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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

As colagens de Wisława Szymborska

Estão em exposição em Madrid, na Casa Del Lector. Não havendo grande escolha de postais na Polónia, a escritora polaca fazia os seus próprios postais para enviar a amigos. Têm o seu quê de Terry Gilliam. Exemplos abaixo.

Wisława Szymborska nació en Kórnik, cerca de Poznan, el 2 de julio de 1923, y murió en Cracovia el 1 de febrero de 2012. Desde 1931, vivió en esta ciudad, donde estudió Filología Polaca y Sociología en la Universidad Jaguellónica. Recibió el Premio Nobel de Literatura en 1996. Sus collage son obras de arte, a la vez que una marca de la autora. Su finalidad principal es ser un testimonio y una llamada a la amistad

Some like poetry (Niektorzy lubia poezje)

Wislawa Szymborska


Versão Original

Tradução Inglesa (Regina Grol)

Niektorzy -
czyli nie wszyscy.
Nawet nie wiekszosc wszystkich ale mniejszosc.
Nie liczac szkol, gdzie sie musi,
i samych poetow,
bedzie tych osob chyba dwie na tysiac.

Lubia -
ale lubi sie takze rosol z makaronem,
lubi sie komplementy i kolor niebieski,
lubi sie stary szalik,
lubi sie stawiac na swoim,
lubi sie glaskach psa.

Poezje -
tylko co to takiego poezja.
Niejedna chwiejna odpowiedz
na to pytanie juz padla.
A ja nie wiem i nie wiem i trzymam sie tego
jak zbawiennej poreczy.  

Some -
thus not all.

Not even the majority of all but the minority.
Not counting schools, where one has to,
and the poets themselves,
there might be two people per thousand.


Like -
but one also likes chicken soup with noodles,
one likes compliments and the color blue,
one likes an old scarf,
one likes having the upper hand,
one likes stroking a dog.


Poetry -
but what is poetry.
Many shaky answers
have been given to this question.
But I don't know and don't know and hold on to it
like to a sustaining railing.

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