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«Não subtilizes - disse o poeta. - Deixas as coisas seguirem o seu curso.» Mas a presunção nada diz, e convence sempre.
Agustina Bessa-Luís – Fanny Owen (1979)
Colecção Mil Folhas / Bibliotex SL / M.E.D.I.A.S.A.T. e Promoway Portugal Ltda (2002)
[...]
Ser uma mulher é um grande passo,
ser causa de paixão é sublime empresa.
[...]
Declaração - Poesias de Iuri Jivago
Boris Pasternak – O Doutor Jivago (1957)
Colecção Mil Folhas / Bibliotex SL / M.E.D.I.A.S.A.T. e Promoway Portugal Ltda (2002)
Poema para minha filha
Para ti, querida
Rosas e mel
E estrelas rutilantes,
Risos gritantes,
Muita ternura e carinho
E o Sol
Brilhando muito
Em frente ao teu caminho.
Deixa comigo o fel,
A dor, o desespero
Deixa que eu fira a pele
Nos ásperos abrolhos
Da vida.
Deixa chorar meus olhos
Deixa comigo
O peso do sonho tão antigo.
Para ti, querida
Paz, amor, ternura
Estrelas rutilantes,
Rosas e Mel…
Aires Almeida Santos
M. 
16.01.2014
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
Charles Bukowski - "so you want to be a writer?"
THE MUSHROOMS OF DONBAS
In spring Donbas disappears in the fog, and the sun hides behind heaps of earth.
So you need to know where you’re going,
you need to know the man who can make the arrangements.
This man was a worker in the former pumping station
worn down by alcohol.
When we met, he said, “We, the workers of the pumping station,
were always considered the elite of the proletariat, yeah, the elite.
When everything fell the fuck apart, many
just put their hands down. But not the workers
of the pumping station, not us.
We organized an independent mining union,
we took over three buildings of the former plant
and started to grow mushrooms there.”
“Mushrooms?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes. Mushrooms. We wanted to grow cactus with mescaline, but
cactus won’t grow here in Donbas.
You know what’s important when you grow mushrooms?
It’s important to get high, that’s right, friend – it’s important to get high.
We get high, believe me, even now we have to get high, maybe it’s because
we are the elite of the proletariat.
And so – we take over three buildings and start our mushrooms.
Well, there’s – the joy of work, elbow grease,
you know – the heady feeling of work and accomplishment.
And what’s more important – everyone gets high! Everyone’s high even without mushrooms!
The problems began a few months later. This is gangland
territory, you know, recently a gas station was burnt down,
they were so eager to burn it down, they didn’t even manage to
fill up, so of course the police caught them.
And so, one gang decides to take us on, decides to take away
our mushrooms, can you believe it? I think in our place anyone else
would have bent over, that’s the way it is – everyone bends over here,
according to the social hierarchy.
But we get together and think – well, mushrooms – this is a good thing,
it’s not a matter of mushrooms, or elbow grease,
or even the pumping station, although this was one of the arguments.
We just thought – they are coming up, they will grow
our mushrooms will grow, you could say they’ll ripen to harvest
and what are we going to tell our children, how are we going to look them in the eye?
There are just things you have to answer for, things
you can’t just let go.
You are responsible for your penicillin,
and I am responsible for mine.
In a word, we just fought for our mushroom plantations. There we
beat them. And when they fell on the warm hearts of the mushrooms
we thought:
Everything that you make with your hands, works for you.
Everything that reaches your conscience beats
in rhythm with your heart.
We stayed on this land, so that it wouldn’t be far
for our children to visit our graves.
This is our island of freedom
our expanded
village consciousness.
Penicillin and Kalashnikovs – two symbols of struggle,
the Castro of Donbas leads the partisans
through the fog-covered mushroom plantations
to the Azov Sea.
“You know,” he told me, “at night, when everyone falls asleep
and the dark land sucks up the fog,
I feel how the earth moves around the sun, even in my dreams
I listen, listen to how they grow –
the mushrooms of Donbas, silent chimeras of the night,
emerging out of the emptiness, growing out of hard coal,
till hearts stand still, like elevators in buildings at night,
the mushrooms of Donbas grow and grow, never letting the discouraged
and condemned die of grief,
because, man, as long as we’re together,
there’s someone to dig up this earth,
and find in its warm innards
the black stuff of death
the black stuff of life.
The Mushrooms of Donbas
2007, Serhiy Zhadan
From: Maradona
Publisher: Folio, Kharkiv, 2007
© Translation: 2011, Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps
Publisher: First published on PIW, 2011
O real é uma invenção deste opaco amplexo
em que o prodígio é a simplicidade e a opulência
de uma ignorância que habita a medula dos sentidos.
António Ramos Rosa in EXTREMAMENTE NUA - Obra Poética I
Assírio & Alvim (2018)
tão fundo e tão azul e nem sequer estremeces
António Ramos Rosa in A MULHER DO ESPAÇO - Obra Poética I
Assírio & Alvim (2018)
Escuto na palavra a festa do silêncio.
Tudo está no seu sítio. As aparências apagaram-se.
António Ramos Rosa in A FESTA DO SILÊNCIO - Obra Poética I
Assírio & Alvim (2018)
Avanço através de um caos silencioso.
[...]
É vazio o princípio do princípio.
A possibilidade de nascer é o desejo que nasce.
Esquecer, viver.
António Ramos Rosa in UM DISCURSO TRANSPARENTE - Obra Poética I
Assírio & Alvim (2018)
Estou à beira. Escuto. É todo o mar que em mim ressoa
[...]
e tudo está em si porque as próprias sombras amam.
António Ramos Rosa in NA DISTÂNCIA SEM DISTÂNCIA - Obra Poética I
Assírio & Alvim (2018)
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