ISSN 2359-4101

Brazilian Literature in Translation / Literatura Brasileña en Traducción

Issue / Numero

year/año: 2012
issue/numero: # 02


Author | Autor: Rodrigo Garcia Lopes

Translated by Chris Daniels


Passage through a landscape,
a place of where, yesterday, and when,
how many words are still missing
in a mouth full of images.

The other is the one left on the margin,
on the fright of a pronoun,
on the body of a slow wind,
the other is like a hunger,
a drifting feather, distant, or almost.

Lost in its own voyage,
a bottle with its message,
a stare enduring on a flower,
nameless, secreted, gone wild.

Exile, water one drank on a train,
a procrastinated party, a play over, vertigo,
the mind always on some one,
I other, I all, I none.


What makes us write
Even while time, the mind’s writing,
Denies that is there to entertain
Until time closes, until light abridges.

The first gesture that detonates it
Is the echo of the word that devours it,
Bones and stuffing on exhibit as it
Comes, of its own impulse the master.

To confuse the registers,
A light in a room announces itself.
And, to become even more lucid,
A distracted hand writes us. And stops


Knocking out celebrities disguised as penguins
Monitoring the hoard of transactions and the tricks of climbers
Snaking between stairways nailed with citations
Kicking twilight’s bucket with dawn’s baby inside
Stepping up strong to a showdown with lies, treading on calumny’s corns
Accruing stocks in patience and pederast informers
Pinching salon-tanned folk made of fiberglass and ultra-high def pixels
Pulling marketers by the ear, taking the millionaire bishop by the scruff of the neck
Showing his catalog of kung-fu moves to web designers
Terrifying fashion editors with crucifixes made of shit
Heading for a knockdown brawl at the florist’s
Shivving the morning and good intentions with her sharp dagger
Pulverizing manipulators of the genome and chip-injected models
Giving the third degree to the corrupted files of the justice department
Assaulting metaphysical popcorn vendors and weekend-artist bankers
Passing out acid lollipops to literary critics
Blowing up the mouth of reason with inconsequential denunciations
Sweetly choking the life out of the evening charged with video cameras & trance music
Preaching fiscal irresponsibility and anthrax for all
Rifling through the idées fixes-crammed mall with a cry of jihad
The human bomb walks into the poem.

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