maundering relics #1

Before the world spun suddenly into this crucible of fear and solitude we identify today, I had plans of collecting forgotten relics of the Portuguese written arts. Lisbon is thronged with “alfarrabistas“, stores with the unique purpose of selling rare and used books, many of them bought in bulk from personal libraries found by folksContinue reading “maundering relics #1”

there’s a kingdom of voices

(I’m going to start publishing some “humbler” poems I have stored and continually write; although I’m quite demanding of, if not the quality of the poetics themselves, at least the attempted quality of the posts, as well as their parsimony, I realise that I’ve become quite obsessive with it, which ebbs against me rather thanContinue reading “there’s a kingdom of voices”

katabasis

These days, to write feels almost strange, almost selfish. Torrents of flurries of anxieties ignite the nerves, and one feels leeched before the first phrase forms. Solitude outcasts the voices — depersonalises — and what once was an interaction of linings, echoes of a singular voice with many textures, seems now like a procession ofContinue reading “katabasis”

(Droplet) no peace at all.

Children picking up our bonesWill never know that these were once   As quick as foxes on the hill; And that in autumn, when the grapes   Made sharp air sharper by their smell   These had a being, breathing frost; And least will guess that with our bones   We left much more, left what still is   The look of things, left whatContinue reading “(Droplet) no peace at all.”

mum is a leopard (english poetry)

If anyone has been reading me for over a year, you might have detected that the structure of this poem draws much from my older English compositions, such as Emerald Cage and Low Poetics. I wanted to design something that returned to that a bit, and simultaneously, I wanted to write as if I wasContinue reading “mum is a leopard (english poetry)”

emperor julian’s bandana (english poetry)

I don’t always know how to write poetry; well, I do know how it is meant to be written, I just can’t say I know how to write it. Every time I write a poem, it feels like I’m learning to write poetry all over, and over, and over, stretching longitudinally like a row ofContinue reading “emperor julian’s bandana (english poetry)”

I translated some poems from Iberian authors

FALSE STATUE Only in false gold have my eyes shimmered;I’m a sphynx without mystery at sight.The sadness of things that never happeneddescend in my soul as a veiled light. In my pain, craving swords are broken,illuminated arrows blend with dark.The shades flowing from me are torn apart,as with yesterday, to me, today is forsaken. IContinue reading “I translated some poems from Iberian authors”

(Droplet) making life, or not quite that.

I tend to write too much. Recently, I’ve perscrutated some of my older documents, hundreds of pages of unfinished poems and texts, unnamed corpses with maggots glowing with auroral colours, some contained beautiful ideas done poorly, others were armed with beautiful constructions enveloping poor ideas, and I only gained a real sense of how muchContinue reading “(Droplet) making life, or not quite that.”