I’m sorry for the absence; the silence. I haven’t been able to write. Writing isn’t easy. Sometimes I lose it entirely. It’s somehow such a bland thing to say. It’s not a block, and it’s not precisely the inability to string words together and make something out of them — that’s not writing. Sometimes IContinue reading “poetry without a place (4)”
I think, sometimes, my capacity of understanding is as mantle of light deposited upon the world, and its endless, patina-like nature allows me to see things as hallucinations. It’s an othered feeling, a removal of the envy one often feels for the levity (and brevity) of everything else. The undiluted sentiments one had as aContinue reading “(translation) fiama hasse pais brandão II”
Portuguese literature lacks no female contributions; in fact, to every great female portuguese author, I can name an equally grand male counterpart, and this pairing game can go on for as long as there is a memory capable of absorbing that many names. None stands out, to me, as glowingly as Fiama. Born in 1938Continue reading “fiama hasse pais brandão I (translation)”
The second poem contains a translation from the latin Nulla in mundo pax sincera, from Vivaldi, though it isn’t entirely verifiable if he wrote it or just used it in his motet. Either way, that’s where I got it from.Nothing else to report. Happy traditional celebrations and thank you for reading,João-Maria.
Part of the series on defamiliarization signed by the pseudonym Nikodem Lanci.
Strung together strangely from a restricted form, (mysterium) is to be part of three independent but thematically linked compositions illumed by the mystical phrase “Mysterium, tremendum et fascinans“, though I believe no unique part is to be distinguished by its focus, rather, to be analysed conically, which was a welcomed formal challenge. Echoes of antediluvianContinue reading “(mysterium) – (poetry)”
I’ve been reading a lot. I try to quarrel with the stillness, though I’m prescient to its victory. My day, languid as a drop, was spent strolling through very empty treks and phantom-fields, as if one inhabited a painting, or was, by some violent concatenation or sortilege, the last living element of a preserved landscape,Continue reading “28, of February (poetry)”
Inspired by a coalescence of Alice Oswald’s Severed Head Floating Downriver (and truly all of Falling Awake), John Ashbery‘s Three Madrigals, Herberto Helder‘s Servidões and Rilke‘s Death.Mostly an exercise in form, or trials of mathematising form. In fact, only the last of the madrigals has my formal signature. I have been finding it hard toContinue reading “three madrigals (poetry)”