La nuit n’est jamais complète
Il y a toujours puisque je le dis
Puisque je l’affirme
Au bout du chagrin une fenêtre ouverte
Une fenêtre éclairée


Paul Éluard

Caixas e Sacos

Quanto maior é a caixa mais leva.
As caixas vazias levam tanto como as cabeças vazias.
Muitas caixinhas vazias que se deitam numa grande caixa vazia, enchem-na toda.
Uma caixa meio-vazia diz: “Ponham-me mais”.
Uma caixa bastante grande pode conter o mundo.
Os elefantes precisam de grandes caixas para guardar uma dúzia de lenços de assoar para elefantes.
As pulgas dobram os seus lencinhos e arruma-nos com cuidado em caixas de lenços para pulgas.
Os sacos encostam-se uns aos outros e as caixas levantam-se independentes.
As caixas são quadradas e têm cantos, ou então são redondas e têm círculos.
Pode empilhar-se caixa sobre caixa até que tudo venha a baixo.
Empilhe caixa sobre caixa, e a caixa do fundo dirá: “Queira notar que tudo repousa sobre mim”.
Empilhe caixa sobre mim, e a que está em cima perguntará: “É capaz de me dizer qual de nós cai para mais longe quando caímos todas?”
As pessoas-caixa vão à procura de caixas e as pessoas-saco vão à procura de sacos.


Carl Sandburg

Middle of Nowhere

Passas leve…







I

Passas leve,
Levezinha,
Como a minha
Tentação.
Quem me dera
Tão ligeiro
Teu inteiro
Coração…

II

Passas rindo,
Confiada,
Doce fada
Do sertão.
Não te prendam
Nos caminhos
Os espinhos
Da ambição…

III

Vais correndo,
Vão cantando,
Vão saltando,
Brandos ais
Os teus seios
Negros, duros,
Como obscuros
Madrigais…

IV

Os teus olhos
São pecados
Que cuidados
Dão a Deus,
Quem me dera
Confessá-los,
Comungá-los
Com os meus…

V

Sempre humilde,
Sempre obscura,
Que tortura,
Teu viver?
És tão linda,
Tão mimosa,
Negra, goza,
Que és mulher.


Rui de Noronha

I have to smoke
if i want to have hope





Alma Yusuf

The Conspiracy




You send me your poems,
I'll send you mine.

Things tend to awaken
even through random communication

Let us suddenly
proclaim spring. And jeer

at the others,
all the others.

I will send a picture too
if you will send me one of you.

Robert Creeley

ULYSSES

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alfred Tennyson
(clic para ouvir "Ulysses" - Sir Lewis Casso + Dr. J)

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