Saltar para: Post [1], Pesquisa e Arquivos [2]

O fumo do meu cigarro

Apenas um outro blog

O fumo do meu cigarro

Apenas um outro blog

Another birth, poema de Forugh Farrokhzad

Janeiro 03, 2018

Bruno

A dark and chanted verse is what I am 
Forever bearing you 
In myself imbued with you 
Forth to the morning of eternal burgeonings and blooms 
Oh yes I drew you through this verse oh breath 
Oh yes I drew you through 
This verse and crafted you 
To seas to trees to fire I grafted you. 

Life may be 
A street crossed by a woman with a basket every day 
Life may be 
Rope for a man who hangs himself from a branch. 
Life may be a child coming home from school. 
Life may be a cigarette lighting 
Up in the narcotic pause between lovemaking and love made 
Or the dazed gaze of a passerby 
Tipping his hat to a passerby 
With a senseless smile and a Good Morning. 
Life may be that cloistered moment 
When my gaze comes to ruin in your pupils 
Wherein there lies a feeling 
Which I shall blend 
With the moon's impression 
And the night's perception. 
In a room the size of loneliness 
My heart the size of love 
Looks at the simple pretext of its happiness, 
The vase's flowers, their beautiful decay, 
The sapling that you implanted in our garden 
And the canaries' song 
Wide as a window frame. 

Oh 
My lot is this 
My lot is this 
This sky abducted from my sight by a hung curtain, 
This passage down a deserted stairway 
To retrieve something from amid the rot and banished thoughts. 
My lot is a sad promenade in nostalgia's garden,
My lot is to catch my death in the despair of the voice that says to me 
'I love 
Your hands.' 

I shall plant my hands in the garden 
And I will grow I know I know oh I know 
And in my hand's inkstained hollow 
The swallow 
Shall lay its eggs. 

I shall wear 
A pair of cherries as ear-rings 
And dress my nails with dahlia petals 
There is an alley where 
Boys who were in love with me even now 
Linger with the very unkempt hair and lanky legs
Recollecting the innocent smiles of a little girl 
The wind blew away one night. 

There is an alley my heart 
Has stolen from my childhood's neighborhood 

A form journeying along time's line 
Inseminating time's dry line with form 
A form aware of an image 
Back from a mirror's feast 

And that is how it is 
That somebody dies 
While someone abides 
None who fish 
In the tiny stream that drains out into a ditch 
Can ever fish up a pearl. 


Know a sad little ocean sprite 
Down in her watery haven 
Who oh so softly 
Plays her heart through a flute, 
A sad little sprite 
Who dies from a kiss at night 
To be born from a kiss at dawn. 

Translated by A.Z. Foreman 

Mais sobre mim

foto do autor

Subscrever por e-mail

A subscrição é anónima e gera, no máximo, um e-mail por dia.

Arquivo

  1. 2018
  2. J
  3. F
  4. M
  5. A
  6. M
  7. J
  8. J
  9. A
  10. S
  11. O
  12. N
  13. D
  1. 2017
  2. J
  3. F
  4. M
  5. A
  6. M
  7. J
  8. J
  9. A
  10. S
  11. O
  12. N
  13. D
  1. 2016
  2. J
  3. F
  4. M
  5. A
  6. M
  7. J
  8. J
  9. A
  10. S
  11. O
  12. N
  13. D