Cigarettes After Sex

Hakusai - Anne Carson - Marília Garcia

A raiva é uma cadeado doloroso
mas que pode ser aberto.

Hokusai, 83 anos, 
disse, 
é hora de fazer meus leões.

Todas as manhãs
até sua morte

219 dias depois
ele desenhou
um leão.

Rajadas de vento do noroeste.

Leões balançavam
e saltavam
do alto

dos pinheiros
para as ruas

cobertas de
neve ou sei
estatelavam

sobre a cabana dele,
as patas brancas

ferindo as estrelas
ao cair.

Eu sigo desenhando
em busca
de um dia calmo,

dizia Hokusai
enquanto os leões tombavam. 

Marília Garcia. Disponível aqui.

Bon Iver - 8 (circle)| One2One experience

Um poema de Elisabete Marques

BATER A PEDRA, BATER

o chão. Perpendicular

a perna do homem, fio-de-prumo,

constituindo medida e

sustento do gesto. O homem calça-terra

agora está de joelhos.

A gota do rosto

deslizando como

mínimo mar quase em queda.

Sua boca toca a lata precisa de cócacóla.

E os passantes desajeitados

acertam batentes tacões sobre o tosco fóssil desenhado.

 

Cisco. Lisboa: Mariposa Azual, 2014.

Beck - Up All Night

Canto I - Radu Vancu

There will be people and they will push the world further.

Today it is evening, we are building a Lego police station

and we are watching Cars.

Today the world does not deserve to be pushed further than that.

Today we have not seen the sun struggling tetanized

in the sky. It seemed it never existed.

Today God was not the concept with which

we measure our pain, as John sings.

Maybe it measured the convulsions and torture of the sun,

what do I know. For us there existed

only the slow growth of the police station

and no sun to ruin any plans

above it.

We need a Lego sun shining without alternative

above a Lego abyss. Young Lego peasants

from a Lego Galilee

taking upon them all the Lego sins and dejections.

We need Lego children singing:

“in the shadow of the Lego cross we sat down and wept.”

A Lego John Lennon singing about

Lego gods and concepts and pains.

Only then will the sun struggle happily

in convulsions. Only then will the world deserve

to be pushed on.

Today it is evening, we are building a Lego police station

and we are watching Cars. The milk

gets warm in the white tin cup.

Nothing, and this is no big talk – nothing

can push us further.

4 A.M. Domestic Cantos, 2015.

William Patrick Corgan - Aeronaut

If our place is where

If our place is where
silent contemplation among things 
needs us
saying is not knowing, it is the other
all fated path of being.
This is the gepgraphy.
This is how we stay in the world
pensive adventures of humanity,
that is how we are form
that forms blindly
in talking about itself
by vocation.

Silvia Bre, in Italian Contemporary Poets: An Anthology. Edited by Franco Buffoni. Federazione Unitaria Italiana, 2016, p. 32.

Four Tet - Two Thousand and Seventeen

Home Wrecker - Ocean Vuong

And this is how we danced: with our mothers’
white dresses spilling from our feet, late August

turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingers

sweeping though my hair—my hair a wildfire.
We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turned

into heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
into a coffin. In the museum of the heart

there are two headless people building a burning house.
There was always the shotgun above the fireplace.

Always another hour to kill—only to beg some god
to give it back. If not the attic, the car. If not the car,

the dream. If not the boy, his clothes. If not alive,
put down the phone. Because the year is a distance

we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say: this is how
we danced: alone in sleeping bodies. Which is to say:

This is how we loved: a knife on the tongue turning
into a tongue.

Ocean Vuong.  Retrieved from here.

Destroyer - Kaputt

Van Damme - Diego Moraes

A gente fazia faculdade de jornalismo na uninorte. Ela me dava bola. Queria sair comigo. Quem sabe namorar e ter filhos. Um dia cheguei chapado na sala e disse que van damme era melhor que godard. Ela não perdoou. O amor acabou e virou ódio. Algumas mulheres perdoam tudo, menos um bêbado falando que van damme é melhor que godard. O mais foda é que estou revendo O grande dragão branco no telecine e não mudei de opinião. Van damme é o cara. 

Diego Moraes - Retirado daqui. 

Nadine Shah - Holiday Destination

A Short Story of Falling - Alice Oswald

It is the story of the falling rain

to turn into a leaf and fall again

it is the secret of a summer shower

to steal the light and hide it in a flower

and every flower a tiny tributary

that from the ground flows green and momentary

is one of water's wishes and this tale

hangs in a seed-head smaller than my thumbnail

if only I a passerby could pass

as clear as water through a plume of grass

to find the sunlight hidden at the tip

turning to seed a kind of lifting rain drip

then I might know like water how to balance

the weight of hope against the light of patience

water which is so raw so earthy-strong

and lurks in cast-iron tanks and leaks along

drawn under gravity towards my tongue

to cool and fill the pipe-work of this song

which is the story of the falling rain

that rises to the light and falls again

Alice Oswald. Falling Awake. W.W. Norton & Company, 2016. 

Bush - Letting the Cables Sleep