I KNOW IT'S NOT SO

About Patricia Evans' poetry

"Although I have spent time with Patrícia Evans on three separate occasions, I feel I know Patrícia Evans only through her poetry. She hides nothing, she surrenders everything. It is some of the most powerful poetry I have ever read. And I have read only English translations of her poems, so those who read her in her native Portuguese will experience her even more intimately. They should prepare themselves for imagery, anger, compassion, despair, humor, insight, knowledge of her self and the deepest love for those she loves, especially dad."

Robert E. Sheridan


Mr. Sheridan had been an editor for the New York Times for 32 years. He is also a poet, and a father.


Mr. Sheridan's blog:
http://www.coffeedrome.com/


PATRÍCIA EVANS

Twitter: @TiciaEvans - Email: TiciaEvans@gmail.com

09/01/2011

TEUS UMBRAIS / YOUR THRESHOLD

TEUS UMBRAIS
( © Patrícia Evans)
.
Umbrais do teu sorriso
ultrapasso nada incólume,
que teu sorriso é arma,
que me arranca pedaços
com cinismo sórdido.

Lanço mão da lança metálica
que é tua própria ilicitude,
baixeza que teu peito abriga...
Ah! que esta lança é fria,
como fria, a tua veia que não pulsa.

Mas escudo desencantado
nada protege, nada impede
e neste campo serenado,
em noite de névoa, eu que quede
meu corpo, diante de teu pedestal.

‘Inda que eu tente tudo,
nada é capaz de atingir
este teu ego brutal.
E mais que avance este umbral,
mais quero adentrar-te e não posso.

Vício que me mata aos poucos;
eu cada vez mais frágil,
tu cada vez mais louco!

Tu, me cegando as razões,
como cegam a fé e o salmo.

E sábio, preparas tua ceia:
eu morrendo aos teus pés,
tu carregando meu escalpo
dentre as sepulturas de mim mesma.

.

YOUR THRESHOLD
( © Patrícia Evans)
.

Your smile is a threshold
that I can cross unharmed
only to discover your smile is a weapon
slicing me to pieces
with sordid cynicism.
I grab the metalic lance
which is your own baseness,
a vileness sheltered in your chest . . .
Oh! the lance is like ice
so cold that your veins have no pulse
But with a disenchanted shield
that protects nothing, impedes nothing,
in this misty field
on a foggy night, I´ll bow
my body before your pedestal!
trying everything
yet nothing can touch
your brutal ego
And the more I cross this threshold,
the more I want to cross you, but I can' t!
A viciousness kills me litlle by little
I -- each time a little weaker
You -- each time a little more insane
You -- blinding me to the reason
the way we are blinded by faith and psalms
and you, so powerfully wise, prepare your supper
I -- dying again at your feet
You -- carrying my scalp
across the sepulcher of myself.

.

.

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