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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

A poesia vai acabar

A poesia vai acabar, os poetas
vão ser colocados em lugares mais úteis.
Por exemplo, observadores de pássaros
(enquanto os pássaros não acabarem).
Esta certeza tive-a hoje ao
entrar numa repartição pública.
Um senhor míope atendia devagar
ao balcão; eu perguntei:
"Que fez algum poeta por este senhor?"
E a pergunta afligiu-me tanto
por dentro e por fora da cabeça que
tive que voltar a ler
toda a poesia desde o princípio do mundo.
Uma pergunta numa cabeça.
– Como uma coroa de espinhos:
estão todos a ver onde o autor quer chegar? –

The Terrorist, He Watches

The bomb will go off in the bar at one twenty p.m.

Now it’s only one sixteen p.m.
Some will still have time to go in,
Some to get out.

The terrorist has already crossed to the other side of the street.
The distance protects him from any danger,
and what a sight for sore eyes.


A woman in a yellow jacket, she goes in.
A man in dark glasses, he comes out.
Guys in dark jeans, they are talking.
One seventeen and four seconds.
That shorter guy’s really got it made, and gets on a scooter,
and that taller one, he goes in.


One seventeen and forty seconds.
That girl there, she’s got a green ribbon in her hair.
Too bad that bus just cut her from view.
One eighteen p.m.
The girl’s not there any more.
Was she dumb enough to go in, or wasn’t she?
That we’ll see when they carry them out.


One nineteen p.m.
No one seems to be going in.
Instead a fat baldy’s coming out.
Like he’s looking for something in his pockets and
at one nineteen and fifty seconds
he goes back in for those crummy gloves of his.


It’s one twenty p.m.
The time, how it drags.
Should be any moment now.
Not yet.
Yes, this is it.
The bomb, it goes off.

 

Tradução de Robert Maguire e Magnus Jan Krynsky