Me?

I want to introduce you
The poem of translation
And do it showing you
a mother angry on his child
asking her in a shop
to buy him a can of Coke


Angry, and aparently cold,
Denies once more the resistent child
Who said her looking at his gramma
sat at the passenger sit
that she would give him the money
he wanted to buy himself
whatever he needs

After listening him, the old lady
replied: me?
And a tremendous silence invaded me
Because it was not any me
but a me with other words
and own letters
a me with various words
and own grammar

A me that made the mourning boy
put his head down,
enter the car
and think to himself
that he just wanted
a simple can of Coke

And this introduces you
the translation of the poem...

Me?

whens

headache
french kiss
rain storm
gas expenses
nobody knows when each one start
.............when each one finish


distrust
standing water
pinkeye
and girlfriend
jealousy
nobody knows when each one start
.............when each one finish

acne on forehead
piss hard-on
and the third war
that - the way things are going -
is very near
nobody knows when each one start
.............when each one finish

definition of everything and nothing

Everything is poetry

Nothign is poetry

But what about poetry?

What is it?

local global

I want an instantaneous love
eternal and momentaneous
with your face, seraphim,
flowering and smiling at me

I want a suburban love
cybercafé and casual flip-flops
now a favela is local
wherein everything is global

I want a love without conversations
front and back, vice-versa
and drink a beer in a pub:
Rio, Belgrade or Beijing


I want a simple-hearted love
without Bushes neither falseness
in which what you see in me
is a "no" that wants to be "yes"

differences

If even the world
is not the same anymore,
why not with verse
it wouldn't be different?

If even the verse
is not the same anymore,
why not with love
it wouldn't be different?

If even love
is not the same anymore,
why not with sex
it wouldn't be different?

If even sex
is not the same anymore,
why not with life
it wouldn't be different?

If even life
is not the same anymore,
why not with death
it wouldn't be different?

If even death
is not the same anymore,
why not with the night
it wouldn't be different?

If even the night
is not the same anymore,
why not with the morning
it wouldn't be different?

If even morning
is not the same anymore,
why not with the sun
it wouldn't be different?

If even the sun
is not the same anymore,
why not with the skin
it wouldn't be different?

And if even the skin
is another one,
why not with you
it wouldn't be different?
If even the world
is not the same anymore?

down in dante

The worst thing to encounter
in that deep well
is a side entrance
that steps into
unfathomable depths
on which is engraved
in bold letters,
"Abandon all hope,
You that enter here...."


Special thanks to the Australian poet Frederick Kesner
for his help with the version of this poem in English