Um bocado de palavras para o mundo que insiste em não ver. Avassaladoras pretensões. Um tanto de hipocrisia. Bolhas de sabão. Sorrisinhos. Ironias. Amores. Tudo com açúcar colorido.
quarta-feira, 28 de maio de 2008
Vida breve
Da primeira vez em que me assassinaram Perdi um jeito de sorrir que tinha Depois, cada vez que me mataram Foram levando qualquer coisa minha.
The very first time that I was murdered I lost my smile, the way I used to be... Then, each time they came and I was killed again They always took something that belonged to me...
Today, of all my bodily remains, I am the barest corpse with nothing left The burning flame of a yellowed candle stump Is the only thing of value that survived the theft!
Come, all you jackals, crows, and highwaymen! Ah! None will succeed, should you to try to sever Or wrest from my bony hand the sacred light!
Birds of Night! Wings of Horror! Fly out of sight! For the burning light, a sad and trembling sigh, The light of a dead man will never die!
Mario Quintana (Translated by John D. Godinho) Sonnet XVII in Pinwheel Street.
2 comentários:
É lindo... sabia que ia gostar... rs
Bjos da cor que você quiser!
PS: Não perca o jeito de sorrir. Por favor....
SONNET XVII
The very first time that I was murdered
I lost my smile, the way I used to be...
Then, each time they came
and I was killed again
They always took something that belonged to me...
Today, of all my bodily remains,
I am the barest corpse with nothing left
The burning flame of a yellowed candle stump
Is the only thing of value that survived the theft!
Come, all you jackals, crows, and highwaymen!
Ah! None will succeed, should you to try to sever
Or wrest from my bony hand the sacred light!
Birds of Night! Wings of Horror! Fly out of sight!
For the burning light, a sad and trembling sigh,
The light of a dead man will never die!
Mario Quintana
(Translated by John D. Godinho)
Sonnet XVII in Pinwheel Street.
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