quinta-feira, 30 de dezembro de 2010
domingo, 26 de dezembro de 2010
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI
I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,—
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turn'd so,
Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.
Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?
quinta-feira, 23 de dezembro de 2010
The Anxiety of Coincidence
Your object will have made a good subject
and I should get to tell you so: the bird
with a beak but no mouth, we hear him only
when it's night in the Dominican Republic
and Israel at the same time. Someone will
find your marginalia useful, so try to spare
some ink. I took dictation only from you,
for whom verbs were nothing and tense
everything. See the difference, you kept asking,
but it wasn't a question. See how enormous—
camel hauling an empty wheelchair, conspiracy
of hangman men, dried-out song that makes
it snow. You realize we could have walked
home in the hours taking inventory took, jack
of no traits. Bird with no wings.
quarta-feira, 22 de dezembro de 2010
terça-feira, 21 de dezembro de 2010
Study for Salome Dancing Before Herod
In the movement toward disappearance,
She is pulled by an undertow of ecstasy.
She wakes in a room where she never fell asleep.
A thousand starlings leaf-out a bare tree.
She wakes in a dusky, tenebrous zone.
Evening on the ridges and in the mountains,
But light still spills on the valley floor.
What transport brought her here?
The shape of gravity embodies a pear on the table.
Here time is the only sovereign.
She is like an arrow slipped from its quiver.
domingo, 19 de dezembro de 2010
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
quarta-feira, 15 de dezembro de 2010
The night you were conceived
we balanced underneath a tent,
amazed at the air-marveler,
who, hand-over-hand, seized the stars,
then braved the line to carry home
a big-top souvenir umbrella.
Earth-bound a year, you dare
gravity, sliding from the couch
to table. Mornings, on tiptoe,
stretching fingers, you grab
Saturn, Venus and the moons
raining down from the sky of ceiling.
segunda-feira, 13 de dezembro de 2010
domingo, 12 de dezembro de 2010
quinta-feira, 9 de dezembro de 2010
terça-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2010
Solar system bedsheets
There, behind sunlight,
domingo, 5 de dezembro de 2010
The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less
The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;
quarta-feira, 1 de dezembro de 2010
even if you beckon them.
They loom like demons
you tug by the tail to examine from up close
and then let fly away.
Their colors at once brighter and less bright
than you remembered, they
hover and insinuate all day
at the corner of your eye.