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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

D.H. Lawrence - People

I like people quite well
at a little distance.
I like to see them passing and passing
and going their own way,
especially if I see their aloneness alive in them.
Yet I don't want them to come near.
If they will only leave me alone
I can still have the illusion that there is room enough in the world.

D.H. Lawrence - Pomegranate

You tell me I am wrong.
Who are you, who is anybody to tell me I am wrong?
I am not wrong.
 
In Syracuse, rock left bare by the viciousness of Greek women.
No doubt you have forgotten the pomegranate-trees in flower,
Oh so red, and such a lot of them.
 
Whereas at Venice
Abhorrent, green, slippery city
Whose Doges were old, and had ancient eyes.
In the dense foliage of the inner garden
Pomegranates like bright green stone,
And barbed, barbed with a crown.
Oh, crown of spiked green metal
Actually growing!
 
Now in Tuscany,
Pomegranates to warm, your hands at;
And crowns, kingly, generous, tilting crowns
Over the left eyebrow.
 
And, if you dare, the fissure!
 
Do you mean to tell me you will see no fissure?
Do you prefer to look on the plain side?
 
For all that, the setting suns are open.
The end cracks open with the beginning:
Rosy, tender, glittering within the fissure.
 
Do you mean to tell me there should be no fissure?
No glittering, compact drops of dawn?
Do you mean it is wrong, the gold-filmed skin, integument, shown ruptured?
 
For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken.
It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
                                                           San Gervasio in Tuscany

D.H. Lawrence - In A Boat

See the stars, love,

In the water much clearer and brighter

Than those above us, and whiter,

Like nenuphars.

 

Star-shadows shine, love,

How many stars in your bowl?

How many shadows in your soul,

Only mine, love, mine?

 

When I move the oars, love,

See how the stars are tossed,

Distorted, the brightest lost.

—So that bright one of yours, love.

 

The poor waters spill

The stars, waters broken, forsaken.

—The heavens are not shaken, you say, love,

Its stars stand still.

 

There, did you see

That spark fly up at us; even

Stars are not safe in heaven.

—What of yours, then, love, yours?

 

What then, love, if soon

Your light be tossed over a wave?

Will you count the darkness a grave,

And swoon, love, swoon?