now one from Yourcenar

“The memory of most men is an abandoned cemetery where lie, unsung and unhonored, the dead whom they have ceased to cherish. Any lasting grief is reproof to their forgetfulness.”
Marguerite Yourcenar

we have to try too hard

“No other human being, no woman, no poem or music, book or painting can replace alcohol in its power to give man the illusion of real creation.”
Marguerite Duras

I was by myself

sitting by the fire
t’was dark, chilly outside.
moist air, I remember,
flames burning like fireflies.

the year had changed,
I had not realized…
until that moment.
another moment. another year.

an epiphany?
guess I’m too old for that.

at that moment,
it was poetry that was made simple.
it all sunk down on the inside.

Waking the Dead

Fielding Pierce: There’s something that I think I should tell you all. I’m not feeling very well. And I haven’t been for a while. Something inside me has jumped the track. I’m confused. I’m not thinking right. I’m not sleeping right. And I- Just don’t think I am complaining about this or asking for your help. Because there’s nothing anyone can do about it. It’s just happened and that’s all there is to it. But I don’t know what I’m going to say from one minute to the next. I really don’t. I don’t know what I’m going to say and I don’t know what I’m going to do. Do you understand that? And I know this is coming at a bad time for everyone but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m tired and I’m- I don’t see things the way that I used to. Everything, everything, everything is fucking strange and it’s all completely out of control and I’m frightened. And maybe if you all could give me some real help, you know? That would be- And not your pity or generosity but some help; Take a look at me. I know that I am ruining everything but I can’t- If I don’t say this now I may never say it. Everything is going very fast. It’s going very, very fast. It’s completely out of control. And if I don’t say it today, tomorrow may be too late. I may be too crazy to even know how crazy I am. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. Something has happened to me and I’m very lost. And it doesn’t stop. It’s not getting better. I don’t get better. I’m not getting better. It’s just going on and it’s going on. And there’s nothing that I can do about it. It’s not stopping. It’s not stopping.

três poemas por Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen

REGRESSAREI

Eu regressarei ao poema como à pátria à casa
Como à antiga infância que perdi por descuido
Para buscar obstinada a substância de tudo
E gritar de paixão sob mil luzes acesas.

***

AS ONDAS

As ondas quebravam uma a uma
Eu estava só com a areia e com a espuma
Do mar que cantava só para mim.

***

MEIO-DIA

Meio-dia. Um canto da praia sem ninguém.
O sol no alto, fundo, enorme, aberto,
Tornou o céu de todo o deus deserto.
A luz cai implacável como um castigo.
Não há fantasmas nem almas,
E o mar imenso solitário e antigo
Parece bater palmas.

Alone With Everybody

by Charles Bukowski

“the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there’s no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.”

like a thunderclap

one of those days

you’re such

a sincere

person

FEAR NOT, DULCINEA!

I never fear the day.
the sun blinds me, gives me rage,
rage to destroy fate and go on.

so warm, so hot on the
top of my head
the sun shines bright
above all buildings.

I am
indestructible.
undefeated
I am.

bullets may come,
asteroids, robbers, cops.
I have two fists,
I have choler
they’ve got nothing on me.

this mass of light,
bright on top of us all.
a drop of sweat runs down my temple.

it is rage it is rage
it is the death of darkness.
my blood boils in the heat of the day
and I will break your bones
and your teeth
if once again you tell me
you are afraid of anything
at midday.

where are you, mon Bel-Ami?

“The creation and development of narratives play a crucial role in the construction of our identities, cultures, and worlds. (…) So, that we respond emotionally to fictions is not only consistent with the fact that we react to actual situations, but it is also required by the affective engagement that narratives demand from us, as much in the quest for fictional entertainment as in factual, quotidian circumstances.” (Stephen Davies, “Responding Emotionally to Fictions”)