Monday, 13 April 2015

Escrito em inglês, por uma portuguesa, sobre um alemão - e o mundo hoje perde o seu Günter Grass

_____________(I do not know the title to the "unknown poem").

held in my tiny childhood hand
(hand? ..but I see a bouquet of the reddest roses I'd ever seen, though their fragrance seems ever so odd) my tiny bouquet of crimson flowers,
petals cringing away from the trigger,
spellbound, .. unanswered tears (tears? I remember innocence.., running down my cheeks, flowing copiously,
fears that were not innocent,
(fears? I remember the orders of the "innocent")
Man betraying Man
(Man? I remember something else, blooming, dripping red..)
Alain's final year at Marienbad,
fingers drenched, stained..
- Halt!
- Who goes there?
- Halt..

deep breath
lungs closing
heart sto___

(..and stop the guns of war)


Some are born tender and never turn ugly, not even in the face of the beast.

(by Maria MFA Costa)

G. Almeida
 graphite on paper

"I'm always astonished by a forest. It makes me realise that the fantasy of nature is much larger than my own fantasy. I still have things to learn."
Günter Grass

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