Modus vivendi

Julius Schnoor von Carolsfeld

Ana Roque — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 10:20:11 +0000

pequena iluminação do espaço

To Dorothy

Ana Roque — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 10:15:05 +0000

You are not beautiful, exactly. You are beautiful, inexactly. You let a weed grow by the mulberry And a mulberry grow by the house. So close, in the personal quiet Of a windy night, it brushes the wall And sweeps away the day till we sleep. A child said it, and it seemed true: "Things that are lost are all equal." But it isn't true. If I lost you, The air wouldn't move, nor the tree grow. Someone would pull the weed, my flower. The quiet wouldn't be yours. If I lost you, I'd have to ask the grass to let me sleep. Marvin Bell

Emotional Idiot

Ana Roque — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 21:47:17 +0000

Emotional Idiocy is obviously a theme close to my heart since I seem to use the phrase in novels and CDs alike. My friend and mentor of sorts, Andrew Vachss, upon hearing me read a rendition of this poem, stated that it ought to be the theme song for borderline personality disorder. He's right. I'm an Emotional Idiot so get away from me. I mean, COME HERE. Wait, no, that's too close, give me some space it's a big country, there's plenty of room, don't sit so close to me. Hey, where are you? I haven't seen you in days. Whadya, having an affair? Who is she? Come on, aren't I enough for you? God, You're so cold. I never know what you're thinking. You're not very affectionate. I mean, you're clinging to me, DON'T TOUCH ME, what am I, your fucking cat? Don't rub me like that. Don't you have anything better to do than sit there fawning over me? Don't you have any interests? Hobbies? Sailing Fly fishing Archeology? There's an archeology expedition leaving tomorrow why don't you go? I'll loan you the money, my money is your money. my life is your life my soul is yours without you I'm nothing. Move in with me we'll get a studio apartment together, save on rent, well, wait, I mean, a one bedroom, so we don't get in each other's hair or anything or, well, maybe a two bedroom I'll have my own bedroom, it's nothing personal I just need to be alone sometimes, you do understand, don't you? Hey, why are you acting distant? Where you goin', was it something I said? What What did I do? I'm an emotional idiot so get away from me I mean, MARRY ME. Maggie Estep

todo o verão

Ana Roque — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 19:41:55 +0000

(gentileza de Amélia Pais) Dir-te-ia: o verão ainda não findou. Vem e colhe a última espiga. Porque nela colhes todo o verão. Albano Martins

Gerrit van Honthorst

Ana Roque — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 12:23:33 +0000

fim de semana já em acto

Relojoaria

Ana Roque — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 09:45:43 +0000

Impossível saber que horas são numa relojoaria Discordantes, vaidosos, pretensiosos Os relógios marcam horas divergentes. Faz anos que libertei meu braço desta coleira Detesto mesmo os corretos, os precisos Seu meio-dia não é o meu meio-dia Nem meu sono, termina em algum ponto programado E estridente da manhã. Porém, tenho certa simpatia pelos relógios parados Errados sempre Salvo, por um instante, por um segundo Durante o dia no qual estão certos. Um certo, que tem a beleza do acidental Do impossível que acontece Como o exato lance ou arremesso longínquo O perfeito ocorrido de um acaso mágico. Solivan Brugnara

Gerrit van Honthorst

Ana Roque — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 22:18:50 +0000

Margareta Maria de Roodere e seus Pais

todo o silêncio

Ana Roque — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 08:58:43 +0000

(gentileza de Amélia Pais) sobra de todo o silêncio o raro acorde do teu nome a que solidão altíssima me entregas quando te deixas morrer assim no abraço faminto do tempo? abbas kiarostami

Para variar...

Ana Roque — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:21:38 +0000

"A poem is no place for an idea." Edgar Watson Howe

On The Road Between Florence And Pisa

Ana Roque — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 19:45:59 +0000

Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame!—if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. Lord Byron

Canaletto

Ana Roque — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 13:26:20 +0000

a cor deste dia

Praia

Ana Roque — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 19:30:18 +0000

(gentileza de Amélia Pais) Feliz, quem sabe, o vento. Sem memória, beijando-me nos lábios, ele abraça o meu destino às cegas na paisagem. É sempre nesse instante que regresso à poalha do céu onde começa talvez a maldição, talvez o encanto de invocar-te em silêncio. Porque, eu sei, entre palavras morre a cor dos sonhos, o vão pressentimento de estar vivo. Feliz talvez o vento e no entanto, arrasta ainda areia e vagas vozes na praia ao abandono. A luz da tarde encobriu-se de névoa, só o mar ficou perto de mim – agora é simples: as ondas trazem novo o teu sorriso, movem o seu abismo nos meus olhos, mas lágrimas nenhumas vão salvar-me o corpo, a alma, as cinzas, esta vida. Fernando Pinto do Amaral

espuma

Ana Roque — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 07:07:32 +0000

(...) resta insistir na pele da palavra na polpa da palavra (vogais e consoantes) uma onda quase imóvel faz espuma um incompreensível inscreve-se nos lábios na tensão da pressa Solange Rebuzzi

sob a lâmina

Ana Roque — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 23:14:38 +0000

vidro ou espelho o que vejo através é apenas o meio ou outro rosto se mostra na suspensão da pergunta acesa sob a lâmina dos olhos? Paula Padilha

Bernardo Strozzi

Ana Roque — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 07:21:26 +0000

libertação de S. Pedro, no seu dia