terça-feira, 23 de setembro de 2014

Frequency Modulation - Raymond McDaniel

you are listening to

the transmission via seed pearl, aural irritant

clockwork and sparkgap ultra high and superlow

precious black opal crystal and glass shudders and sings

broad cast scattered the seeds among the apocrypha

each agent at land or sea satellite or space

direct conversion of royal register and groove

high in fidelity to

our regenerative radio hisses and shouts

everything that cannot be owned belongs now to us

irradiant waves oscillate below visible light

to arrive and reside requires no medium but occupies vacuum

and air transformational emission

follow your radiotelegraph

we are your conductor our amplitude varies

we fluctuate the frequency

we are not subject to static interference

we embed the subcarrier

hush y’all

you need not know that language if you know this sound
Salwater Empire. Coffee House Press, 2008.

quarta-feira, 17 de setembro de 2014

Louvor do Lixo - Adília Lopes

para a Amra Alirejsovic
(quem não viu Sevilha não viu maravilha)

É preciso desentropiar
a casa
todos os dias
para adiar o Kaos
a poetisa é a mulher-a-dias
arruma o poema
como arruma a casa 
que o terramoto ameaça
a entropia de cada dia
nos dai hoje
o pó e o amor
como o poema
são feitos
no dia a dia
o pão come-se
ou deita-se fora
(uma pomba
pode visitar o lixo)
o poema desentropia
o pó deposita-se no poema
o poema cantava o amor
graças ao amor
e ao poema
o puzzle que eu era
mas é preciso agradecer o pó
o pó que torna o livro
ilegível como o tigre
o amor não se gasta
os livros sim
a mesa cai
à passagem do cão
e o puzzle fica por fazer
no chão
A mulher-a-dias. Lisboa: & etc, 2002
Retirado daqui.

terça-feira, 9 de setembro de 2014

Rain - Don Paterson

I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;       

one big thundering downpour             
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame

to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,

and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,

so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view     
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,
I think to when we opened cold
on a starlit gutter, running gold
with the neon of a drugstore sign
and I’d read into its blazing line:

forget the ink, the milk, the blood -  
all was washed clean with the flood  
we rose up from the falling waters  
the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters 

and none of this, none of this matters.

Don Paterson. Rain. London: Faber & Faber, 2010.

quinta-feira, 4 de setembro de 2014

New Kind of Light - Zachary Schomburg

I move my hands
in these woods
to find her sex-parts.

We discover our sex-parts
make heat 
and blue light.

We become outlines of ourselves - 

long scratches 
in the sky.

We have a daughter
who was never born.

She lives in the house
we never built,

but in this new light
you can almost see
its tattered roof.

Zachary Schomburg. Scary, Scary. Black Ocean, 2009