Homens, ou O homem que eu amei

Dois poemas da americana Dorothea Lasky,  descoberta por mim somente na Paris Review 199, que mal chegou em minhas mãos e já se ferrou inteira em um passeio de bicicleta.

I had a man

Today when I was walking
I had a man tell me as he passed
That I was a white bitch (he was white)
And to not look at him
Or he was going to "fuck me in little butthole"
I wandered away
Who is to say
I think I am a white bitch
My butt is big
But I believe my butthole is little
This violence that we put on women
I don't think it's crazy
Someone I know said
"Oh, that man was crazy"
I don't think he was crazy
Maybe he could tell I had a look in my eye
That wasn't crazy anymore
Maybe he could feel the wild cool blood in me
And it frightened him
Maybe he knew I was the same as him
But had been born with this kind face and eyes
Doughlike appurtenances
What about the day I left
What happened then
Dark bird barreling down upon me
In the gentle air, to take me in his beak
Pink and patterned house
Never-ending sister speech
To go along the coaster and never return
To never repeat
Did that one bitter eye know I have a voice
To say what my words have done to me
That unkind wind that blew through my brain
With no thought of me
Just to still the jungle animals
Just to feed the endless clearing
The giant
Green and simple
Face of the sea

Poem to unneameable man

You have changed me already. I am a fireball
That is hurtling towards the sky to where you are
You can choose not to look up but I am a giant orange ball
That is throwing sparks upon your face
Oh look at them shake
Upon you like a great planet that has been murdered by change
O too this is so dramatic this shaking
Of my great planet that is bigger than you thought it would be
So you rain and hid
Under a large tree. She was graceful, I think
That tree although soon she will wither

Into ten black snakes upon your throat

And when she does I will be wandering as I always am

A graceful lady that is part museum
Of the voices of the universe everyone else forgets
I will hold your voice in a little box
And when you come upon me I wont't look back at you
You will feel a hand upon your heart while I place your voice back
Into the heart from where it came from
And I will not cry so
Although you will expect me to
I was wiser too than you had expected
For I knew all along you were mine.

Fotos de :http://beautesauvage.tumblr.com/