[poema explicado à Ralu]
todo o inverno temos laranjas
amigas altivas em braços negros erguidas
lavadas na água do céu
jóias de ouro jorram entre espinhos
recebidas em sossego,
presente de reis
[poema escrito na manhã em que tirei a foto ali acima]
a manhã sentou-se, ofegante e cansada
como uma dança acabada
o mundo esqueceu os chamamentos e as flores
saiu em ombros da areia
sem ouvir cada única voz
o calor vadio do passar das horas, ruidoso e perecivel
roendo os sentidos onde se demora o sol
é tarde nesta manhã e a manhã sentou-se
Flying over Akureyri
Last night I dreamt I was flying over Akureyri. I was flying very high at first and could only see mountains and valleys, then came down slowly, descending in large circles over snow and water. Sometimes it was just like the satellite photos on Google Earth, sometimes it was just a white plain near the ocean. I was going down very slowly and I could notice several features of the landscape. I saw the saphire lake among the hills covered with pine trees south of Tangiers in Morocco, I saw the green and damp fields near Santarém where I ran away from the wild bulls, machine gun in hand, when I was a recruit in the army.
Suddendly I was already in the town, flying low and fast among the brightly coloured houses that seemed to be scattered almost randomly, red, light blue, yellow, white. The streets were covered with snow, but it wasn’t real now, it was a white powder that seemed like flour and it raised small clouds beneath my feet as I was flying standing up. I was exploring all streets, always turning to the left first, like if I was playing Doom. All the streets where empty, no people, no cars, no trees. All the buildings were like closed boxes and seemed to have no purpose, but were bright and perfect and new.
“I am getting near the water”, I thought, because I was feeling more and more cold and my clothes were getting wet. I went across a large muddy empty place and then I was flying across the ocean. The ocean was flat and perfectly still and the water was light blue, almost white. As I moved over the water I began to be afraid that I would stop flying and I would drown immediately. Soon I was in panic, but I could do nothing and was flying straight ahead faster and faster. Then something happened, I can’t remember what, and I was again very high, looking down, motionless, trembling.
After that I dreamt about footbal players and drugs and I woke up laughing. [ovst pqnna?]
[poema muito, muito, muito antigo]
chave de ouro
existe o tempo, os gatos correm na erva
e à noite vejo luzes de outras cidades.
provo da vida como de uma maçã cheia de fumo.
[poema que faz agora um ano]
cidade vermelha ferida de ruína
muralha mordida mil vezes pelo tempo
acolhe corvos, serpentes, nas tuas silvas negras
velha mãe de cada criatura, regaço frio,
ventre sujo e exausto de onde o deserto nasce
arde na luz sangrenta da lua
brasa que o vento afoga num mar de cinza
vôa morcego – pequeno, quente, negro – como um coração
[poema escrito num Airbus A340]
chama-se solidão, última a partir
primeira a chegar
à festa do coração
Agora em Islandês:
nafnið hennar er einsemd, síðust til að yfirgefa
fyrst til að koma að
partíi hjartans.
Perdoa-me
Perdoa-me, rapariga desprevenida e despenteada. Perdoa-me, feia. Eu não te vi, juro que não te vi.
Irmã Barata
barata morta de patas erguidas
triste camarada nas escadas vazias
bebeu e dançou, embriagou-se do mundo
comeu o que quis no banquete de veneno
subiu três lances, rezou e dormiu
a morte a descobre, impúdica, obscena.