Meus excertos

Para G.N.

Her heaven will be a love without oblivion Otherwise could be a punishment: "Here I condemn him to the opacity of my memory and the erasure of my history, Because I love by remembering, and now he is fading."

But I'm no hangman and I don't pass sentences, instead I built museums and altars, blurred the line between now and then for time is not a unit of measure of how I held the love fabricated into a brief truth, submerged it in a formalin jar.

Still, even willing it, I couldn't keep it for long I no longer visualize the honey shades of his eyes The hurt that once dragged me now flies Has my nature fractured? Have I lied to myself? Is this the art of losing*? Or a scene staged for a loser? No explanations, no epiphany. And this nothingness…

Until, hi, hello, we've just met and two months in, you had already left I wished you had stayed until I could write more about how it all felt new again our first sunday rain, your snoring and my complaint

I wished you had stayed longer until I loved the five-minute drive until your house the gentle touch under my blouse not only how I felt then, but mostly you, about whom I have nothing else to say besides: until six o'clock we were forever truth.

RNF

I washed up here, Paris, from a world where you're a dream I fled dangers and deserts where people die from extremes You opened your arms for me, my Venus de Milo You shone so brightly I saw only your halo It's why I speak up, my mouth is my Louvre Though I live far from museumed privilege, no silver spoon I'm here in your cruel back alleys, on boulevards bristling with police In the steely music of chaophonic silence Paris, my true beauty, your suitors swagger Through your thick fog of fine particulate matter I'll write you poems to win your approval I'll stand to Seine them on stage after nightfall.

The city awakes under a sky wide like the ocean Les Misérables Paris accent blends with Asian, American, African I'm a wallflower hiding in the concrete cracks I earn twice nothing, sleep on the wrong side of the tracks Bohemian Paris, outsider Paris, Paris of ink and exile 'No, I regret nothing' muses a Chinese woman in Belleville Leonardo da Vinci breaking his back on a building site I see La Vie en rose in Pakistani arms tonight Police lights flashing, merry-go-round horse powers The chase for Senegalese hawkers peddling mini-Eiffel Towers From hostel or garret, squat or slum I write you poems in words where I'd rather drown.

City of liberty for different peoples Suitcases of wandering Jews, Roma, exiles Memories of the pogroms, scribblings erased From the streets of Yerevan to Crimean ways Caravans of stateless citizens, boat people, caravels Come to read on your pediments, Paris, rights declared universal For all I resent that you're disdainful and haughty Capital of Fashun with a taste for society Let's constellate the real night you choose to ignore Cease shining the thousand illuminations of your decor Paris, I love you when the lights go out, my beauty You can't write a poem for a city that's poetry… You can't write a poem for a city that's poetry… You can't write a poem for a city that's poetry… You can't write a poem for a city that's poetry.

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two. I'm one of your talking wounded. I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded. But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled And resentful at the mess I've been through. I admit I'm on the rebound And I don't care where are we bound. I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame, If we skip the Champs Elysées And remain here in this sleazy Old hotel room Doing this and that To what and whom Learning who you are, Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris, The little bit of Paris in our view. There's that crack across the ceiling And the hotel walls are peeling And I'm in Paris with you.

Para B. T.

We met in the night of a city that had already awaken me I reached like each word were a bridge across the Seine of his silence until... “Je pense à toi.”

He lingered like music between rain and smoke, half-smile, half-storm, all contradiction his tenderness came wearing armor, politely mine came barefoot, quietly… “Je suis très têtu.”

Now he lives in the narrow rooms of thought, a Rue de Rivoli inside my mind, I live in his, maybe as a book he reads, maybe as the echo of what he can't translate… “Tu me manques.”

In sleepless time zones filled with confessions, we borrow tenderness and surrender in confrontations He says he wants something sweet, not simple but I know sweetness is a knife that cuts deep… “J’ai besoin de toi.”

Night folds and I walk Paris for the last time In my dreams he is both distance and nearness, the voice that won’t leave my mind… “J’ai envie de t’embrasser.”

Para Étretat.

From Châtelet’s maze to Étretat’s heights From Quartier Latin’s buzz to cloudy skies What a terrible peace for this tortured mind Now captivated by your chivalry - and what it implies

From lunch till dusk - “yes, I want more” I’m Île de la Cité, and he, the Seine, surrounds me But no, Mickael isn’t a river, he’s a steady shore

Now off I go, like retreating waves knowing No groyne will ever stop me as he did Now here he stays longing The wooing winds of my siege.

RNF

Sobre B. S.

"Are you really a good boy or…" He placed me on a pedestal But won't catch me when I fall “will you burst upon my face?"

"Can you really do this together or…” He lifted me with promises and grace But his own writing he now tries to erase "…do you need to be on your own?"

"Can you really see me or…" I saw through him and he looked away He wanted a goddess but refused to pray "…do I mirror what you most fear?"

"Do you love me or…" My pedestal was carved untrue For he desired to be a little god too “…do you resent me?"

“And when it all came down…” Unleashed from deceived devotion, I felt no hate and no petty emotion “…I came through and stood tall.”

Sou filha de Iansã. Ando entre mundos, rasgo o véu. Voo nos subterrâneos, caminho no céu. Transpasso os vivos, esbarro nos mortos. Brindo com aqueles, converso com estes. As estrelas me reconhecem e as sombras me dão passagem. Transcendo.

Sou filha de Iansã. Inquieta, destravo o que está estagnado, movo montanhas, quebro o fechado. Meu vento dilacera ao entrar, meu raio avisa depois de atravessar. Minha força aspira sua brisa, sou seu contraponto, sua fúria precisa. Seduzo.

Sou filha de Iansã. Tenho medo porque tenho coragem, tenho coragem porque tenho medo. Se há batalha, vou lutar. Levanto, impulsiono, apaixono, potencializo, sou forte (sê também comigo!), expiro. Eu sou o vento que abranda os espinhos — mas também causo estragos no caminho. Queimo.

Sou filha de Iansã. A armadura não suplanta minha sensibilidade. Não só de lições de Ogum e Exu sou feita, trago graça e delicadeza sendo imperfeita. Se há reparos, vou trabalhar. Deito, retenho, retraio e costuro — depuro a destruição. Purifico.

Sou filha de Iansã. Tenho a força para me retirar, mas nunca deixo de ser leal. Guardo o segredo de todos, defendo-os dos tolos e liberto suas dores dos engodos. Veja, pois, que ironia: se alguém me procura, encontra guarida, eis que minha espada ampara vida. Abrigo.

Sou filha de Iansã. Não conheço a solidão, não ando perdida, tenho comigo histórias vividas enfim. Todos os espíritos que cruzaram meu caminho foram marcados pelo vento e pelo fogo — e me retribuíram com poesia. Quando durmo, ainda dançam em volta de mim. Descanso.

Para R. D.

When this delight took place The rain furiously overlapped the city's pace And now watch me unfold a race To choke upon my wanting ceaseless chase

Sheltered within walls confined I pondered with a storm-tossed mind, As monsters rose from waters dark and wide, Even beings bred in sewer wind

They took flight among the skyscrapers In my concrete haven of magical thought, As the wet sky thinned I was caught Thinking about the favorite sea creature I ever fought

Where are you, baby boy, With your flooded veins, Without me pouring down, breaking your chains, In do-overs until it fucking rains??

And do you miss me, baby boy, The stormy words I fiercely pound, The rage I unleash until chaos is unbound, And every broken bridge you never found?

And when will you come back to me again, baby boy, To heal the knuckles I bruised, To kiss the ruins I confused, And drink from the ache we both infused?

And most of all, tell me, baby boy, when you do, will you drown beneath the tide of your own pride - too scared to swim where truth has fangs and doesn’t hide?

Sobre B. S.

First half On this field I have played and I have lost Felt the taste of glory, a hint of hue Even with the red warning in sight Or especially because of it Because the best players know To love is to fear the loss And then, I was interrupted

Second half I remain in black and white gloom To love is to feel it too As I lift my head up and say: Yet I will wait with patience and hope In this suffering, I equally shall Be interrupted once again

For as many rounds as it takes

Amei os homens da noite poetas melancólicos, tomistas, críticos de arte e os nada.

Agora eu quero um amigo. E nesta noite sem fim confiar-lhe o meu desejo o meu gesto e lua nova.

Os que estão perto de mim não me veem… Estende a tua mão. Ficaremos sós e olhos abertos para a imensidão do nada.

Para B. S.

The architects of time and space have drafted a winding script scattered with fragments of stitch prayers and tiny rituals I now practice every forthnight

Well, I'm a seamstress myself and as I sew what-ifs upon what I was It fills me up and mends you whole through the subtile pathways between your fingers and my mind

A kiss on the nape of your neck is the key to unlock and see the hidden corners I kept lost to the draftsmen's plans but so easily navigated by me

Para mim.

I'm so alone as one could be Shadows now are something else bigger than the silhouette of a tree I run and seek for you, for them, for him and all I can find is me I look back, I give in to mad, I, I, I suppose now I'm free Reflection in the mirror is now something else Locked in my mind freeloading against myself, One could say I feel small, but I'm so big I keep bumping into a wall And I do not climb mountains anymore only to ascend skyscrapers that aren't high enough The paychecks I get, the elevators I get… none of it pays it off All I feel is the urge to cuddle in a nest, lay in my mother’s lap, crawl into gramma’s bed Back and forth so many times to the sacred places I once called home, I don't how to name them now Coming back is going there or coming here? I guess the only place I can rest is in me