Bélgica e EUA na POESIA

BÉLGICA
Fuga soñada (Maurice Gilliams)


Un patio con hierbajos.
En él he estado al aire frío,
leyendo años enteros
sin acabar mi libro.


Es que he callado tanto…
Y sigo siendo un niño
en un vaso de agua reflejado.



Tradução: Francisco Carrasquer



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EUA
Untitled Anarchist Poem (John Cage)


We don’t need government
We need utilities.


Air, water, energy
Travel and communication means
Food and shelter.



We have no need for imaginary mountain ranges
Between separate nations.

 

We can make tunnels through the real ones.

  

Nor do we have any need for the continuing division of people
Into those who have what they need
And those who don’t.



Both Fuller and Marshal McLuhan
Knew, furthermore
That work is now obsolete.
We have invented machines to do it for us.

 

Now that we have no need to do anything
What shall we do?

 

Looking at Fuller’s geodesic world map
We see that the Earth is a single island, Oahu.
We must give all the people all they need to live
In any way they wish.


Our present laws protect the rich from the poor.


If there are to be laws, we need ones that
Begin with the acceptance of poverty as a way of life.


We must make the world safe for poverty


Without dependence on government.

EUA e Alemanha na POESIA

EUA
Autobiography (Patti Smith)

[from CREEM, September 1971]

great human wild animal
amoral
an outlaw
keep watch over her

I was born in Illinois...mainline of America...
beat to shit...Chicago tenement
big red eyed rats in the night...dead rats to tease at night
Morning...I waited for the organ grinder
with my nickel for the monkeys tin cup
gingerbread man...cotton candy man
bad girl setting fire to the oil cans
run like hell escape on the icemans truck
I was a limping ugly duck
but I had good luck

Mama filled me with fantasy...my bears danced at midnight
even my toybox had a soul
Mama called me her goat girl...little black sheep
I loved my brother and sister: Todd and Linda
we drank each others blood...we were double blood brothers
we rolled in fields...three white wolves...we practised telepathy
no one could separate us...our minds were one
One, little one eye...I had an eyepatch...I walked like a duck
In the years the nursery children cried Quack Quack
I didn't care and didn't fight back
I floated off...fantasy gave me fire...I was made of water
the moon caused tidal waves and I'd cry like a coyote

I learned to drift...magik...tarot pack
I paraded in thirty disguises
and when people laughed at my carnival family
We didn't care...We had armor:
Daddy was a tap dancer...acrobat...wild horse
tracing pornography through the bible.
Mama was the dream of every sailor...bootlegged whiskey
called spirits from evenings half moon...dream weaver
We braved hurricanes...a new baby came...I named her Kim
the neighbors were suspicious...they called us witches
we didn't care...we were laughing and dancing and damned
and there was always music
Hank Williams crying off the lonesomes
funny valentine...Patty Waters
beat of the drum...bartok
song of the swamp rat
rock and roll music
rock and roll music

Rythum
On my own...my own rythums:
rythum of the railroad
steamheat of the factory
Alabama blues on a migrant bus
but as a blueberry picker I failed...I dreamed too much
the berry crop died...my mother smiled.
I ran off...I traveled...I broke down
kept running...TB trapped in the lung...spitting on the railroad track
I shook...I drank...rythum of one too many rhums
Drunk and broke down I slinked home...grabbed my sisters hand
and away we run...We took a freighter to Iceland
railway to Paris...Pigalle and wine in a black dress
I joined the fire eaters and sang in the streets...using all I learned
from Lotte Lenya...Bob Dylan...and motorcycle rock n' roll
We lived near a wishing well...milked goats...capture snails
and crawled back to New York.
New York my greatest love:
Rise of the building
flash of 42nd street...the pool halls...the hustlers
the trucks along tenth avenue
the helicopter yards
ghost of Jackson Pollock
human shit and dead dog floating on the Hudson River
moving...I kept moving
dreaming:
Panama...heart of adventure
the hot life of Mexico
the drunkard...the dock worker
Rythum...flash of white hair...winter
the Jesters...the Paragons
rise of the blue heron
breathe through the great rythum
scream through the Shepard
sing through that rock n' roll music
rock n' roll music
rock n' roll music
rock n' roll



***


ALEMANHA
Sal e Pão (Ingeborg Bachmann)

Então o vento manda os trilhos na frente,
seguiremos em vagarosos trens
e povoaremos estas ilhas
Confiança por confiança.


Na mão do meu amigo mais antigo coloco
meu ofício de volta; o homem da chuva governa
agora minha casa sinistra e completa
as linhas no livro da culpa, que eu tracei
desde que me tornei cada vez mais estranho.


Você, com a batina branco-febril,
recupera os desterrados e retira
da polpa dos cactos um espinho
o símbolo da impotência,
para o qual nos curvamos sem querer.


Sabemos,
que permaneceremos prisioneiros do continente
e à mercê de novo de suas injúrias,
e a maré da verdade
não se tornará ainda mais rara.


Dorme então nos rochedos
do crânio pouco iluminado,
a garra segura na garra
na escura pedra, e curados
estão os estigmas no violeta do vulcão.


Da grande tempestade de luzes
nenhuma alcançou a vida.


Assim pego do sal,
quando a maré nos sobe,
e regresso
e o coloco no umbral
e entro em casa.


Dividimos um pão com a chuva,
um pão, uma culpa e uma casa.




Tradução: Viviane de Santana Paulo

EUA e Portugal na POESIA

EUA
LEDA (Hilda Doolittle)

Donde el río lento
se encuentra con la marea,
un cisne rojo alza sus alas rojas
y el pico más oscuro,
y debajo del morado, debajo
de su pecho suave
desenrosca su pata de coral.


A través del morado intenso
del calor que agoniza
del sol y de la niebla,
el rayo erecto de la luz solar
acaricia
al lirio de pecho oscuro
y esparce un oro más rico
en su cresta dorada.


Donde el ascenso lento
de la marea
flota hacia el río
y boga lentamente a la deriva
entre las cañas
alzando banderas amarillas,
flota
donde se encuentran río y marea.


Ah beso soberano--
nunca más el arrepentimiento
ni recuerdos antiguos
para arruinar el éxtasis;
donde los juncos bajos se espesan,
el lirio de un día, dorado
se despliega y descansa
bajo el aleteo suave
de las alas del cisne rojo
y el temblor tibio
de su pecho.



tradução: Sandra Toro


***



PORTUGAL
Sobre um Poema (Herberto Helder)


Um poema cresce inseguramente
na confusão da carne,
sobe ainda sem palavras, só ferocidade e gosto,
talvez como sangue
ou sombra de sangue pelos canais do ser.

Fora existe o mundo. Fora, a esplêndida violência
ou os bagos de uva de onde nascem
as raízes minúsculas do sol.
Fora, os corpos genuínos e inalteráveis
do nosso amor,
os rios, a grande paz exterior das coisas,
as folhas dormindo o silêncio,
as sementes à beira do vento,
- a hora teatral da posse.
E o poema cresce tomando tudo em seu regaço.

E já nenhum poder destrói o poema.
Insustentável, único,
invade as órbitas, a face amorfa das paredes,
a miséria dos minutos,
a força sustida das coisas,
a redonda e livre harmonia do mundo.

- Em baixo o instrumento perplexo ignora
a espinha do mistério.
- E o poema faz-se contra o tempo e a carne.

Gana e EUA na POESIA

GANA
The weaver bird (Kofi Awoonor)


The weaver bird built in our house
And laid its eggs on our only tree
We did not want to send it away
We watched the building of the nest
And supervised the egg-laying.
And the weaver returned in the guise of the owner
Preaching salvation to us that owned the house
They say it came from the west
Where the storms at sea had felled the gulls
And the fishers dried their nets by lantern light
Its sermon is the divination of ourselves
And our new horizons limit as its nest.
But we cannot join the prayers and answers of the communicants
We look for new homes every day,
For new altars we strive to re-build
The old shrines defiled from the weaver's excrement.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yNlrkiiJnE


***



EUA
EM SUMA (Doroty Parker)

Navalhas doem,
ácido mancha,
o rio molha,
drogas dão cãibra;
arma é ilegal,
laço desfaz-se,
gás cheira mal.
Viva: é mais fácil.

Tradução: Nelson Ascher


RÉSUMÉ

Razors pain you – ,
Rivers are damp:
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.