excertos da sequência "The Old Dominion" de Marianne Moore, escolhas de Inês Morais

Do poema "Virginia Britannia":

Pale sand edges England’s Old

Dominion. The air is soft, warm, hot,

above the cedar-dotted emerald shore

known to the redbird,

the red-coated musketeer,

the trumpet-flower, the cavalier,

the parson, and the

wild parishioner. A deer-

track in a church-floor

brick, and a fine pavement-

tomb with engraved top, remain.

The now tremendous vine-en-

compassed hackberry

starred with the ivy-flower,

shades the church tower.

And “a great sinner lyeth here” under

the sycamore.

Do poema "Bird-Witted":

With innocent wide penguin eyes, three

large fledgling mocking-birds below

the pussy-willow tree,

stand in a row,

wings touching, feebly solemn,

till they see

their no longer larger

mother bringing

something which will partially

one of them.

Do poema "Half Deity"

It was not Oberon, but

this quietest wind with piano replies,

 the zhephyr, whose detachment was enough

to tempt the fiery tiger horse to stand,

eyes staring skyward and chest arching

bravely out – historic metamorphoser

and saintly animal

in India, in Egypt, anywhere.

Their talk was as strange as my grandmother’s muff.

E do poema "The Pangolin":

Bedizened or stark

naked, man, the self, the being

we call human, writing-

master to the world, griffons a dark

‘Like does not like like that is

obnoxious’…

            Not afraid of anything is he

            and then goes cowering forth, tread paced

            to meet an obstacle

at every step.

Escolhas de Langston Hughes - Poemas de Débora

Hard Luck

When hard luck overtakes you
Nothin' for you to do.
When hard luck overtakes you
Nothin' for you to do.
Gather up yo' fine clothes
An' sell 'em to de Jew.

Jew takes yo' fine clothes,
Gives you a dollar an' a half.
Jew takes yo' fine clothes,
Gives you a dollar an' a half.
Go to de bootleg's,
Git some gin to make you laugh.
(...)

Hey!

Sun’s a settin’,
This is what I’m gonna sing.
Sun’s a settin’,
This is what I’m gonna sing:
I feels de blues a comin’,
Wonder what de blues’ll bring?

Hey! Hey!

Sun’s a risin’,
This is gonna be ma song.
Sun’s a risin’,
This is gonna be ma song.
I could be blue but
I been blue all night long.

Angel Wings

The angels wings is white as snow,
    O, white as snow,
             White
           as
               snow.
The angels wings is white as snow,
    But I drug ma wings
    In the dirty mire.
    O, I drug ma wings
    All through the fire.
But the angels wings is white as snow,
    White
             as
            snow.


Railroad Avenue

Dusk dark
On Railroad Avenue.
Lights in the fish joints,
Lights in the pool rooms.
A box-car some train
Has forgotten
In the middle of the
Block.
A player piano,
A victrola.
    942
    Was the number.
A boy
Lounging on a corner.
A passing girl
With purple powdered skin.
    Laughter
    Suddenly
    Like a taut drum.
    Laughter
    Suddenly
    Neither truth nor lie.
    Laughter
Hardening the dusk dark evening.
    Laughter
Shaking the lights in the fish joints,
Rolling white balls in the pool rooms,
And leaving untouched the box-car
Some train has forgotten.

Sport

Life
For him
Must be
The shivering of
A great drum
Beaten with swift sticks
Then at the closing hour
The lights go out
And there is no music at all
And death becomes
An empty cabaret
And eternity an unblown saxophone
And yesterday
A glass of gin
Drunk long
Ago.


Saturday Night

Play it once.
O, play some more.
Charlie is a gambler
An' Sadie is a whore.
    A glass o' whiskey
    An' a glass o' gin:
    Strut, Mr. Charlie,
    Till de dawn comes in.
Pawn yo' gold watch
An' diamond ring.
Git a quart o' licker,
Let's shake dat thing!
    Skee-de-dad! De-dad!
    Doo-doo-doo!
    (...)

Closing time

Her face is pale
            In the doorway light
            Her lips blood red
            And her skin blue white.
Taxi!
          I'm tired.
Deep . . . River . . ..
         O, God, please!
The river and the moon hold memories.
    Cornets play.
    Dancers whirl
    Death, be kind.
What was the cover charge, kid?
    To a little drowned girl.

de Fine Clothes to the Jew, 1927

e. e. cummings poems shared by David K Martins

1

mOOn Over tOwns mOOn
whisper
less creature huge grO
pingness

whO perfectly whO
flOat
newly alOne is
dreamest

oNLY THE MooN o
VER ToWNS
SLoWLY SPoUTING SPIR
IT

6

exit a kind of unkindness exit

little
mr Big
notbusy
Busi
ness notman

(!ye
galleon
wilts
b:
    e;n,d

i
  ng
like like,like bad,like
candy:& you

are dead
you captain)

Memo 1
wife in impossibly
hell Memo
1 son
in improbably yale

10

little man
(in a hurry
full of an
important worry)
halt stop forget relax

wait

(little child
who have tried
who have failed
who have cried)
lie bravely down

sleep

big rain
big snow
big sun
big moon
(enter

us)

35

how dark and single,where he ends,the earth
(whose texture feels of pride and loneliness
alive like some dream giving more than all
life's busy little dyings may possess)

how sincere large distinct and natural
he comes to his disappearance;as a mind
full without fear might faithfully lie down
to so much sleep they only understand

enormously which fail — look:with what ease
that bright how plural tide measures her guest
(as critics will upon a poet feast)

meanwhile this ghost goes under,his drowned girth
are mountains;and beyond all hurt of praise
the unimaginable night not known

36

into a truly
curving form
enters my
soul

feels all small
facts dissolved
by the lewd guess
of fabulous immensity

the sky screamed
the sun died)
the ship lifts
on seas of iron

breathing height eating
steepness the
ship climbs
murmuring silver mountains

which disappear(and
only
was night

and through only this night a
mightily form moves
whose passenger and whose
pilot my spirit is

71

morsel miraculous and meaningless

secret on luminous whose selves and lives
imperishably feast all timeless souls

(the not whose spiral hunger may appease
what merely riches of our pretty world
sweetly who flourishes,swiftly which fails

but out of serene perfectly Nothing hurled
into young Now entirely arrives
gesture past fragrance fragrant;a than pure

more signalling of singular most flame
and surely poets only understands)
honour this loneliness of even him

who fears and eyes lifts lifting hopes and hands
-nourish my failure with thy freedom:star

isful beckoningly fabulous crumb

 From No Thanks, 1935

and a short clip

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK4OcYPvPvI

Amy Lowell Poems shared by Patrícia Marques

The Taxi

“When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?”

The Basket

III

"Go home, now, Peter.  To-night is full moon.  I must be alone."

"How soon the moon is full again!  Annette, let me stay.  Indeed, Dear Love,
I shall not go away.  My God, but you keep me starved!  You write
`No Entrance Here', over all the doors.  Is it not strange, my Dear,
that loving, yet you deny me entrance everywhere.  Would marriage
strike you blind, or, hating bonds as you do, why should I be denied
the rights of loving if I leave you free?  You want the whole of me,
you pick my brains to rest you, but you give me not one heart-beat.
Oh, forgive me, Sweet!  I suffer in my loving, and you know it.  I cannot
feed my life on being a poet.  Let me stay."

"As you please, poor Peter, but it will hurt me if you do.  It will
crush your heart and squeeze the love out."

He answered gruffly, "I know what I'm about."

"Only remember one thing from to-night.  My work is taxing and I must
have sight!  I must!"

(...)

V

The air is of silver and pearl, for the night is liquid with moonlight.
How the ruin glistens, like a palace of ice!  Only two black holes swallow
the brilliance of the moon.  Deflowered windows, sockets without sight.

A man stands before the house.  He sees the silver-blue moonlight,
and set in it, over his head, staring and flickering, eyes of geranium red.

Annette!

The Forsaken

“Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary.  Hear me!  I am very weary.  I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming.  I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was.  Mary Mother, you know the cause!

Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me!  Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming.  For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know.  Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name.  He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid.  We meant to marry.  Why did he die?

That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing.  I could not cry.
Why should he die?  Why should he die and his child live?  His little child
alive in me, for my comfort.  No, Good God, for my misery!  I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father.  Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be.  Only take the stigma off of me!

I have told no one but you, Holy Mary.  My mother would call me "whore",
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent.  I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married.  I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too?  You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all.  There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying?  He is dead, my beautiful, strong man!  I shall never
feel him caress me again.  This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby!  My little, helpless baby!

A Tulip Garden

“Guarded within the old red wall's embrace,
Marshalled like soldiers in gay company,
The tulips stand arrayed.  Here infantry
Wheels out into the sunlight.  What bold grace
Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace!
Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry,
With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye
Of purple batteries, every gun in place.
Forward they come, with flaunting colours spread,
With torches burning, stepping out in time
To some quick, unheard march.  Our ears are dead,
We cannot catch the tune.  In pantomime
Parades that army.  With our utmost powers
We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers.”

             from Sword Blades and Poppy Seed, 1914