POET’S TOMB

 

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When I was born
I was nameless
like a water molecule
But right away I was fed vowels mouth-to-mouth
consonants tickled my ears
I was called and
pulled away from the cosmos
(…)

I would have loved to lose words
to be a tree singing in the wind
I would have loved to be a cloud from a hundred thousand years ago
I would have loved to be a whale’s song
Now I go back to being nameless
with dirt over my eyes, my ears and my mouth
with stars leading me by the fingers.

EPITAPH FOR “POET’S TOMB”, SHUNTARO TANIKAWA.
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the right latitude of the castles in the air

Thursday, 16th of March 2017

March, I cut my hair, put some mascara on and I spotted myself in the mirror looking different. After all these lives, will you still recognise me? Will you understand my silent words, will our eyes recognise each other from the very first moment?

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 Will we be “Alive to all things and forgetting all.” as Wordsworth said? Will this endless mutability fade with our lips reunite? Here, where the humanity core dwells, one day, we shall reach the right latitude of the castles in the air.

For C.W.B

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For C.W.B

I.
Let us live in a lull of the long winter winds
Where the shy, silver-antlered reindeer go
On dainty hoofs with their white rabbit friends
Amidst the delicate flowering snow.

All of our thoughts will be fairer than doves.
We will live upon wedding-cake frosted with sleet.
We will build us a house from two red tablecloths
And wear scarlet mittens on both hands and feet.

II.
Let us live in the land of the whispering trees;
Alder and aspen and popular and birch;
Singing our prayers in a pale, sea-green breeze
With star-flower rosaries and moss blankets for church.

All of our dreams will be clearer than glass,
Clad in the water or sun as you wish,
We will watch the white feet of the young morning pass,
And dine upon honey and small shiny fish.

III.
Let us live where the twilight lives after dark,
In the deep drowsy blue, let us make a home.
Let us meet in the cool evening grass with a stork,
And a whistle of willow played by a gnome.

Half-asleep, half-awake, we shall hear, we shall know
The soft “Miserere” the wood-swallow tolls,
We will wander away where the wild raspberries grow,
And eat them for tea from two lily-white bowls.

A poem from Elisabeth Bishop

Para C.W.B

I

Vivamos na acalmia dos longos ventos de inverno

onde a tímida rena de chifres prateados anda

sobre delicadas patas com os seus amigos coelhos brancos

pelo meio da fina e florescente neve.

Todos os nossos pensamentos serão mais delicados que pombas.

Viveremos sobre um bolo de noiva coberto de saraiva.

Construiremos a nossa casa com duas toalhas de mesa vermelhas.

E usaremos mitenes escarlates nas mãos e nos pés.

II

Vivamos no país das árvores sussurrantes,

o amieiro e a aia e o choupo e o vidoeiro,

entoando preces através de uma brisa pálida, verde-mar,

num templo de rosários de flores e cantos de musgo.

Todos os nossos sonhos serão mais límpidos que vidro.

Vestidos de água ou de sol, como desejares,

veremos passar os brancos pés da manhã jovem

e jantaremos mel e pequeno peixes cintilantes.

III

Vivamos onde o crepúsculo vive depois do anoitecer,

no profundo, sonolento azul, façamos a nossa casa.

Encontremo-nos na erva fresca da tardinha com uma cegonha

e um assobio de salgueiro, tocado por um gnomo.

Meio adormecidos, meio despertos, ouviremos, conheceremos

o suave “Miserere” que a andorinha do bosque toca.

Vaguearemos até onde crescem as framboesas silvestres

e comê-las-emos ao chá e duas taças brancas com lírios.

Um poema de Elisabeth Bishop

The Sea

 

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Loud Sea
(Mar sonoro)

Loud sea, bottomless sea, endless sea,
Your beauty grows when we’re alone.
And so deep your voice intimately
Follows the secretmost dancing of my dream
That moments are when I think
You’re a miracle created only for me.

Sophia de Mello Breyner Andersen

***

MAR SONORO

Mar sonoro, mar sem fundo, mar sem fim.
A tua beleza aumenta quando estamos sós
E tão fundo intimamente a tua voz
Segue o mais secreto bailar do meu sonho.
Que momentos há em que eu suponho
Seres um milagre criado só para mim.

SOPHIA DE MELLO BREYNER ANDRESEN 
In Dia do mar, 1947 

This Tiny Melancholy

“Who hasn’t felt this melancholy, this tiny thing whose origin is unknown to me.”

Poem by Jorge Barbosa, Momento.

Versão Original em português:

Quem aqui não sentiu
esta nossa
fininha melancolia?

(…)

Esta nossa
fininha melancolia
que vem não sei de onde.
Um pouco talvez
das horas solitárias
passando sobre a ilha
ou da música
do mar defronte
entoando
uma canção rumorosa
musicada com os ecos do mundo.

Poema Momento de Jorge Barbosa.

Letter to Vibeke

 

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Sea of Life

Lets read a bit of poetry:

“SEA OF LIFE

This is not the end, my friend.
Just as the ocean sings songs to infinity
Our friendship too will flow onward
Until the day one of us
Turns and leaves
And the seasons will turn too
As our shells
As they return back to sand
And the tides that brought us
Forth
Will take us back
Again.

I will never leave you, my friend.
Every time you see a wave rushing to
Meet another,
Two friends unite.
Every time you see a wave crashing,
Two friends depart.
The journey will go on, my friend.
Our memories are recorded
In seashells
To show and tell
The lessons learned
In these heavens and hells
Part of this sea of life –
And when the tide is right,
We shall cross paths again
When the ocean sings our song.”

Poetry by Suzy Kassem

Very profound…

As you can see, I’ve collected a lot of sea shells, but I have far more than these… -_-

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