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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Matthew Zapruder - Poem for Merwin

for a long time you planted one every day
and now the garden is a clock on forest time


forest time where we were happy
for a few translucent hours moving
into the ghost houses
no longer there


and the shade houses
that are
their myth of air


and the places where people used to gather
by the stream that is now a dry bed
to eat and sing
we cannot almost hear them


then out along the narrow paths
over stones I kept forgetting
like years you had placed


and the dead clock face painters
covered in radium could not convey
their messages to us
here in the permanent shade


the palms with their very different leaves
and seed pods seem to say


you who think nothing can be repaired


you who will not ever
be able to describe our shapes
and say I love to no one


or today I was born


you burned astronomers
look at our wet leaves
maybe you were not even born
for knowing your own planets


you were not born for knowing
but saying


a piece of wood burned next to the little jade statue
means no matter how many times we leave
we will keep returning


it means no matter how many times we go
out where they sell executions


we will come back here
where the black gravestone
is a window in love with the beloved


on it is written here we were happy
which is true


reading it I would like to remember
what I am feeling now
that I would like not to be
the mechanism


a blade angled in reason


I too would like to lay down
in my own sort of field
green with potential love


today I know I was born
to try to remember
the name of the simplest leaf


from the tree of my childhood


I have always known that god all along
and that we were each born
the shadow of reality upon us


so be not easily angry
pick up the small rose book
with its disappearing house on the cover


enter its doorway
get lost for a while


forget we were born to carry our names


until it is our turn with nothing to say
except maybe we were born to love


and move further on

W.S. Merwin - To the New Year

With what stillness at last

you appear in the valley

your first sunlight reaching down

to touch the tips of a few

high leaves that do not stir

as though they had not noticed

and did not know you at all

then the voice of a dove calls

from far away in itself

to the hush of the morning


so this is the sound of you

here and now whether or not

anyone hears it this is

where we have come with our age

our knowledge such as it is

and our hopes such as they are

invisible before us

untouched and still possible

W.S. Merwin - Thanks

with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
standing by the windows looking out
in our directions


back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you


over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you


with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

W.S. Merwin - The Speed of Light

So gradual in those summers was the going
          of the age it seemed that the long days setting out
when the stars faded over the mountains were not
          leaving us even as the birds woke in full song and the dew
glittered in the webs it appeared then that the clear morning
          opening into the sky was something of ours
to have and keep and that the brightness we could not touch
          and the air we could not hold had come to be there all the time
for us and would never be gone and that the axle
          we did not hear was not turning when the ancient car
coughed in the roofer's barn and rolled out echoing
          first thing into the lane and the only tractor
in the village rumbled and went into its rusty
          mutterings before heading out of its lean-to
into the cow pats and the shadow of the lime tree
          we did not see that the swallows flashing and the sparks
of their cries were fast in the spokes of the hollow
          wheel that was turning and turning us taking us
all away as one with the tires of the baker's van
          where the wheels of bread were stacked like days in calendars
coming and going all at once we did not hear
          the rim of the hour in whatever we were saying
or touching all day we thought it was there and would stay
          it was only as the afternoon lengthened on its
dial and the shadows reached out farther and farther
          from everything that we began to listen for what
might be escaping us and we heard high voices ringing
          the village at sundown calling their animals home
and then the bats after dark and the silence on its road

W.S. Merwin - For the Anniversary of My Death

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star


Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what

W.S. Merwin - Night Singing

Long after Ovid’s story of Philomela

      has gone out of fashion and after the testimonials

of Hafiz and Keats have been smothered in comment

      and droned dead in schools and after Eliot has gone home

from the Sacred Heart and Ransom has spat and consigned

      to human youth what he reduced to fairy numbers

after the name has become slightly embarrassing

      and dried skins have yielded their details and tapes have been

slowed and analyzed and there is nothing at all

      for me to say one nightingale is singing

nearby in the oaks where I can see nothing but darkness

      and can only listen and ride out on the long note’s

invisible beam that wells up and bursts from its

      unknown star on on on never returning

never the same never caught while through the small leaves

      of May the starlight glitters from its own journeys

once in the ancestry of this song my mother visited here

      lightning struck the locomotive in the mountains

it had never happened before and there were so many

      things to tell that she had just seen and would never

have imagined now a field away I hear another

      voice beginning and on the slope there is a third

not echoing but varying after the lives

      after the goodbyes after the faces and the light

after the recognitions and the touching and tears

      those voices go on rising if I knew I would hear

in the last dark that singing I know how I would listen

W.S. Merwin - For a Coming Extinction

Gray whale
Now that we are sending you to The End
That great god
Tell him
That we who follow you invented forgiveness
And forgive nothing


I write as though you could understand
And I could say it
One must always pretend something
Among the dying
When you have left the seas nodding on their stalks
Empty of you
Tell him that we were made
On another day
The bewilderment will diminish like an echo


Winding along your inner mountains
Unheard by us
And find its way out
Leaving behind it the future
And ours


When you will not see again
The whale calves trying the light
Consider what you will find in the black garden
And its court
The sea cows the Great Auks the gorillas
The irreplaceable hosts ranged countless
And foreordaining as stars
Our sacrifices


Join your word to theirs
Tell him
That it is we who are important

W.S. Merwin - By Dark

When it is time I follow the black dog
into the darkness that is the mind of day


I can see nothing but the black dog
the dog I know going ahead of me


not looking back oh it is the black dog
I trust now in my turn after the years


when I had all the trust of the black dog
through an age of brightness and through shadow


on into the blindness of the black dog
where the rooms of the dark were already known


and had no fear in them for the black dog
leading me carefully up the blind stairs.

W.S. Merwin - Any Time

How long ago the day is
when at last I look at it
with the time it has taken
to be there still in it
now in the transparent light
with the flight in the voices
the beginning in the leaves
everything I remember
and before it before me
present at the speed of light
in the distance that I am
who keep reaching out to it
seeing all the time faster
where it has never stirred from
before there is anything
the darkness thinking the light