Setembro 17, 2006

COR- Repararam na cor que o mundo nos dá? Esta cor única que pinta o acaso. Quando a luz brilha e a cidade parece que acabou de ser pintada de fresco.

Setembro 11, 2006

foto: Gilles Peress

September Poem Deborah Garrison Now can I say? On that blackest day, When I learned of The uncountable, the hellbent obscenity, I felt, with shame, a seed in me, Powerful and inarticulate: I wanted to be pregnant. Women in the street flowing toward Home, dazed with grief, and my daze Admixed with jealous awe, I wondered If they were, Or wished for it, too, To be full, to be forming, To be giving our blood’s food To the yet to be. To feel the warp of morning’s Hormonal chucking, the stutter kiss Of first movement. At first, The idea of sex a further horror: To take pleasure in a collision Of bodies was vile, self-centered, too lush. But the pushy, ennobling pulse Of the ordinary won’t halt For good taste. Or knows nothing of tragedy. Thus. Today I have a boy A week old. Blessed surplus: A third child. Have you heard mothers, Matter of fact, call the third The insurance policy? That wasn’t why. And not because when so many people Die we want, crudely pining, To replace them with more people. But for the wild, heaven-grazing Pleasure and pain of the arrival. The small head crushed and melony After a journey Out. Sheer cliff Of the first day, flat in bed, gut-empty, Ringed by memories and sharp cries. Sharp bliss in proximity to the roundness, The globe already a-spin, particular, Of a whole new life. Which might in any case End in towering sorrow.

Setembro 9, 2006

PETISCO – Numa destas tardes, um olho amigo anuncia as delícias da gastronomia portuguesa. Dizem que acompanhado com uma bela iguaria ainda fica melhor. Preparado por quem sabe e na boa companhia isto é mesmo um petisco.