When I grow old I will enter my body crawl the corridors inside my skin frolic in vein weave between textures review the charges, the fairness, invest in coin reinvent and seal the market place taste the meat conquer the oriental yeast (amuse myself in vain) I will inhabit my indonesias of shadows brocade, velvet satin burgundy sacred cows golden buffaloes ruby lantejouled indian theatre lightly in simmer the harvest untamed gypsy tree of life with no master home of my dreams in ferris wheel giggle the pleasures of the rides
Habite-se
Quando eu crescer
velha vou entrar dentro do corpo
engatinhar pelos corredores
da minha pele
brincar na veia
tecer dentre os meus tecidos
rever os preços, as justiças,
investir em moedas,
selar, reinventar
o mercado. comer da carne
conquistar o fermento do oriente,
me divertir em vão na veia
dêsse pão
habitar as ilhas das minhas indonesias
nas sombras
brocados, satins
vacas sagradas rubi
bufalos cor de ouro
lantejoulas brilhantes
teatros das indias
de leve cozinhar a colheita,
arvore cigana
da vida sem dono
lar do meu sonho
nêssa roda gigante
de riso
do prazer na viagem
The beauty in the multiplicities is everywhere, and here it is in the languages and their thinking meanings. These texts have gone go back and forth for me, for years, like the tides and the flotsam and jetsam of ocean water. What I may have done differently this time is that I stopped, paid attention and played for days and days with the words, once again, words that did not wish to be thrashed, burned and sent to the oblivion of the breezes.
The text is the pendulum, swinging back and forth, until some form of harmony/resonance is found.
When I compare one almost the same with the other, I realize that one vision aids the other. It is, no kidding, as if the text in one language is the angel ahead that guides the ride for the other languages. And so truthfully, in all the vice versas.
When as a kid, I was living as a renegade Lutheran Protestant in a highly Catholic Country the ladies came down the street once a week with their chants and their Virgin Mary blue statues. They wanted us to receive a visitation and be blessed. My parents both said no, no way, not here.
In one of the vice versas of the tides, I
now have a bronze icon of beauty in a surprise visitation here. Cast in heavy metal bronze, riding the furious waves in calmness, a suggestion of a dragon emerging.
oh wow... it keeps on coming...
"I stopped, paid attention and played for days and days with the words, once again, words that did not wish to be thrashed, burned and sent to the oblivion of the breezes..."
I've been focusing on ease. This part of your lovely poem felt like it was meant for me. 💗