30.5.13
The Touch | (café da manhã)
 (...) The trouble was not in the kitchen or the tulips but only in my head, my head. Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. (...) |
28.5.13
22.5.13
(ela no) | meio de tudo, antes em tudo, por tudo | "Não tenho tempo pra mais nada, ser feliz me consome muito."
 "Como se ela não tivesse suportado sentir o que sentira, desviou subitamente o rosto e olhou uma árvore. Seu coração não bateu no peito, o coração batia oco entre o estômago e os intestinos." |
21.5.13
Deer | (dear)
 |
A Wounded Deer—leaps highest
165
A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I've heard the Hunter tell— 'Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still! The Smitten Rock that gushes! The trampled Steel that springs! A Cheek is always redder Just where the Hectic stings! Mirth is the Mail of Anguish In which it Cautious Arm, Lest anybody spy the blood And "you're hurt" exclaim! |
20.5.13
19.5.13
Dimanche
"Não me manietei. Dei-me totalmente e fui.(...) E bebi dos vinhos fortes, tal como bebem os denodados do prazer"
(o resto é só meu/nosso)
(o resto é só meu/nosso)
18.5.13
17.5.13
16.5.13
(studio door) I "(...) Singing a song"
 |
The Wild Flower's Song
As I wandered the forest,
The green leaves among, I heard a Wild Flower Singing a song. 'I slept in the earth In the silent night, I murmured my fears And I felt delight. 'In the morning I went As rosy as morn, To seek for new joy; But oh! met with scorn.' |
15.5.13
"Little things that no one needs" I (mas que são tudo para mim)
 |
Bric-a-Brac
Little things that no one needs --
Little things to joke about -- Little landscapes, done in beads. Little morals, woven out, Little wreaths of gilded grass, Little brigs of whittled oak Bottled painfully in glass; These are made by lonely folk. Lonely folk have lines of days Long and faltering and thin; Therefore -- little wax bouquets, Prayers cut upon a pin, Little maps of pinkish lands, Little charts of curly seas, Little plats of linen strands, Little verses, such as these. |
14.5.13
10.5.13
9.5.13
7.5.13
big apple (6) | A Girl (with you)
 |
|
The
tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast - Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child - so high - you are, And all this is folly to the world. |
6.5.13
big apple (5) | " City of orgies, walks and joys,(...) | with you
 |
|
City of orgies, walks and joys,
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one
day make
Not the pageants of you, not your shifting tableaus, your
spectacles, repay me,
Not the interminable rows of your houses, nor the ships at
the wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows
with
goods in them,
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in
the soiree
or feast;
Not those, but as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and
swift flash
of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own--these repay me,
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.
|
