jeanine will

JEANINE WILL

JANELA

os olhos sofrem em desertos e arestas
as mãos padecem das intermitências da seda
a pela já se esfarela na conformidade do nada

(e então, atrás da persiana, o balão de oxigênio dos sonhos)

entre os soluços da fuligem a franca lâmpada da busca
                                                         [se acende
um homem de branco descalça os sapatos de um soneto e abre a caixa de torturas da fome que não se sacia nunca

a língua muda no transcorrer da boca e derruba a caldeira
                                                         [dos lábios
os braços sustentam feixes de sílabas ainda inabitadas
no armário obscuro das novenas desfilam todas as fantasias

entre flores que se desprendem do riso, o teu vestido sideral
                                                         [se derrama sobre o meu corpo
e verte o seu vermelho sobre a minha boca presa na bolha
                                                         [iridescente do dia
enquanto meus dedos surpresos encontram a curva desnuda
                                                         [dos teus ombros

uma fênix prateada emerge do meu bestiário carregando
                                                         [pedras azuis
no fundo do labirinto da noite as labaredas falam
                                                         [a mesma língua
com o atestado das paredes e o olhar acidentado da cruz eu sou outra vez solúvel em saliva e luz

 

WINDOW

eyes suffer in deserts and corners
hands ache for silky interruptions
skin crumbles in nothingness’ conformity

(then, behind blinds, a dreamlike oxygen balloon)

among rust hiccups the quest’s candid light-bulb
                                                         [is lit
a man wearing white barefoots a sonnet
and opens hunger’s torture box, never satisfied

a tongue changes along the mouth and drops lips’
                                                         [cauldrons
arms bear yet uninhabited syllable beams fantasy parades in the dark closet of prayers

among flowers falling from laughter, your sidereal gown
                                                         [is poured over my body
and sheds its red over my mouth stuck on day’s
                                                         [iridescent bubble
while my amazed fingers find the naked curve
                                                         [of your shoulders

a silver phoenix rises from my bestiary holding
                                                         [blue stones
deep down night’s labyrinth flames speak
                                                         [the same tongue
with the walls’ consent and the marred sight of the cross i am again soluble in saliva and light

 

FATOS DO FOGO E DA ÁGUA

sou
um colapso esburacando a manhã
lembrando daquele dia de desconhecidos

posso
me achegar ao teu rosto
aprender as notas do teu riso cifrado

quero
acordar o octopus que sonha
incitar seu abraço e me perder na tinta do teu ataque

entrementes
atalhos coloridos na tua pele me desviam do caminho
teu olhar incendeia a minha seiva
e o trem do sonho não pára de percorrer os sentidos

                                                                                                                                                                                    Crash into my arms.
                                                                                                                                                                                    I want you.

                                                                                                                                                                                    Vince Vinnus

 

FIRE AND WATER FACTS

I am
a debacle cracking dawn
recalling the day of the unknown

I can
get to know your face
learn the notes of your cyphered laughter

I want
to wake the dreaming octopus up
to arouse your embrace and lose myself in the paint of your strikes

meanwhile
colorful shortcuts on your skin led me astray
your sight burns my sap
and dream’s train never ceases to chase its tracks

                                                                                                                                                                                    Crash into my arms.
                                                                                                                                                                                    I want you.

                                                                                                                                                                                    Vince Vinnus

 

GRAVE ESPERA

há coisas e os gestos que aguardam nas oficinas
e no engenho do ser

relíquias se amontoam em grave espera:
o envelope selado do não dito
palavras, silêncios, falésias
gatos pardos de papel machê
gestos largos, inacabados
suspensos no teu ombro imaginário
lembranças do teu rosto
desenhadas no verso
da folinha de agosto

penso nessas coisas todas
tendo habilitá-las
mas têm umas que de tão antigas
a poeira já não deixa
têm outras que de tão antigas parecem queixas

e pra não despertar
a fome e a paz que dormem
de olhos bem fechados
acho sempre melhor manter
a oficina fechada

 

GRAVE WAITING

there are things and the gestures waiting at the workshops
and on the ingenuity of being

relics are piled up in grave waiting:
the sealed envelope of the unspoken
words, silences, ravines
brown papier-maché cats
unfinished, long gestures
suspended on your imaginary shoulder
memories of your face
drown on the back
of August’s dingy calendar

I think about those things
and I try to enable them
but there are ones so old
their dust doesn’t let me
there are others whose old age turns into complaints

and not to wake up
peace and hunger who sleep
with eyes wide shut
I’d rather keep my workshop
always shut

Jeanine Will (1975) is a poet and translator, born in Santa Catarina. She writes and publishes photos, drawings, and videopoems on the blog www.caminhaodemudanca.blogspot.com.