sexta-feira, 30 de janeiro de 2015

If I'm Early - Hugo Williams

Every other day I follow the route
of the Midland Railway
to where it cuts through
St Pancras Old Church Cemetery.
I might go into the church
and heave a sigh or two
before continuing via a gate
set in the cemetery wall
to the Mary Rankin Wing
of St Pancras Hospital.
As a young man, Thomas Hardy
supervised the removal of bodies
from part of the cemetery
to make way for the trains.
He placed the headstones
round an ash tree sapling,
now grown tall, where I stop sometimes
to look at the stones
crowding round the old tree
like children listening to a story.
Retirado daqui.

terça-feira, 27 de janeiro de 2015

$$$$ by Christopher Salerno


You are the bankteller
you understand god
created nothing but rectangular
molds for money 

This narrow definition
of where things come from
speaks to the world
as a made place

Ask me when I first noticed
my own negative
thinking. I tell you
in these sentences 

A tree outlives its welcome
A poem doesn’t mean what it says
if it includes a sweepstakes
I’ve been staring out 

the window at clouds
Still the urge to own
a convertible
gone the urge to grow 

my own food
to go into the woods without
my bankbook. I sit
in the groin of a large tree 

probably being seen
by the neighbors
Lets take a walk
to the winter factory 

the piles of broken
appliances over which bats drift 

at dusk is fantastic
but before you can see 

into evening you must
be suddenly
awakened from your nap by coins
dropping, the sound 

of dial-up connecting
everyone electronically at sunset.
What, then, is fetish?
Half nude, up early I see 

a cat with snow on his back
I watch a squirrel plow
a branch of snow. Am I supposed
to believe squirrels 

don’t place tiny bets
against each other? Right now
it’s like I’m with friends
breathing and thinking less 

I’m pouring out
my free refill, getting city water
from the sink
All this meditating 

on money
returning to everyone’s hands
The sky is incapable
of anything green 

says the bankteller
says the branch manager
everything is fine
I close my checkbook and frown

Vermillion is worth more
than anything else
when daylight comes. The broad
definition of daylight 

speaks to the world as
a made place. If only I could stop
saying “whole ‘nother’.
Turn the coin over 

and here comes heads
It’s a gray coin worn smooth
What rates of exchange, what quid
pro quo, can you make 

out reading this? What music
is there? How many senses
are aroused?
I have an accordion 

file full of coupons
and maps.

Christopher Salerno.  ATM. Georgetown Review Press, 2014.

terça-feira, 20 de janeiro de 2015

Javalis - Diego Moraes


Casal ruivo dançando tango dentro do sonho da padaria
Teu sorriso é um livro de setecentas e setenta e sete páginas terminados
em flor
A solidão dos javalis nadando no Discovery Channel.

Diego Moraes

Retirado daqui

quinta-feira, 8 de janeiro de 2015

Valentine - Owen Sheers

The water torture of your heels
emptying before me down that Paris street,
evacuated as the channels of our hearts.

That will be one memory.

The swing of the tassels on your skirt
each step filling out the curve of your hip;
your wet lashes, the loss of everything we’d learnt.

That will be another.

Then later – holding each other on the hotel bed
like a pair of wrecked voyagers
who had thought themselves done for,

only to wake washed up on the shore
uncertain in their exhaustion
whether to laugh or weep.

That my valentine, will be the one I’ll keep.  

Owen Sheers. Skirrid Hill, 2005.

sábado, 3 de janeiro de 2015

Love, Like Water - Julia Copus

Love, Like Water

Tumbling from some far-flung cloud
into your bathroom alone, to sleeve
a toe, five toes, a metatarsal arch,
it does its best to being indifference
to the body, but will go on creeping
up to the neck till its reading the skin
like Braille, though you're certain it sees
under the surface of things and knows
the route your nerves take as they branch
from the mind, which lately has been curling
in on itself like the spine of a dog
as it circles a patch of ground to sleep.
Now through the dappled window,
propped open slightly for the heat,
a light rain is composing
the lake it falls into, the way a lover's hand
composes the body it touches - Love,
like water! How to gives and gives,
wearing the deepest of grooves in our sides
and filling them up again, ever so gently
wounding us, making us whole.

Julia Copus. In Defense of Adultery. Bloodaxe, 2003.