ZuluDasMeiasAltas

morreu antónio champalimaud.

nasceu joão radich

Senhor Joaquim, deixe-nos sossegados. Vire essa lanterna para lá.

Lovesong



He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other's face




Ted Hughes

"Eu interessava-me por um homem que, de longe, parecia maravilhoso, mas assim que ele se aproximava, via que não valia a pena".


Era esta a visão que Sylvia Plath tinha dos homens após os seis anos de casamento com Ted Hughes e do nascimento de Frieda e Nicholas.

Lady Lazarus


I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.


Sylvia Plath



zulu esperava mais do "Sylvia", mas não saíu decepcionado.

Je est un autre


Ele é o homem que toma notas,
O observador de chapéu alto preto,
De rosto oculto pela aba:
Em três cidades europeias
Tem-me visto a mim a olhá-lo.
À esquina de uma rua em Buda e depois
Junto aos correios, um vislumbre
Das abas do casaco sumindo-se
Deu esclarecimento igual e, examinado,
O aperto na garganta.
Outra vez, num encontro ao pé do Sena,
Com as águas um chão de estrelas a mexer,
Quando eu cheguei à porta já se fora,
Mas no pavimento, e ainda aceso,
Lá estava um dos seus habituais charutos pretos.

O encontro na escura escadaria
Onde a maré corria escorreita como um tear:
O atraiçoá-la, os beijos dela,
A tudo ele assistiu., quantas vezes
O ouço rir no quarto ao lado.

Observa-me agora trabalhando até tarde
A dar vida a um poema; os olhos
Reflectem a doença de Nerval:
Inútil é nesta velha casa interrogar
Espelhos, a sua máscara impenetrável.



Lawrence Durrell