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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Raymond Carver - Happiness

So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

Raymond Carver - Wind



Water perfectly calm. Perfectly amazing.

Flocks of birds moving

restlessly. Mystery enough in that, God knows.


You ask if I have the time. I do.

Time to go in. Fish not biting

anyway. Nothing doing anywhere.


When, a mile away, we see wind

moving across the water. Sit quiet and

watch it come. Nothing to worry about.


Just wind. Not so strong. Though strong enough.

You say, “Look at that!”

And we hold on to the gunwales as it passes.


I feel it fan my face and ears. Feel it

ruffle my hair–sweeter, it seems,

than any woman's fingers.


Then turn my head and watch

it move on down the Strait,

driving waves before it.


Leaving waves to flop against

our hull. The birds going crazy now,

Boat rocking from side to side.


“Jesus,” you say, “I never saw anything like it.”

“Richard,” I say –

“You'll never see that in Manhattan, my friend.”

Raymond Carver - Sleeping

He slept on his hands.
On a rock.
On his feet.
On someone else's feet.
He slept on buses, trains, in airplanes.
Slept on duty.
Slept beside the road.
Slept on a sack of apples.
He slept in a pay toilet.
In a hayloft.
In the Super Dome.
Slept in a Jaguar, and in the back of a pickup.
Slept in theaters.
In jail.
On boats.
He slept in line shacks and, once, in a castle.
Slept in the rain.
In blistering sun he slept.
On horseback.
He slept in chairs, churches, in fancy hotels.
He slept under strange roofs all his life.
Now he sleeps under the earth.
Sleeps on and on.
Like an old king.

Raymond Carver - Rain

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.


Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.


Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.