Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta Poesia. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta Poesia. Mostrar todas as mensagens

julho 26, 2011

back to poetry*

vai ser preciso sangrar as palavras
vai ser bom ver correr o vidro das palavras
a palavra partir a palavra chegar

Mário Cesariny
Cadernos


*♥

fevereiro 10, 2009

Atonement

MATILDA

WHO TOLD LIES, AND WAS BURNED TO DEATH

MATILDA told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the Town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away!

It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out--
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street--
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence) -- but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little Liar!'
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.

by Hillaire Belloc (1870-1953)

janeiro 25, 2009

folhas soltas

Súplica

Agora que o silêncio é um mar sem ondas,
E que nele posso navegar sem rumo,
Não respondas
Às urgentes perguntas
Que te fiz.
Deixa-me ser feliz
Assim,
Já tão longe de ti como de mim.

Perde-se a vida a desejá-la tanto.
Só soubemos sofrer, enquanto
O nosso amor
Durou.
Mas o tempo passou,
Há calmaria...
Não perturbes a paz que me foi dada.
Ouvir de novo a tua voz seria
Matar a sede com água salgada

Miguel Torga


Ainda me dói quando penso que tiraram o Miguel Torga do currículo de Língua Portuguesa.

junho 03, 2008

quem pode?

Não posso adiar o amor

Não posso adiar o amor para outro século
Não posso
Ainda que o grito sufoque na garganta
Ainda que o ódio estale e crepite e arda
Sob montanhas cinzentas
E montanhas cinzentas

Não posso adiar este abraço
Que é uma arma de dois gumes
Amor e ódio

Não posso adiar
Ainda que a noite pese séculos sobre as costas
E a aurora indecisa demore
Não posso adiar para outro século a minha vida
Nem o meu amor
Nem o meu grito de libertação

Não posso adiar o coração

[António Ramos Rosa]