss (Blues in Black and White),
versão em inglês da autora, 1992.)
31.7.17
Um filme francês só precisava de Moreau andando pelas ruas
Por 10 segundos (1:29 a 1:39), Miles Davis "diz" à tout à l'heure.
30.7.17
Viola di Mare
Um dos filmes mais belos que vi sobre o amor entre duas mulheres.
Senão o mais belo.
Ci sarà qualcosa nei tuoi occhi viola
Ci sarà qualcosa nella vita per cui valga la pena
Ci sarà qualcosa che mi può stordire
Ci sarà qualcosa, anche una cura, un sogno per morire
28.7.17
Raymond Carver
Para Tess
Lá fora, no Estreito, a água está espumando,
como se diz por aqui. Está muito agitada, e me sinto feliz
por não estar lá fora. Feliz porque pesquei o dia inteiro
em Morse Creek, lançando uma isca falsa
para frente e para trás. Não peguei nada. Nenhuma
mordida, sequer. Mas tudo bem. Tudo ótimo!
Eu carregava o canivete do seu pai, e por algum tempo
fui seguido por um cão que o dono chamava de Dixie.
Por momentos me senti tão feliz que precisei parar
de pescar. Uma hora deitei na margem de olhos fechados,
escutando o barulho que a água fazia,
e o vento nas copas das árvores. O mesmo vento
que sopra no Estreito, mas também um vento diferente.
Por um momento, até imaginei que eu tinha morrido –
e não me importei, ao menos por alguns minutos,
até que realmente mergulhei no: Morto.
Enquanto deitava ali de olhos fechados,
logo depois de ter imaginado como seria
se de fato nunca me levantasse outra vez, pensei em você.
Então abri os olhos e me ergui depressa,
e voltei a ficar feliz.
Eu sou grato a você, sabe? Eu queria te dizer.
como se diz por aqui. Está muito agitada, e me sinto feliz
por não estar lá fora. Feliz porque pesquei o dia inteiro
em Morse Creek, lançando uma isca falsa
para frente e para trás. Não peguei nada. Nenhuma
mordida, sequer. Mas tudo bem. Tudo ótimo!
Eu carregava o canivete do seu pai, e por algum tempo
fui seguido por um cão que o dono chamava de Dixie.
Por momentos me senti tão feliz que precisei parar
de pescar. Uma hora deitei na margem de olhos fechados,
escutando o barulho que a água fazia,
e o vento nas copas das árvores. O mesmo vento
que sopra no Estreito, mas também um vento diferente.
Por um momento, até imaginei que eu tinha morrido –
e não me importei, ao menos por alguns minutos,
até que realmente mergulhei no: Morto.
Enquanto deitava ali de olhos fechados,
logo depois de ter imaginado como seria
se de fato nunca me levantasse outra vez, pensei em você.
Então abri os olhos e me ergui depressa,
e voltei a ficar feliz.
Eu sou grato a você, sabe? Eu queria te dizer.
(trad. Cide Piquet)
26.7.17
24.7.17
22.7.17
21.7.17
20.7.17
19.7.17
2 poemas de Philip Hodgins
Eye of the needle
1.
In the earth
there are doorways
from this earth
but they are narrow.
there are doorways
from this earth
but they are narrow.
2.
The weight of matter
keeps it down to earth,
as if the property called mass
is store-security, a clip-on
tag-alarm that stops us
taking our garment
when we leave the shop.
keeps it down to earth,
as if the property called mass
is store-security, a clip-on
tag-alarm that stops us
taking our garment
when we leave the shop.
3.
Thoughts are already things
before they’re set to ink.
Their heaviness is hard
to measure, but material,
being stuff in the head.
Weigh the brain before
and after thinking,
the difference is no
laughing matter, too real
to follow us through Exits.
before they’re set to ink.
Their heaviness is hard
to measure, but material,
being stuff in the head.
Weigh the brain before
and after thinking,
the difference is no
laughing matter, too real
to follow us through Exits.
4.
Even light
is far too heavy.
It must be dark
through there.
is far too heavy.
It must be dark
through there.
The Sick Poem
You couldn’t make it
look any worse
and feel any worse
if you threw acid
on the page afterwards.
It began as a minor complaint
and spread to be an obsession.
They say it has something
to do with words
but no-one really understands
how it works.
A well-paid team of experts
is looking hrough it,
a sample has been taken
and yes, words were there.
But what does that tell you?
There’s a theory
if you ignore the thing
then it will go away
but all experience shows
it just keeps coming back
more and more.
Perhaps you should
love what’s wrong with it?
Embrace the flaw:
a failure of communication,
an inability to form
the right words
at the appropriate time.
If this were something big,
say life or death,
there might be some insights
to be had from each stage,
like the hard wisdom
suffering is supposed to give you
but doesn’t really.
Think of what goes on
in all those hospitals.
Perhaps the problem
is one of bad manners:
those clapped-out poeticisms
struggling across the page
through a damaged form.
I’m telling you straight:
to use a metaphor
at a time like this
would be obscene.
17.7.17
15.7.17
13.7.17
Warsan Shire
Home
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark.
home is the mouth of a shark.
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city
running as well.
when you see the whole city
running as well.
your neighbours running faster
than you, the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind
the old tin factory is
holding a gun bigger than his body,
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
than you, the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind
the old tin factory is
holding a gun bigger than his body,
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one would leave home unless home
chased you, fire under feet,
hot blood in your belly.
chased you, fire under feet,
hot blood in your belly.
it’s not something you ever thought about
doing, and so when you did -
you carried the anthem under your breath,
waiting until the airport toilet
to tear up the passport and swallow,
each mouthful of paper making it clear that
you would not be going back.
doing, and so when you did -
you carried the anthem under your breath,
waiting until the airport toilet
to tear up the passport and swallow,
each mouthful of paper making it clear that
you would not be going back.
you have to understand,
no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land.
no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land.
who would choose to spend days
and nights in the stomach of a truck
unless the miles travelled
meant something more than journey.
and nights in the stomach of a truck
unless the miles travelled
meant something more than journey.
no one would choose to crawl under fences,
be beaten until your shadow leaves you,
raped, then drowned, forced to the bottom of
the boat because you are darker, be sold,
starved, shot at the border like a sick animal,
be pitied, lose your name, lose your family,
make a refugee camp a home for a year or two or ten,
stripped and searched, find prison everywhere
and if you survive and you are greeted on the other side
with go home blacks, refugees
dirty immigrants, asylum seekers
sucking our country dry of milk,
dark, with their hands out
smell strange, savage -
look what they’ve done to their own countries,
what will they do to ours?
be beaten until your shadow leaves you,
raped, then drowned, forced to the bottom of
the boat because you are darker, be sold,
starved, shot at the border like a sick animal,
be pitied, lose your name, lose your family,
make a refugee camp a home for a year or two or ten,
stripped and searched, find prison everywhere
and if you survive and you are greeted on the other side
with go home blacks, refugees
dirty immigrants, asylum seekers
sucking our country dry of milk,
dark, with their hands out
smell strange, savage -
look what they’ve done to their own countries,
what will they do to ours?
the dirty looks in the street
softer than a limb torn off,
the indignity of everyday life
more tender than fourteen men who
look like your father, between
your legs, insults easier to swallow
than rubble, than your child’s body
in pieces - for now, forget about pride
your survival is more important.
softer than a limb torn off,
the indignity of everyday life
more tender than fourteen men who
look like your father, between
your legs, insults easier to swallow
than rubble, than your child’s body
in pieces - for now, forget about pride
your survival is more important.
i want to go home, but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home tells you to
leave what you could not behind,
even if it was human.
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home tells you to
leave what you could not behind,
even if it was human.
no one leaves home until home
is a damp voice in your ear saying
leave, run now, i don’t know what
i’ve become.
is a damp voice in your ear saying
leave, run now, i don’t know what
i’ve become.
12.7.17
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