8, Setembro (loquat, violet, Bèla)

My artifice was underacted. Only when the sycamore expired did I gloss its brief sussurus. My muffled blood takes to the bludgeon of evening and, dry, proceeds to the integration. Sound has since slogged through five varieties of despair. A scream would be mute by the force of merely being. I take note of thingsContinue reading “8, Setembro (loquat, violet, Bèla)”

1, Setembro

She now oft forgets. Memories are volatile, as is the foam of waves and the formication they leave debossed on the shore. September reminds her of wasps, meadows, heat. I’m reminded of jags and seagulls or a deformed field of ashfall. I’ve never heard her express fear of losing the common ropes; my name orContinue reading “1, Setembro”

(translation) poem, daniel faria (2)

By popular demand, I shall put here another translation I had given up on and decided to complete upon seeing the warm reaction in my last translation of Daniel Faria. As I’m noticing that more-and-more folks are becoming interested not only in Portuguese poetry and the translated works themselves, but my method of translation andContinue reading “(translation) poem, daniel faria (2)”

(translation) the trains that leave to Antwerp, herberto hélder

Herberto Hélder was born in Funchal, Madeira, in 1930. His poetry began during the tail of Portuguese Surrealism, after Mário Cesariny, and had as recurrent themes alchemy, mysticism and ancient mythology. He died in 2015.He wrote the prose-poem above in his book, Os passos em volta, a book never translated into English. This translation wasContinue reading “(translation) the trains that leave to Antwerp, herberto hélder”

(translation) style, herberto hélder

Herberto Hélder was born in Funchal, Madeira, in 1930. He was the most influential Portuguese poet of the second half of the 20th century, and by far the most misanthrope, having lived in relative isolation and refusing every prize he ever received. He died in 2015. He wrote the prose-poem above in his book, OsContinue reading “(translation) style, herberto hélder”

poetry with a place

I was inspired to create three compositions on three queer (gay, in this instance) relationships pertinent to Art History. I’m unknowing of why these were the ones that I picked, despite there being quite a few more of weighty impact, some of even more impact that those I chose. I was just reading up onContinue reading “poetry with a place”

surmania – layers and (layering)

I know, I’m aware. When I was little, I feared two things: to be touched, and alien spaceships, though I suppose that dissipated when I first visited one (fun!). The haptophobia, though, never quite took flight, and it only became more extensive, deeper. I have my ways of becoming intangible, of becoming repulsive, of sheddingContinue reading “surmania – layers and (layering)”

on Dzubas

Sorry for the bad poem; my styles in Portuguese and English are very divergent at the moment, (thank god, it took me so long to get to this point), but that also means they don’t get a lot of interrelational textures and can’t enjoy proper translations. Besides, I haven’t been feeling my best, which justifiesContinue reading “on Dzubas”

(Droplet) spume.

The word, defining, muzzles; the drawn lineOusts mistier peers and thrives, murderous,In establishments which imagined lines Can only haunt.  Sturdy as potatoes,Stones, without conscience, word and line endure,Given an inch.  Not that they’re gross (although Afterthought often would have them alterTo delicacy, to poise) but that theyShortchange me continuously:  whether More or other, they still dissatisfy.Unpoemed, unpictured, theContinue reading “(Droplet) spume.”

on evolving

I had my hyper-productive cycle, and now, as is visible, my ability to conjure poems is waning a bit. I’m still committed to writing and showcasing, perhaps more than ever, because I feel that exposition helps me not only calibrate my productions, but in having a veritable self-responsibility to creating, even when I’m wringing about.Continue reading “on evolving”