LOVING SMILE - 49
Quiz
da geht er hin, unser Müll ...
Winter Morning Light, "Ponts Couverts", Strasbourg…
"O FADO"
a look inside
On dream's terrace
Dead Bird
Majesté
Tout en nuances
Poesie
MY BEST BIRTHDAY'S GIFT
The Scum Also Rises
La bourasque
DIMENSIONS
FDNY
Giboulée nocturne
LOVING SMILE - 50
executive action
Sehnsucht
RTP1, saturday's afternoon
My Books
love me tender
The Mystery of Richard Percival LISTER (1914-2014)
SARDINES CAN
La chaine emprisonnée
Gemme glacée
FIRST ENCOUNTER
GOOD MORNING DEGAS
paid vacation
Grey dream
... zwischen den Zweigen ...
hold for the moment
...der Arzbach mäandernd...
Alpenglühen
harmonic reduction
LOVING SMILE - 48
wetland
There ain't no midnight train
See also...
See more...Keywords
Authorizations, license
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A SMALL KINGDOM
"Come on, let's start", there's work to be done,
constructing battlements from wooden blocks
and a castle keep from cardboard.
I play my part, a supporting role
building road across the carpet,
its wood obscured by a cloud of dust,
elephants on the march,
their buttery plastic almost edible.
"These are the Alps", and this is the col,
a fold in the quilt from which a wolf
howls and hurls its paper rocks
down on dinosaurs and mammals,
a phalanx of anachonisms
borne of circunstance and whim.
I play my part with half a mind,
ironies and violence held at bay,
until the phone rings: an old friend
whose wife has finally tossed him out
needs help moving, boxes by the curb.
I've been there, and recommend
a furnished room a few blocks distant.
"Come back, let's play!" This is a harbour town,
and on its wharf, a whittled ship
outward bound with a load of apples.
I once lived here, but now I wait
for a chance to slip away.
///
UM PEQUENO REINO
"Vá lá, vamos começar", há trabalho a fazer,
construir muralhas de peças de lego
e um guarda do castelo em cartão.
Como ajudante, faço a minha parte
construindo uma estrada que atravessa o tapete,
uma nuvem de pó escurece-lhe a lã,
elefantes de plástico amanteigado quase comestível
marcham.
"Estes são os Alpes", e aqui uma passagem,
de uma concavidade no acolchoado um lobo
uiva e arremessa pedras de papel
contra dinossauros e mamíferos,
uma falange de anacronismos
nascida da circunstância e da fantasia.
Com meio pensamento faço a minha parte,
ironias e violência mantidas ao longe,
até que o telefone toca: um velho amigo
finalmente expulso de casa pela mulher
precisa de ajuda para tirar as malas da rua.
Estive lá, e recomendei
um quarto mobilado a alguns quarteirões de distância.
"Regresso, vamos jogar!" Esta é uma cidade portuária,
e no cais, um navio atracado,
prepara-se para zarpar carregado de maçãs.
Já morei aqui, mas agora
vou tentar escapar.
by Devin JOHNSTON, b. 1970 at New York, in "LONDON REVIEW OF BOOKS", Volume 39, Number 3, February 2017
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2017)
(photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)
(1st edition, 2017; 2nd edition, 2018)
constructing battlements from wooden blocks
and a castle keep from cardboard.
I play my part, a supporting role
building road across the carpet,
its wood obscured by a cloud of dust,
elephants on the march,
their buttery plastic almost edible.
"These are the Alps", and this is the col,
a fold in the quilt from which a wolf
howls and hurls its paper rocks
down on dinosaurs and mammals,
a phalanx of anachonisms
borne of circunstance and whim.
I play my part with half a mind,
ironies and violence held at bay,
until the phone rings: an old friend
whose wife has finally tossed him out
needs help moving, boxes by the curb.
I've been there, and recommend
a furnished room a few blocks distant.
"Come back, let's play!" This is a harbour town,
and on its wharf, a whittled ship
outward bound with a load of apples.
I once lived here, but now I wait
for a chance to slip away.
///
UM PEQUENO REINO
"Vá lá, vamos começar", há trabalho a fazer,
construir muralhas de peças de lego
e um guarda do castelo em cartão.
Como ajudante, faço a minha parte
construindo uma estrada que atravessa o tapete,
uma nuvem de pó escurece-lhe a lã,
elefantes de plástico amanteigado quase comestível
marcham.
"Estes são os Alpes", e aqui uma passagem,
de uma concavidade no acolchoado um lobo
uiva e arremessa pedras de papel
contra dinossauros e mamíferos,
uma falange de anacronismos
nascida da circunstância e da fantasia.
Com meio pensamento faço a minha parte,
ironias e violência mantidas ao longe,
até que o telefone toca: um velho amigo
finalmente expulso de casa pela mulher
precisa de ajuda para tirar as malas da rua.
Estive lá, e recomendei
um quarto mobilado a alguns quarteirões de distância.
"Regresso, vamos jogar!" Esta é uma cidade portuária,
e no cais, um navio atracado,
prepara-se para zarpar carregado de maçãs.
Já morei aqui, mas agora
vou tentar escapar.
by Devin JOHNSTON, b. 1970 at New York, in "LONDON REVIEW OF BOOKS", Volume 39, Number 3, February 2017
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2017)
(photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)
(1st edition, 2017; 2nd edition, 2018)
cammino, Malik Raoulda, , Steve Bucknell and 3 other people have particularly liked this photo
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