h o m e

my mouth   encased   in yours,
my hands   encased   in yours,
my body
            floating amidst grey skies
my heart encasing your eyes,your
smile,your mouth quirks up

the hours pouring into hours
we lay(in peace)
my mouth & your mouth
my hand & your hand
             our bodies stand                  apart
my heart&your heart so near

(we are sidebyside & watch :
the r a i n d r o p s trickling down the glass)
all around us there's silence from disbelief &disdain
                                                        sometimes from pity

my arms   encased   in yours
my life   encased   in yours
(&our feet brush under the blankets)
my body
            ,your body
                           ,digress through the clouds

              (        one         long        breath       )

eyes open to yours
&dreams&space&warmth
&hands&arms&mouth ,
the body basks on the horizon

my heart & yours encased
                                 the bodies--
                                 --no body
but hearts ,oh hearts:
                              are found

she had thread instead of a heart

she had thread instead of a heart.
long, thin, straight thread.
it was not a string, it was soundless
no sound awakened through its vibration.

if it did, it would be a message,
a discreet and unnoticeable one.
but her thread was calm, stable,
not even moved with her breath.

it had no knot, no twitch,
and it looked impossible to unweave.
that gave one great silence
inside the chest. great peace.

to grow up like that was –
was like seeing the world from very high above.
there is an inmensurable distance
between heart and thread.

all the chests in the world burned and screamed
but hers only vibrated.
its warnings were urgent and silent
they took their time, stopping slowly.

she had thread instead of a heart.
and it made her whole body hold itself:
so it wouldn’t tremble, wouldn’t show.

she did not speak, but her silence was exhausting.

my love is

my love is destructive like the eerie line between shadow & light – the fragile moment as one slips into the other, as there is a soft thud, a sudden quick balance – & then it dissolves into its tones. If one would mistake light for tranquility, i’d turn it into soaring despair for the bright moment, like staring intently at the sun. and darkness does not subdue it because it is as if someone was plunging into coffee (the one served by machines in the underground, tasteless, mediocre).

the in-between is therefore physically painful – merging the stark differences does not turn them into delicate balance. my love is destructive like waking up to empty streets & crowded skies – senseless and beautiful. it is like threading slowly and carefully on an imaginary tightrope – falling half hour and bruising your knees.


the line between shadow & light is the same between colourless drabs & synesthesia. you cannot overcome it. it crushes everything like the wave hits the sand – & my love is as destructive as the moment a wave breaks.

Fôlego

A espera inominável do talvez
- um, dois, três suspiros - 

percorre pouco o corpo, mas não a alma.
Entrega-me tudo, tão lentamente...

Não há mais o correr.
Não existe impetuosidade.
Mas seus olhos
                        seus olhos

E não dou nome aos espaços
ou aos tempos de respirar.
Os anos longos, longínquos,
que passam sem ansiedade pelo meu corpo.

Tudo me reaprende
sem pressa e sem queda
E seus olhos
                       seus olhos

Aberturas eternizadas.

Aberturas eternizadas.
Flores novas.
Prosa-poética.
Dias, noites, tudo longo.

Peço coisas estranhas do meu texto que é assim, cheio de [respiros,
meu texto que hoje é não é verso, não é nem emulação.

Vejo minhas palavras na chuva no vidro,
percebo sentimentos em rostos no metrô,
troco passos, até tropeço,
sinto as horas passando.
E sou eu parada na fila e sou eu parada no semáforo e sou [eu -
e sou eu parada pensando em você.

Um esboço

foi tempestade, vendaval, foi força repentina.
arrancou raízes e fixações, lavou nódoas daquelas indeléveis.

...trouxe meu lirismo perdido, 
meus olhos longínquos, meu amor ardido...
assim, suspiros há muito esquecidos. 

essas coisinhas que haviam escapado,
escoado entre meus versos, secado minhas palavras. 
límpidos espaços agora verdejam. 

Comentários sobre um poema


Poema: "Things That Could Happen" de Jacob Sam-La Rose

1. She swoons, falls into his arms
 and they live happily ever after.

E tem toda aquela alegria suspense e doçura inacreditável que sufoca. A irrealidade dos sonhos – as crianças que correm e fazem ciranda.

2. She kisses him: the restaurant applauds.

Explosões de momentos inquietos.

3. There’s a pin-drop silence. She turns
 the knife in her hand, slowly.

Respiro.
Um
Dois
Três
…Não há espaço para a hesitação quando se tem no corpo um silêncio estonteante.

4. His heart bursts in his mouth before he can say the words.
 It splatters the table, ruins her dress, and she never forgives him.

São longos espaços vermelhos e ele sabe, mais do que sente, toda a desaprovação – seu corpo está vazio, oco, e por isso mesmo consegue inflar-se com a indignação do outro.

5. He’s interrupted by a handsome man from another table 
who asks if he can cut in. She accepts, of course,
 and waltzes off to an orchestra of cutlery, side-plates,
 strummed napkins and warm bread. He seethes, turns bald
 and tells the story to every man he meets.

Nisso não há nada a não ser a vida que nem sempre tem seus pontos interligados e pessoas com olhos cegos ao que arrepia os braços.

6. She falls in love with the waiter.

E ele espera e olha de longe.

7. She falls in love with the waitress.

Ele afasta-se sem saber direito o porquê.

8. She starts by saying she’s quitting the country,
 that there’s nothing in London to keep her.

Ao invés de pedir silêncio, desnudar a alma que desabrocha, fecha todos os botões e diz que sim, que entende.

9. He loses his voice, has to write it all down.
 She spills a glass of wine, the ink blurs and swims
 across the page. I’m sorry she says, and he nods,
 his eyes turning to crystal.

Comprovação pura de que palavras são inúteis. Lá fora, canta um pássaro.

10. They laugh.

Corta-se abrupto o ar ----- prefere-se não saber. Sim, ignoremos.

11. They have passionate sex in the single toilet.
 Outside, a lengthening queue tuts and frets.
 Someone presses their ear to the door.

Transmuta-se, transfere, despe, desfaz.

12. She doesn’t believe him.

Pensa em dizer de novo e de novo e de novo até a eternidade. Muda de ideia, sente raiva da obstinação, como ela não vê, esquece que nem sempre temos clareza para dentro.

13. They have 3 children. Some night, she tells them
(again) how their father won her heart 
over chicken gyoza and ebi katsu.
 Whenever he hears this, something in him rises 
like a bull-chested spinnaker.

Na verdade, a vida está entre gestos microscópicos, nas pressões das mãos quando se encontram, nos olhos escuros, nos nós dos dedos que embranquecem.

14. Her mobile rings. The moment falls, like a crumb,
to the napkin in her lap. She brushes it away.

Ele pensa em ir embora, esconder-se no escuro e quente, como um animal acuado.

15. He learns a new language—says it in French or Swahili.
 She’s mightily impressed, but doesn’t understand.

Ela disfarça, olha para os lados, tenta captar um som, um rabisco de palavra, e sorri bem lentamente, tentando amá-lo em estrangeirismos.

16. She chokes on a noodle. The tips of her fingers turn blue 
as she fights for breath, and fails. Later, he learns to love 
the bite of alcohol and numbs his tongue with ice.

As noites são mais longas que os dias e a vida é gélida sequência de probabilidades já mortas.

17. She chokes on a noodle. He Heimlichs her. 
She sees him in a different light,
 as he dabs the sparkling sputum 
from her lips.

Sente vergonha de ter corpo humano, não ser pura abstração, quer que ele a desculpe, vê os olhos dele tão atenciosos, continua ofegando.

18. He watches the way she eats 
and thinks better of saying anything.

Porque perdeu-se aquele encanto, não devagar, mas sim como se removem pontos de sutura. Um rasgo só.

19. Before he can speak, she leans across the table,
 fingers barely touching the corners of his mouth,
 and says I know, already. I know.

A poesia infinitesimal da vida.