Law, Like Love

Do WH Auden, que é pra mim o melhor poeta do inglês:

Law, say the gardeners, is the sun,
Law is the one
All gardeners obey
To-morrow, yesterday, to-day.

Law is the wisdom of the old,
The impotent grandfathers feebly scold;
The grandchildren put out a treble tongue,
Law is the senses of the young.

Law, says the priest with a priestly look,
Expounding to an unpriestly people,
Law is the words in my priestly book,
Law is my pulpit and my steeple.

Law, says the judge as he looks down his nose,
Speaking clearly and most severely,
Law is as I've told you before,
Law is as you know I suppose,
Law is but let me explain it once more,
Law is The Law.

Yet law-abiding scholars write:
Law is neither wrong nor right,
Law is only crimes
Punished by places and by times,
Law is the clothes men wear
Anytime, anywhere,
Law is Good morning and Good night.

Others say, Law is our Fate;
Others say, Law is our State;
Others say, others say
Law is no more,
Law has gone away.

And always the loud angry crowd,
Very angry and very loud,
Law is We,
And always the soft idiot softly Me.

If we, dear, know we know no more
Than they about the Law,
If I no more than you
Know what we should and should not do
Except that all agree
Gladly or miserably
That the Law is
And that all know this
If therefore thinking it absurd
To identify Law with some other word,
Unlike so many men
I cannot say Law is again,

No more than they can we suppress
The universal wish to guess
Or slip out of our own position
Into an unconcerned condition.
Although I can at least confine
Your vanity and mine
To stating timidly
A timid similarity,
We shall boast anyway:
Like love I say.

Like love we don't know where or why,
Like love we can't compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep.

Bocage

A frouxidão no amor é uma ofensa,
Ofensa que se eleva a grau supremo;
Paixão requer paixão, fervor e extremo;
Com extremo e fervor se recompensa.

Vê qual sou, vê qual és, vê que diferença!
Eu descoro, eu praguejo, eu ardo, eu gemo;
Eu choro, eu desespero, eu clamo, eu tremo;
Em sombras a razão se me condensa.

Tu só tens gratidão, só tens brandura,
E antes que um coração pouco amoroso
Quisera ver-te uma alma ingrata e dura.

Talvez me enfadaria aspecto iroso,
Mas de teu peito a lânguida ternura
Tem-me cativo e não me faz ditoso.

Madrigal Triste

I

Que m'importe que tu sois sage?
Sois belle! Et sois triste! Les pleurs
Ajoutent un charme au visage,
Comme le fleuve au paysage;
L'orage rajeunit les fleurs.

Je t'aime surtout quand la joie
S'enfuit de ton front terrassé;
Quand ton coeur dans l'horreur se noie;
Quand sur ton présent se déploie
Le nuage affreux du passé.

Je t'aime quand ton grand oeil verse
Une eau chaude comme le sang;
Quand, malgré ma main qui te berce,
Ton angoisse, trop lourde, perce
Comme un râle d'agonisant.

J'aspire, volupté divine!
Hymne profond, délicieux!
Tous les sanglots de ta poitrine,
Et crois que ton coeur s'illumine
Des perles que versent tes yeux.

II

Je sais que ton coeur, qui regorge
De vieux amours déracinés,
Flamboie encor comme une forge,
Et que tu couves sous ta gorge
Un peu de l'orgueil des damnés;

Mais tant, ma chère, que tes rêves
N'auront pas reflété l'Enfer,
Et qu'en un cauchemar sans trêves,
Songeant de poisons et de glaives,
Éprise de poudre et de fer,

N'ouvrant à chacun qu'avec crainte,
Déchiffrant le malheur partout,
Te convulsant quand l'heure tinte,
Tu n'auras pas senti l'étreinte
De l'irrésistible Dégoût,

Tu ne pourras, esclave reine
Qui ne m'aimes qu'avec effroi,
Dans l'horreur de la nuit malsaine
Me dire, l'âme de cris pleine:
«Je suis ton égale, ô mon Roi!»



— Charles Baudelaire

Narizinho Punk

Narizinho punk
De meia arrastão
Se quiser deixo até
Roubar meu caminhão

Conto de fadas

Você:
Bruxa bonita
Princesa pirata
Bicho Papão

Cuca que pega
Fada (foda) errada
Assombração

Você, que só se vê com o canto do
olho, assim de lado, repente, esguelha
que, se olhada de frente, enlouquece

Nada. Teu conto de fadas é outro
nele não há cegos nem nada
Há sim, e muito melhor,
uma bela menina levada.

Poema do café à noite

Teus olhos são tão límpidos...
Neles, não há o veneno verde
Da dama crioula de Baudelaire.

O que há, e me arranca os ossos
É uma sutil clareza de mistério
Que nenhuma luz do dia deixa ver

Escrita clara que não entendo
Incógnita absoluta, mistério solar
E ,me perco. Como alguém
Que se afogasse em pleno ar.

Poema byez Gheroia

O poema a seguir consiste inteiramente de frases cometidas pelo Bush, arrumadas em versos pelo colunista Richard Thompson, do Washington Post.

------

MAKE THE PIE HIGHER
by George W. Bush

I think we all agree, the past is over.

This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
and potential mental losses.

Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the internet
become more few?

How many hands have I shaked?

They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.

I know that the human being
and the fish can coexist.

Families is where our nation finds hope,
where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!

Knock down the tollbooth!

Vulcanize Society!

Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher!