Pomes Penyeach

Haiku (The moon rests...)

2010-10-25T03:25:00.001-07:00

The moon rests

in the lake bottom:

no sign of penetration.

9/2010

Broken Mirror

2010-03-16T10:57:00.001-07:00

The mirror divides us
our pieces
on the ground

while the fingers
they bleed from glass's fury

A broken mirror
branches
of the same whole
face dispersed in silver

The cherry-tree
of the photo frame is intact.

J.T.Parreira

Ancient photo

2009-06-26T04:14:00.001-07:00

It occurred to me that day spend eternity
in the face of the boys, keep the size
of their heads, their legs
in pants, old clothes
was what had
a look
they did not know
would how to illuminate the dark room
of the future.

J.T.Parreira

The Lovers

2009-05-19T04:23:00.000-07:00

After the violin snatch the public
they began playing the fingers
one another
until the bottom of the hands
The woman said yes
with a left hand
and a right hand of him is imprisoned
maybe forever.

Van Gogh died the other day

2009-04-02T10:46:00.000-07:00

Van Gogh died the other day
one shot
into Auvers, a shot
burst into the light
of winding wheat, one shot
in the Van Gogh's head
the wings of crows scaring the blue.

João Tomaz Parreira

Cardiology

2009-03-07T08:32:00.000-08:00

I showed my heart to the doctor: he said I just have to quit.”

(Leonard Cohen)

I showed my heart to the doctor, graphics

trampling the beats of the blood- the doctor said

that although the tests

no showed evidences

was the loneliness, he showed the danger

I have a greater love

than the age that I can reach Finally

showed me how it works

is the divine breath.

Cardiologia

Abri o meu coração para o médico, gráficos

atropelando as batidas do sangue- o médico disse

que embora os exames

não mostrassem indícios

havia solidão, ele mostrou o perigo

de se ter um amor maior do que a idade

a que podemos chegar Por fim

mostrou-me como trabalha

ainda o sopro divino.

J.T.Parreira

Mickey Rourke, the wrestler

2009-02-24T04:30:00.000-08:00

Angelic step in air
falls on the carpet
I was very good at it
cause problems to the sensitive Hollywood
I do it exceptionally well
was stupid say
acting is not work to hard-boiled male
so after much knock out
my memory have a long space.

In:

http://www.litkicks.com/poetry.php?poem=716527

Mickey Rourke, o lutador

Em passo angélico no ar

cair no tapete, era bom nisso

causar problemas à seriedade

de Holywood, fazia isso naturalmente

foi estúpido dizer

que representar não era trabalho

para um homem a sério

depois de tanta pancada

a minha memória tem muito

espaço.

23/2/2009

In:

http://www.poetasalutor.blogspot.com/

Robbers

2009-02-12T05:10:00.000-08:00

In the temple he found men selling

cattle, sheep and tears

and flash of doves

those who exchanged forgiveness

the daily rate.

by JTParreira

Ezra's pretty tough, by Bukowski

2009-01-31T05:35:00.001-08:00

http://bukowski.net/vault/manuscripts.php

A dureza de Ezra

Há uns milhares de ingleses licenciados em literatura

que pensam tomar o lugar de Ezra

ou cummings ou Eliot

quando a melhor coisa que lhes

acontecerá

é acabarem como caixas

nas Lojas Safeway

e a perguntar

(sob as directrizes da gerência)

«Como está o sr. hoje?»

e não obterem resposta

nenhuma.

(Tradução: J.T.Parreira)

Truman Capote

2009-01-26T06:57:00.000-08:00

One day the evil came to see him

when held a dry martini

evil exists in the background

of the beauty

one day

when the Times of New York brought to him

fresh blood of the Clutter.

Um dia a maldade veio ao seu encontro

quando segurava um dry martini

a maldade existe no fundo

da beleza

um dia

o Times de Nova Iorque trouxe-lhe

o sangue fresco dos Clutter.

J.T.Parreira

Middle Age, a poem by Robert Lowell

2009-01-22T06:08:00.000-08:00

MIDDLE AGE

Now the midwinter grind

is on me, New York

drills through my nerves,

as I walk

the chewed-up streets.

At forty-five,

what next, what next?

At every corner,

I meet my Father,

my age, still alive.

Father, forgive me

my injuries,

as I forgive

those I

have injured!

You never climbed

Mount Sion, yet left

dinosaur

death-steps on the crust,

where I must walk.

Meia-Idade

Agora o pleno inverno enruga

a minha pele, Nova Iorque

perfura os meus nervos,

quando percorro

as ruas desgastadas.

Aos quarenta e cinco,

que virá a seguir? e depois?

Em cada esquina,

encontro o meu Pai,

com vida e a minha idade.

Pai, perdoa

minhas feridas,

como eu perdoo

aqueles que

feri.

Tu nunca escalaste

o Monte Sião, mas deixaste

velhas

pagadas de morte sobre a crosta,

onde tenho de andar.

(Trad. J.T.Parreira)

Haiku

2009-01-21T16:47:00.001-08:00

Morning Sun, by Hopper

I touch up the sky

from a gentle mirror

within the stream.

Kaddish for us

2009-01-04T17:37:00.000-08:00

When they killed us
our ashes talked by ourselves
when they killed our children
we had more
when our women were naked
our eyes were closed forever
have towns where the wind
do not brought the birds
but ashes.

04-01-2009

A river called sadness

2008-11-15T12:16:00.000-08:00

Remember? We sat on a border, wetting

the feet in sadness

The troubled waters

shaking our reflexes

We are printed in water's silk inside? Let's reunite

on the hands of glass

the foam of our face.

by JTParreira

Sylvia Death

2008-10-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

Quando meteu a cabeça no forno de gaz
como um leão caindo sobre a presa
todos os poemas estavam prontos
dirigidos
para a morte sobre a mesa
Ela fê-lo de novo, e de novo
toda a manhã escureceu
a sua pele brilhante e o cabelo
como um sol loiro.

SYLVIA DEATH

When she put its head in the oven of gas
as a lion that falls on its prey
all poems were already
directed
to die on the table
She did so again, and again
through the morning dark
the shiny skin and Sylvia's hair
as a sun blond.

October 15, 2008

Charlie Parker

2008-10-08T14:18:00.001-07:00

The ghost of Bebop
from 52nd Street,
left footprints in the snow.
A Cab passed, in the yellowish night,
a drunk volatile
with a goose-step, almost
gave a kick in the stars.
Slid under the door
of the Three Deuces the blues.
The street was a cold mirror
when it rains, now remember
a mantle of ermine
the lap of Lady Day.

2008

JTParreira

Obituary

2008-10-02T17:22:00.000-07:00

Fernando Pessoa died

in the Bairro Alto, he put glasses on the table

for ever, three days

before was still seen to bend

a corner downtown Lisbon

laughs loose, a cough

to bend the body forward.

2008

Short Tale

2008-09-22T04:32:00.000-07:00

A car door slamming in the night
John Ashbery

Your noise

reached the house

the house

filled of light

the windows

It was opened curtains

flew in the wind

when you left

your noise.

The Creative Pen

2008-08-21T03:56:00.000-07:00

Congratulations - jtparreira June2008 award winner

Folies Bergère 1968

2008-05-28T04:52:00.000-07:00

Our breasts are on strike

Our legs

they do not fly far away

until the man's dream

Even our joy of the white of teeth

The feathers don't fly

in the transparency of the bodies

We, too, have a heart and wings

Our body only will light

the beauty of the soul.

(Thomas-John Parr)

Paris, Inverno 1994

2008-04-29T02:58:00.000-07:00

Paris, Inverno 1994 /Paris, Winter 1994

Paris nessa noite tinha
a luz distribuída pelas gotas da chuva.

Sartre e Beauvoir não estavam lá.

No Café de Flore, três ou quatro
colheres de açúcar afogavam
o amargo do café. Beberam-no
primeiro os meus olhos como um ritual, os lábios
depois, na minha língua
mais tarde escreveria um poema previsível.

Outras vezes, Paris era um bocado
de ar azulado.

J.T.Parreira

Odysseus enters into Ithaca

2008-03-11T13:21:00.000-07:00

Odysseus who walked in circles

in the sea and arrested the body

and its ears

to the mast of the ship

not gave its ears to the sirens

holding the helm under the waves

and with a bag of winds

in the swollen sails

to enters into Ithaca

where Penelope waits

for one life.

On the Waterfront

2008-02-06T03:09:00.000-08:00

In the last years I wanted to see

On The Waterfront

The audible Brando

with depressed eyes

wandering in the face

in its elegy about Mob

However really I wanted to hear

concerning the Joey

Joey

that was to be trainer of pigeons

but he fell of the roof.

Marilyn Monroe

2008-01-20T08:28:00.000-08:00

Marilyn Monroe by JTParreira

You made your lips more real

with lipstick, your red

lips

swallow a balcony

full of eyes.

Sylvia and Ted

2008-01-16T07:59:00.000-08:00

When you were with me

I never could die

My eyes wandered

without you, my fear had noises

all the steps, the shadows

were solid things

when I wrote the death

it scratched out sheets of paper

but when you were with me

I was for lasting the entire life

Your legs

supported my falls.

The Picasso Conspiracy

2008-01-03T11:08:00.001-08:00

With the infinite in a notebook
an eye
that arrives of the distance
Picasso cuts
the forms truly, bodies pulled out
from the volume
for all the beauty of the lines
its things with creaking of lungs breathe.

(Thomas-John Parr)

Study Nature, by Gertrude Stein

2007-12-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

I do.
Victim.
Sales
Met
Wipe
Her
Less.
Was a disappointment
We say it.
Study nature.
Or
Who
Towering.
Mispronounced
Spelling.
She
Was
Astonishing
To
No
One
For
Fun
Study from nature.
I
Am
Pleased
Thoroughly
I
Am
Thoroughly
Pleased.
By.
It.
It is very likely.
They said so.
Oh.
I want.
To do.
What
Is
Later
To
Be
Refined.
By
Turning.
Of turning around.
I will wait.

Poems of a line

2007-12-15T03:53:00.000-08:00

The moon inside of a wash tub.

The leaves hit the wind.

(J.T.Parreira)

Read This- a Magazine

2007-12-12T04:10:00.000-08:00

Steinway & Sons

2007-11-12T13:48:00.000-08:00

Three legs of the Steinway
raise a symphony of birds
in the veins above of the floor

the elegant legs
of the Steinway
as a woman

whom we listened
slowly
in its black dress.

(J.T.Parreira)

Mondrian's tree

2007-11-03T07:39:00.001-07:00

At day when the Piet Mondrian’s tree
was of the red size of the branches
the wind
entangled in the calm branches
Mondrian shows to us
the interior of nothing.

J.T.Parreira

Mister Lazarus

2007-10-22T05:51:00.000-07:00

Dying/Is an art, like everything else.
Sylvia Plath

He sits on ancestral door
from where its eyes
eat a few dreams

can’t spring
into streets of world
its weak legs

its
tired eyes
read the Job's book.

J.T.Parreira

L’étranger - Edmond Jabès (Egipto, 1912 - 1991)

2007-10-21T07:40:00.000-07:00

La coquetterie des choses
à paraître ce qu’elles sont
Le monde est une coterie
L’étranger y a du mal à se faire entendre
On lui reproche gestes et langue
Et pour sa patiente courtoisie
récolte injures et menaces

La coquetería de las cosas
por parecer lo que son
El mundo es una conjura
Al extranjero le cuesta hacerse escuchar
Se le reprochan su gesto y su lengua
Y por su paciente cortesía
cosecha injurias y amenazas

(Versión de Norman González y Cristina Burneo)

Meeting

2007-10-10T11:35:00.000-07:00

The first time we met

was in coliseum books

you was sunk in

a chair reading

Jean-Paul Sartre

I said

“what are you reading”

You said

“Sartre”

“you need nausea for this"

I said

(Thomas-John Parr)

Scottish Poets ...Edwin Morgan

2007-10-06T10:19:00.000-07:00

The Loch Ness Monster's Song

Sssnnnwhuffffll?

Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl?

Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl.

Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl -

gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm.

Hovoplodok - doplodovok - plovodokot - doplodokosh?

Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok splfok!

Zgra kra gka fok!

Grof grawff gahf?

Gombl mbl bl -

blm plm,

blp

Babel

2007-09-27T15:46:00.000-07:00

In all the words only had a language

Peter Bruegel the Elder, he painted

Babel,

just built between the words and men

of armed arms

The confusion, that

Bruegel did not see

in its piramide unfinished

with a cloud blow

What it brought the water

to the eyes of the men?

Now the whole world had one language.

Thomas-John Parr

MoMA

2007-09-10T07:23:00.001-07:00

As Picasso did it, the eyes
bigger than the head, it extends
for the spectator
the primitive bodies
Les Demoiselles,
I saw it with my wife
in the summer of 1991,
New York in suspension
below of the heat’s humidity,
lively and intact in a recurring wave
of air, the soul
establishes itself
in the girls of the Calle d'Avignon.

Thomas-John Parr

Literary Movements

2007-08-25T04:35:00.000-07:00

«You send me your poems,
I'll send you mine.» Robert Creeley

We will change our poetry
as who exchange the same

complicity in the eyes,
a quick word

it will tend to leave the circle
will leave obtuse angles

and the tautology
of the four walls

We will change silence,
Small nothings with depths

You send me your poems,
especially those

to swim against the tide
I will send you mine.

J.T.Parreira

Paris, Winter 1994

2007-08-20T01:57:00.001-07:00

Paris in that night had the light

distributed for the drops of rain

Sartre and Beauvoir were not there

In Café de Flore, three or four

spoons of sugar drowned

the bitter taste of the coffee, they drank it

first my eyes as a ritual, my lips later

In my language I would write

a previsible poem

Other times, Paris was a bluish air bit.

What it saw the Lot’s Wife

2007-08-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

The ground did not receive
the rest of the Lot's wife: of foot
it stayed of foot to emerge
of the lowest molecules of salt
the sunk white dream in silence
did not have following morning, never
emerging of the dawn.

J.T.Parreira

The Second Coming - W.B. Yeats

2007-08-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

1920

The Smile of Mona Lisa

2007-08-03T04:57:00.001-07:00

The smile of Gioconda to decorate
the museum, nobody
will mold it again
the bureaucratic smile
of Gioconda is a door
behind which does not have nothing
soul? landscapes? the silence
a navel of the soul
to smile for within.

J.T.Parreira

Fall in JFK

2007-07-27T08:57:00.000-07:00

We breathe in the windows

of the airplane

in the depth of clouds

We sail in the sky

but we need a nest

to make

We landing our eyes in the JFK

as birds

are bound for JFK

Birds fallen

of clouds frozen

inside the

JFK

J.T.Parreira

Common Prayer

2007-07-13T03:29:00.000-07:00

Our Father in heaven, Your
kingdom come, Your will
be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily
bread, forgive us our bread,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into evil,
and not be the evil.

J.T.Parreira

Allen Ginsberg's Poem Kaddish 44

2007-07-05T08:49:00.000-07:00

Kaddish 44

To Lindsay

Vachel, the stars are out
dusk has fallen on the Colorado road
a car crawls slowly across the plain
in the dim light the radio blares its jazz
the heartbroken salesman lights another cigarette
In another city 27 years ago
I see your shadow on the wall
you’re sitting in your suspenders on the bed
the shadow hand lifts up a Lysol bottle to your head
your shade falls over on the floor

[Paris, May 1958]

Para Lindsay

Vachel, as estrelas sairam de cena
o escuro caiu numa estrada do Colorado
um carro lento rasteja através da planície
o rádio ressoa jazz no crepúsculo
um vendedor desanimado acende outro cigarro
Há 27 anos noutra cidade
vejo a tua sombra no muro
estás sentado sobre teus suspensórios na cama
a mão da sombra ergue até à cabeça um frasco de Lysol
teu vulto decai sobre o soalho

*Vachel Lindsay, Poeta norte-americano, 1879-1931. Suicidou-se, bebendo Lysol
(Tradução: J.T.Parreira)

Literary Kicks

2007-06-21T16:37:00.001-07:00

New Poems

Here are a few recently posted poems from Action Poetry
that have caught our eye ...

The Talmud by JTParreira
The Circle of the Lustful by therequired
Psychedelic by Silver-Golem

Wind's Arabesque

2007-06-17T15:17:00.000-07:00

I like what you're trying to do –
this one

is a few drafts away from
being finished, I'd say.

The sally tree went pale
in every touch

I was standing watching you
take the leaves

as if your fingers
were walking on the ground.

J.T.Parreira

A Haiku

2007-06-11T03:25:00.000-07:00

Windmills in the sky.
A Quixote goes breaking
one to one the clouds.

The Factory

2007-06-08T04:52:00.000-07:00

Warhol, the dust has fallen

on the floor

a heart attack

of the ceiling close to our eyes

from the sky

light falls, your shadow

falls on the floor.

Confession: Charles Bukowski

2007-06-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed
I am so very sorry for
my wife
she will see this
stiff
white
body
shake it once, then
maybe
again:
“Hank!”
Hank won’t
answer.
it’s not my death that
worries me, it’s my wife
left with this
pile of nothing.
I want to
let her know
though
that all the nights
sleeping
beside her
even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid
and the hard
words
I ever feared to
say
can now be
said:
I love

you.

Confissão

À espera da morte

como um gato

que vai saltar na

cama

estou muito pesaroso

pela minha mulher

ela verá este

corpo

duro

e branco

uma vez e

talvez outra

o abanará

«Henri!»

o Henri não

responderá.

Não é a minha morte que

me preocupa, é minha mulher

sozinha com esta

pira de nada

não obstante

eu quero

que ela saiba

que dormir

todas as noites

ao seu lado

e mesmo os mais inábeis

argumentos

foram coisas

sempre esplêndidas

e as palavras

difíceis

que temi sempre

dizer

podem agora ser

ditas:

Amo

te.

(Tradução: J.T.Parreira)

The small feet of Pavlova

2007-05-26T13:40:00.000-07:00

The small feet of Pavlova

flow in space; leaping

through invisible clouds of air.

Fragile dawns never touching the soil.

Her small golden feet

suspended as fish in

an aquarium of wind.

(To Anna Pavlova)

J.T.Parreira

Villegiatura

2007-05-12T02:48:00.000-07:00

VILLEGIATURA by Joao Tomaz Parreira (JTParreira)
May 8, 2007 1:55 PM in Literary Kicks

We wait for cross the crowd
on the beach, we cross arms
photographic legs, breasts
raised for the fire of the beauty
we pass over sand castles, and the air
does not support our body
we fall into the sea
soon we will walk across the Atlantic.

(To Billy Collins)

El Toreador

2007-04-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

Man and bull disarm one another

bodies touch

as arrows reach their targets

touching his suit of lights

and the bull's dark hide

coloring the wind

and the soil of the bullring

man and bull

do not deny the contest

until blood soaks the sand.

(Thomas-John Parr)

(Translated of the portuguese for Linda Marshall )

Literary Kicks

2007-04-27T03:44:00.000-07:00

Literary Kicks
where literature lives online

New Poems
Here are a few recently posted poems from Action Poetry that have caught our eye ...
Everything that comes by JTParreira
black by twisted roots
Coalholes by therequired

Apology, william carlos williams

2007-04-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

Apology

Why do I write today?

The beauty of
the terrible faces
of our non
entities
stirs me to it:

colored women
day workers-
old and experienced-
returning home at dusk
in cast off clothing
faces like
old Florentine oak.

Also

the set pieces
of your faces stir me-
leading citizens-
but not
in the some way.
(William Carlos Williams)

Justificação

Por que escrevo hoje?

A beleza dos
rostos terríveis
da nossa gente anónima
move-me para isso:

pretas
mulheres a dias -
idosas e experientes -
que a noitinha devolve a casa
na sua roupa gasta
rostos como
velho carvalho de Florença.

Também

as harmónicas peças
das vossas faces me estimulam -
notáveis cidadãos -
mas não
do mesmo modo.

(Tradução: J.T.Parreira)

Subject for a Haiku

2007-04-17T05:10:00.000-07:00

All the branches that I observe
lie

Lying today in the wind

Are prepared already
as a road for the Autumn

for the nudity

they wait under the dust
that will remain of the Summer.

As Adam early in the morning

2007-04-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

As Adam early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep,
Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach,
Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,
Be not afraid of my body.
(Walt Whitman)

COMO O ADÃO MADRUGADOR

Como o Adão madrugador,
passeio à frente das ramagens, acordado pela água,
vejam onde passo, ouçam a minha voz, aproximem-se,
toquem-me, com a palma da vossa mão passem por mim,
não temam o meu corpo.
(Thomas-John Parr)

America

2007-04-09T14:48:00.000-07:00

To Allen Ginsberg

When will I be able to go to Safeway

with this heart in my hand?

I will pay for the wine and the milk

flaunting my boldeness.

I will use fingers

as a bar code

that always says the truth.

(Thomas-John Parr)

Allen Ginsberg: A Supermarket in California

2007-04-09T03:53:00.000-07:00

Excerpt de Ginsberg with Whitman and Lorca

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

A Brasileira do Chiado

2007-04-08T06:55:00.000-07:00

In the cafe A Brasileira do Chiado

sat the plural Pessoa,

Fernando with a vacillating smiles

in its lips

They waited for words to pass among them

and the noise of machines

and silence

that tasted the mouths

silenced in the desert wharves.
(Thomas-John Parr)

Adieu dans Paris-Orly

2007-04-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

Your taxi-cab pushing through traffic,
through lights and horns overflowing
like a river in flood;
feverish cars, clocks running counter,
all odds stacked against you,

you still make to Paris Orly
barely in time to light your interior fire
with the bitter taste of a last cup of coffee
that goes down burning like a bonfire on a field of dreams.

Last call, calling all fliers,
the good-byes and the kisses, overwhelmed
lips turning around,
once more, a last time,
before becoming airlifted.
(Thomas-John Parr)

Everything but a haiku

2007-04-06T06:43:00.000-07:00

Alone in the wind
the seagull goes after the shade
of the fish that flow.
(Thomas-John Parr)

Inspiring Joyce

2007-04-05T10:06:00.000-07:00

http://www.themodernword.com/Joyce/music/pomes_penyeach.html

To Vincent Gallo & etc

2007-04-05T05:43:00.000-07:00

The Last Night in Buffalo 66

No love is more cutting than this.

At 2:30 in the morning

Layla leaves off for the nothing.

The door of the hotel room

opens, a tear bursts in the eyes,

turns the key, locks the door.

Somebody sat in the bed of the night.

Passing for a smile

under the sadness.

(Thomas-John Parr)

BAHNHOFSTRASSE

The eyes that mock me sign the way
Whereto I pass at eve of day.

Grey way whose violet signals are
The trysting and the twining star.

Ah star of evil! star of pain!
Highhearted youth comes not again

Nor old hearts' wisdom yet to know
The signs that mock me as I go.
(James Joyce, in Pomes Penyeach)

Translator

2007-04-04T16:51:00.000-07:00

sometimes
the typewriter
thinks
for me

and sometimes
i v_i_o_l_e_n_t_l_y
i disagree
violent
ly

(Emmett Williams, Carolina do Sul, 1925_)

às vezes
a máquina de escrever
pensa
por mim

e às vezes
eu, v_i_o_l_e_n_t_a_m_e_n_t_e
eu, discordo
violentando-
-a

(Thomas-John Parr)

Homage to Pessoa

2007-04-04T16:38:00.000-07:00

The Tobacoo Shop (A Tabacaria)

It does not have nothing

to make, with the window

they come ice glasses

and the night's deep.

It will never be anything

more than a window

despite the light inside of itself.

It can´t wish to be nothing.

But it has in itself eyes

for all the dreams of the world.

It has millions of these rooms in the world

with walls underneath of pictures

with moistness in the Landscapes

and the Nature Morte.

(Thomas-John Parr)