# 44 – “Density 45”, by Heyk Pimenta

16 02 2014

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Density 45

 

written in June 2012 and edited in 2013

 

 
In the mattress

filtered by its cover

or drank in pure drops

rests 10 times my volume

 

all the filth of the world

gathering grease

on the corner of things

 

5 years of mold and sloppiness

5 years of fervor

5 years of fear

 

– Lift it up, Caroll, the mattress to air it out

– Let’s buy a slat

– We have to make another cover

 

But there was no airing out, slat or cover

 

it rotted

green on brown

in our Chinese room

its cold and brown floor

 

all the humidity and ferns

and maidenhairs on the retaining wall in stone

from suck to bite marks spread along the mattress

which was

my own head,

inflated

my sorry eyes

 

today

bowed

in the guestroom standing upright against the wall

behind the door

there’s a corner missing from the mattress

 

all the more today

it remains folded in three

it became

a puff

a pauper sofa

of ulcers

in the living room

covered

surrounded by fleas

density 45 of dark grey foam

 

light grey cover

and a patch even lighter

getting lighter from inside to beyond

in layers

as if time applied

in candid coats

some ageing

or erased

by turning whiter and whiter

the love

 
Translated into English by Wagner Miranda

_
Original text in Portuguese:

 

Densidade 45

 

No colchão

filtrado pela capa

ou sorvido em gotas puras

está 10 vezes meu volume

 

toda a imundície do mundo

acumulando gordura

no canto das coisas

 

5 anos de mofo e desleixo

5 anos de fervor

5 anos de medo

 

– Levanta, Caroll, o colchão pra respirar

– Vamos comprar um estrado

– Temos que fazer outra capa

 

Mas não houve respiro ou estrado ou capa

 

ele apodreceu

verde sobre marrom

no nosso quarto chinês

seu piso frio e marrom

 

toda a umidade e samambaias e avencas

do muro de arrimo

em pedra

chupadas a mordidas pelo colchão

que era minha própria cabeça inflada

meus olhos sentidos

 

hoje

abaulado

no quarto de hóspedes

de pé

na parede

atrás da porta

falta uma quina ao colchão

 

mais hoje ainda

dobrado em três

tornou-se

um pufe

um sofá pobre

de úlceras

na sala

coberto

entre pulgas

 

densidade 45 de espuma cinza escura

 

capa cinza clara

e um remendo cinza ainda mais claro

clareando de dentro em diante

em camadas

como se o tempo pintasse

em mãos alvas

algum envelhecimento

ou apagasse

cada vez mais branco

o amor

 
Heyk’s blog: http://heykpimenta.blogspot.com.br/ (in Portuguese)





# 43 – “What’s next?”, by Jeanine Will

7 01 2014

jeanine will

What’s next?

to richey james

over the Severn

she lies

silent and gray

ironic, she’s the link

she knows your way

and much more than many others say

with so many gods,

why Neptune?

dazed and at random

eyeballing

the continuous flow

of wherever you go

I think about this life

vast and severe

halted by the grid

heartbroken

 

Translated into English by Wagner Miranda

Original text in Portuguese:

O que virá?

para richey james

sobre o Severn

ela se deita

silenciosa e cinza

irônica liga

sabe o teu rumo

e muito mais do que dizem muitos

com tantos deuses,

por que Netuno?

atônita e à toa

os olhos fixos

no fluxo contínuo

do teu caminho

penso nessa vida

grande e grave

parada na grade

inconsolável

Jeanine Will 

http://caminhaodemudanca.blogspot.ie/





# 42 – “Haiku” e “Lungs of the world”, de Jonh Cooper Clarke

18 10 2013

johncooperclarke_bycummins

Haikai

Ex-pres-sar estado emocional
U-san-do 17 sí-la-bas
É mui-to di-fí-

Pulmões do mundo

Árvores, árvores, árvores… Amo essas árvores
Elas são mais do que raízes e folhas
Elas tiram o veneno da brisa
E nos dão o ar que a gente respira
E nos dão o ar que a gente respira

Tradução: Wagner Miranda

Originais em inglês:

Haiku

To-con-vey one’s mood
In sev-en-teen syll-able-s
Is ve-ry dif-fic

Lungs of the World

Trees, trees, trees.. I love those trees
There’s more to them than roots and leaves
They take the poison from the breeze
And give us the air we breathe
And give us the air we breathe

John Cooper Clarke





# 41 – Vanessa Carvalho (3 poems)

3 10 2013

i

– 1 –

little poem about the distance

(translated from the original in Spanish)

now
between us
our eyes  bear
the distance of galaxies

– 2 –

longing is what I’ve caught
in the dust
of memory.

– 3 –

grandma

my grandma doesn’t know that,
but by walking
from the bedroom
to the kitchen
to the bathroom
to the living room
to the terrace
to the yard
and then going to buy bread,
she doesn’t take me with her
but she brings
something that not even her
knows she has.

my grandma doesn’t know
but I am a tree
that grows inside the house.
just like those plants
that pop up from inside
the abandoned houses
and slip out through the slits
of the windows, doors and walls.
but grandma, our house is not
abandoned yet.
so what in the world was abandoned here?

my grandma doesn’t know
and even thinks I’ve lost my mind,
but when I take
pictures of her,
I stop and prolong
her time in the portrait.

I know that
my branches don’t embrace
and my leaves don’t kiss.

my grandma knows so many things,
but what she doesn’t know
is that finding poetry in the other
it’s also a way to loving.

and this, I have no clue
of when she will know.

Translated into English by Wagner Miranda

Original poems in Brazilian Portuguese plus more here:  http://filosofiasdequinta.blogspot.ie/





# 40 – Maria, José, Jesus, de Tarcísio Regueira

27 03 2013

Imagem

Mary, Joseph, Jesus

The street corner was full,
it was Christmas Eve.

A tattered woman begged,
hand reached out.

Her name was Mary.

Next to her, a man slept

oblivious to the ruthless noise of the world.

His name was Joseph.

A shriek is heard: Thief!

A kid runs with a watch in his hands.

A sudden braking.

A dead boy.

His name was Jesus.

The woman stared
at that sad manger.

There were no cows,
only rats.

There were no stars,
only the police’s spinning light.

There were no kings,

only men oblivious to everything.

Translated into English by Wagner Miranda

____________________________________________________________________

Original text in Portuguese

Maria, José, Jesus

A esquina estava lotada,
era véspera de Natal.
Uma mulher maltrapilha
pedia com a mão estendida.
Seu nome era Maria.

Junto, um homem dormia
alheio ao barulho impiedoso do mundo.
Seu nome era José.

Ouve-se um grito: Ladrão!
Uma criança corre com um relógio na mão.
De repente um freio.
Um menino morto.
Seu nome era Jesus.

A mulher olhava
para aquela triste manjedoura.
Não havia vacas,
só ratos.
Não havia estrelas,
só a luz giratória da polícia.
Não havia reis,
só homens alheios a tudo.

Tarcísio Regueira





# 39 – True Love, de Jeremy Young

28 01 2013

JEREMY YOUNG

 

Amor verdadeiro

 

 

Antes de me apaixonar por você

 

Eu tinha paixão pela justificativa filosófica,

Pela metafísica e pela teologia,

 

A minha busca era pela verdade esotérica,

Por mundos interiores e divindade oculta.

 

Eu só pude ver as verdades no interior da minha mente;

O meu cérebro estava cego

 

Para o verdadeiro mistério do amor.

 

 

 

Traduzido por Wagner Miranda

 

 

 

Original English text

 

 

True love

 

Before I fell in love with you

 

My passion was for philosophic proof,

For metaphysics and theology,

 

My search was for the esoteric truth,

For inner worlds and hid divinity.

 

I only saw the truths inside my mind;

My brain was blind

 

To love’s true mystery.

 

 

Jeremy Young

 





# 38 – A palavra mágica, de Carlos Drummond de Andrade

21 01 2013

Imagem

 

 

The magic word

 

A certain word sleeps in the shadow

of a rare book.

How to disenchant it?

It is life’s password

the world’s password

I will search for it.

 

 

I will search for it all my life

all over the world.

If the encounter is late, if I can’t find it,

 

 

I don’t lose heart,

I keep searching.

I keep searching, and my search

will remain being

my word.

 

 

Translated into English by Wagner Miranda

___________________________________________________

Original text in Portuguese:

 

A palavra mágica

Certa palavra dorme na sombra
de um livro raro.
Como desencantá-la?
É a senha da vida
a senha do mundo.
Vou procurá-la.

Vou procurá-la a vida inteira
no mundo todo.
Se tarda o encontro, se não a encontro,
não desanimo,
procuro sempre.

Procuro sempre, e minha procura
ficará sendo
minha palavra.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade








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