15 agosto 2006
Lembra-me um sonho lindo
quase acabado,
lembra-me um céu aberto
outro fechado
Estala-me a veia em sangue
estrangulada,
estoira no peito um grito,
à desfilada
Canta rouxinol canta
não me dês penas,
cresce girassol cresce
entre açucenas
Afaga-me o corpo todo
se te pertenço,
rasga-me o ventre ardendo
em fumos de incenso
Lembra-me um sonho lindo
quase acabado,
lembra-me um céu aberto
outro fechado
Estala-me a veia em sangue
estrangulada,
estoira no peito um grito,
à desfilada
Ai como eu te quero,
ai de madrugada,
ai alma da terra,
ai linda, assim deitada
Ai como eu te amo,
ai tão sossegada,
ai beijo-te o corpo,
ai seara, tão desejada.
Fausto, Por Este Rio Acima (1982)
08 agosto 2006
05 agosto 2006
04 agosto 2006
Jacques Brel, Ne me quitte pas
Assim, completamente desgraçado, de rastos, pressentindo a miséria do que poderá um dia acontecer, assim te digo:
03 agosto 2006
I do not swear I will remember you;
I have sworn that before - and have forgot,
and vowed eternities too many times
to tarnish this with phrases I hold cheap.
I will not even say you are my love;
the word is trite, beribboned, tired with use,
and has grown sickly with the world's abuse.
I say that you are young, when all around
the years are weary, hearts destroy themselves,
and the bright morning of an April day
scarcely moves the dark; and you are clean
when dust of ages blows about the fields
and the new corn is stifled at its birth.
I say that I would choose, if choice were mine,
with all the honesty my heart can give,
to be your fellow out across the hills.
I do not swear I will remember you.
The lines we follow may diverge today
to meet each separate end. But I can say
when I am old, that once the world was true
and I was fearless and was not alone,
and broke the barriers of blood and bone
into the regions of a brighter star;
and when I smell the fragrant dusk of spring
I will be still with joy, remembering
these days no threat, no falsity can mar.
I have sworn that before - and have forgot,
and vowed eternities too many times
to tarnish this with phrases I hold cheap.
I will not even say you are my love;
the word is trite, beribboned, tired with use,
and has grown sickly with the world's abuse.
I say that you are young, when all around
the years are weary, hearts destroy themselves,
and the bright morning of an April day
scarcely moves the dark; and you are clean
when dust of ages blows about the fields
and the new corn is stifled at its birth.
I say that I would choose, if choice were mine,
with all the honesty my heart can give,
to be your fellow out across the hills.
I do not swear I will remember you.
The lines we follow may diverge today
to meet each separate end. But I can say
when I am old, that once the world was true
and I was fearless and was not alone,
and broke the barriers of blood and bone
into the regions of a brighter star;
and when I smell the fragrant dusk of spring
I will be still with joy, remembering
these days no threat, no falsity can mar.
Jane Tyson Clement, No One Can Stem the Tide: Selected Poetry 1931-1991
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