* amalgam #5: ko sakauchi (japan) and ronaldo macedo brandão (portugal)
*amalgam #3: bruno vasconcelos (brazil) and ko sakauchi (japan)
When I was little, my dad used to say “if you’re lost, I can find you looking for the girl who has three moles like Orion on her thigh and bring back home anywhere you are.” Two out of three are almost gone now and maybe I don’t need them.
…and this leap from age to age,
from the order of a child to that of an old man,
will not diminish us.
– paul eluard-
… and, as ancient times,
i could sleep in the sea.
*amalgam #2: yelena popova (UK) and eassis (Brazil)
“The house was quiet and the world was calm”
This is the sentence by which a man
loses his place, sells his peace
curses his soul. A poem
is not a lake, his home
among lilies, it isn’t
a chair by the window, a page
from Cristina, a song
in the evening, it isn’t
he or she, it is not
*amalgam #1: lígia diniz (brazil) and anna volkova (latvia)
So strange, you see,
these windows so wide don’t get a grip of this city’s infinity.
From our room I see trees-with-branches-with-leaves-with-mangos so big
they could fall and smash someone’s head
and yet they are homelike for me.
(Ever since I was little I look up to the sky in terror:
such greatness must be famished for being so long so blue.
And in a city like this – all turquoise sky, no ocean, no woods –
it will surely feed on a lesser woman
That is why (you see)
I need those trees-with-branches-with-leaves-with-mangos-so-big:
so I can hold on to them when the ravenous universe finally sends for me.
And that is why
when the sun is high
I ask you to close all the windows
and throw your body both gently and heavily –
I ask you to throw your body over me.
“we feel and essay
my love has no meaning
I met a friend of mine with her 6 years old son.
He looked at me and asked his mom: ‘Why she keeps her hands in pockets?’
There is no such word in English as ‘Handschmeichler’ in German. But that’s for I need my pockets.
*autocromo, lartique, 1912
on my writing desk:
a computer, notebooks, faded pictures, some lists to do.
among them rests a small chinese ball you once offered me
on its surface, a delicate blue painted foliage.
love can be that flimsy.
I never pick up the phone here.
I know it’s not for me.
Nobody knows that I am here.