The Bush Warbler Idling

The Bush Warbler Idling

Seeping through the haze,
the voice
of the bush warbler --
few people passing,
mountain village in spring.


Saigyo

Winds Of Autumn

Winds Of Autumn

Even in a person
most times indifferent
to things around him
they waken feelings
the first winds of autumn

Saigyo

unbroken gloom.

unbroken gloom.

times when unbroken
gloom is over all our world
over which still
sits the ever brilliant moon
sight of it casts me down more

Saigyo

Thought I was free

Thought I was free


Thought I was free
of passion, so this melancholy
comes as surprise:
a woodcock shoots up from the marsh
where autumn's twilight falls.

Saigyo

There's not a trace of cloud

There's not a trace of cloud

There's not a trace of cloud
Now-and she
Is in my thoughts;
The moon and my heart
Seem to waver.

Saigyo

The Monk Saigyo

The Monk Saigyo


Should I blame the moon
For bringing forth this sadness,
As if it pictured grief?
Lifting up my troubled face,
I regard it through my tears

Saigyo

Sunk in melancholy

Sunk in melancholy


Sunk in melancholy, and
Gazing
Upon the moon: its hue:
Why is it so deeply
Stained with sadness, I wonder

Saigyo

O, how sad

O, how sad

O, how sad!
Why of visitors
Should there be not one?
In melancholy, where I dwell
The wind comes upon the bush-clover leaves.

Saigyo

Not Stopping To Mark The Trail

Not Stopping To Mark The Trail

Not stopping to mark the trail,
let me push even deeper
into the mountain!
Perhaps there's a place
where bad news can never reach me!

Saigyo

limitations gone

limitations gone

limitations gone
since my mind fixed on the moon
clarity and serenity
make something for which
there's no end in sight

Saigyo

In a mountain village

In a mountain village

In a mountain village
at autumn’s end—
that’s where you learn
what sadness means
in the blast of the wintry wind.

Saigyo

How wonderful

How wonderful


How wonderful, that
Her heart
Should show me kindness;
And of all the numberless folk,
Grief should not touch me.

Saigyo

Having Seen Them Long

Having Seen Them Long

Having seen them long,
I hold the flowers so dear
That when they scatter
I find it all the more sad
To bid them my last farewell.

Saigyo

Having drifted apart

Having drifted apart


Having drifted apart,
Why should folk
Despise each other? For
Not known and unknowing
Times there were once before…

Saigyo

As banked clouds

As banked clouds


As banked clouds
are swept apart by the wind,
at dawn the sudden cry
of the first wild geese
winging across the mountains.

Saigyo

moonviewing

moonviewing

Quite the contrary
to what I’d thought, passing clouds
are sometimes simply
the moon’s entertainment,
its lovely decoration.

Saigyo

A Ballade of Burial

A Ballade of Burial

("Saint Praxed's ever was the Church for peace")


If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of "I"
To the Hills for old sake's sake,
Pack me very thoroughly
In the ice that used to slake
Pegs I drank when I was dry --
This observe for old sake's sake.

To the railway station hie,
There a single ticket take
For Umballa -- goods-train -- I
Shall not mind delay or shake.
I shall rest contentedly
Spite of clamour coolies make;
Thus in state and dignity
Send me up for old sake's sake.

Next the sleepy Babu wake,
Book a Kalka van "for four."
Few, I think, will care to make
Journeys with me any more
As they used to do of yore.
I shall need a "special" brake --
'Thing I never took before --
Get me one for old sake's sake.

After that -- arrangements make.
No hotel will take me in,
And a bullock's back would break
'Neath the teak and leaden skin
Tonga-ropes are frail and thin,
Or, did I a back-seat take,
In a tonga I might spin, --
Do your best for old sake's sake.

After that -- your work is done.
Recollect a Padre must
Mourn the dear departed one --
Throw the ashes and the dust.
Don't go down at once. I trust
You will find excuse to "snake
Three days' casual on the bust."
Get your fun for old sake's sake.

I could never stand the Plains.
Think of blazing June and May
Think of those September rains
Yearly till the Judgment Day!
I should never rest in peace,
I should sweat and lie awake.
Rail me then, on my decease,
To the Hills for old sake's sake.



Rudyard Kipling

An Astrologer's Song

An Astrologer's Song

To the Heavens above us
O look and behold
The Planets that love us
All harnessed in gold!
What chariots, what horses
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?

All thought, all desires,
That are under the sun,
Are one with their fires,
As we also are one:
All matter, all spirit,
All fashion, all frame,
Receive and inherit
Their strength from the same.

Oh, man that deniest
All power save thine own,
Their power in the highest
Is mightily shown.
Not less in the lowest
That power is made clear.
(Oh, man, if thou knowest,
What treasure is here!)

Earth quakes in her throes
And we wonder for why!
But the blind planet knows
When her ruler is nigh;
And, attuned since Creation
To perfect accord,
She thrills in her station
And yearns to her Lord.

The waters have risen,
The springs are unbound--
The floods break their prison,
And ravin around.
No rampart withstands 'em,
Their fury will last,
Till the Sign that commands 'em
Sinks low or swings past.
[GRAY][B]


Through abysses unproven
O'er gulfs beyond thought,
Our portion is woven,
Our burden is brought.
Yet They that prepare it,
Whose Nature we share,
Make us who must bear it
Well able to bear.

Though terrors o'ertake us
We'll not be afraid.
No Power can unmake us
Save that which has made:
Nor yet beyond reason
Or hope shall we fall--
All things have their season,
And Mercy crowns all!

Then, doubt not, ye fearful--
The Eternal is King--
Up, heart, and be cheerful,
And lustily sing:--
What chariots, what horses
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?


Rudyard Kipling

The Appeal

The Appeal

It I have given you delight
By aught that I have done,
Let me lie quiet in that night
Which shall be yours anon:

And for the little, little, span
The dead are born in mind,
Seek not to question other than
The books I leave behind.



Rudyard Kipling

The Answer

The Answer

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path,
Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His Wrath,
Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush
Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush.
And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust and sun,
Had pity, whispering to that luckless one,
"Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well --
What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?"
And the Rose answered, "In that evil hour
A voice said, `Father, wherefore falls the flower?
For lo, the very gossamers are still.'
And a voice answered, `Son, by Allah's will!'"

Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward,
Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord:
"Sister, before We smote the Dark in twain,
Ere yet the stars saw one another plain,
Time, Tide, and Space, We bound unto the task
That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should ask."
Whereat the withered flower, all content,
Died as they die whose days are innocent;
While he who questioned why the flower fell
Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell.



Rudyard Kipling

An American

An American
1894

The American Spirit speaks:

If the Led Striker call it a strike,
Or the papers call it a war,
They know not much what I am like,
Nor what he is, My Avatar.

Through many roads, by me possessed,
He shambles forth in cosmic guise;
He is the Jester and the Jest,
And he the Text himself applies.

The Celt is in his heart and hand,
The Gaul is in his brain and nerve;
Where, cosmopolitanly planned,
He guards the Redskin's dry reserve

His easy unswept hearth he lends
From Labrador to Guadeloupe;
Till, elbowed out by sloven friends,
He camps, at sufferance, on the stoop.

Calm-eyed he scoffs at Sword and Crown,
Or, panic-blinded, stabs and slays:
Blatant he bids the world bow down,
Or cringing begs a crust of praise;

Or, sombre-drunk, at mine and mart,
He dubs his dreary brethren Kings.
His hands are black with blood -- his heart
Leaps, as a babe's, at little things.

But, through the shift of mood and mood,
Mine ancient humour saves him whole --
The cynic devil in his blood
That bids him mock his hurrying soul;

That bids him flout the Law he makes,
That bids him make the Law he flouts,
Till, dazed by many doubts, he wakes
The drumming guns that -- have no doubts;

That checks him foolish-hot and fond,
That chuckles through his deepest ire,
That gilds the slough of his despond
But dims the goal of his desire;
[GRAY][B]


Inopportune, shrill-accented,
The acrid Asiatic mirth
That leaves him, careless 'mid his dead,
The scandal of the elder earth.

How shall he clear himself, how reach
Your bar or weighed defence prefer --
A brother hedged with alien speech
And lacking all interpreter?

Which knowledge vexes him a space;
But, while Reproof around him rings,
He turns a keen untroubled face
Home, to the instant need of things.

Enslaved, illogical, elate,
He greets the embarrassed Gods, nor fears
To shake the iron hand of Fate
Or match with Destiny for beers.

Lo, imperturbable he rules,
Unkempt, desreputable, vast --
And, in the teeth of all the schools,
I -- I shall save him at the last!



Rudyard Kipling

HISTÓRIA

HISTÓRIA

A folha ainda em branco.
A formiga vai traçando
um sinal de vida.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

TOM

TOM

 Ao amanhecer
o sol desponta no morro
colorindo o dia.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

EÓLICA

EÓLICA

No calor da tarde
o vento, à busca de abrigo,
debruça a janela.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

BUCOLISMO

BUCOLISMO

Por sobre coqueiros
no alto, a nuvem dá salto.
Cochilam pinheiros

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

BUENOS AIRES

BUENOS  AIRES

Os céus salpicados
de estrelas como centelhas
nos teus ares mágicos.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

PRIMAVERA

PRIMAVERA

Voa no jardim
o pardal junto à roseira.
Chuva cor-de-rosa.


Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

TURISMO

TURISMO

Em cima do poste
serve a lâmpada de guia
ao turista, à noite.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

ENCANTO

ENCANTO

Doce encantamento:
o mundo, o carinho, a paz
cabem num braço.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

AERONAVE

AERONAVE

Corta o ar, fugaz,
Veloz pássaro repleto
de pessoas aladas.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

PINHEIRO

PINHEIRO

O tronco frondoso
alado ao céu se assemelha
a um forte gigante.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

RETICÊNCIAS

RETICÊNCIAS

Corpos reticentes...
Pousadas no fio de luz
livres andorinhas.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

PINUS

PINUS

Cones verdejantes
sacodem-se ao vento, dançam.
Mares ondulantes.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

COMPANHIA

COMPANHIA

Uma evocação:
saudade e lembrança amiga
sentam a meu lado.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

PALMEIRA

PALMEIRA

Leque natural
se agita a cumprimentar
no alto do infinito

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

MAR PORTUGUÊS

MAR  PORTUGUÊS

Teu “Mar Português”
tão nosso, tão verde azul,
Fernando Pessoa!

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

GRALHA AZUL

GRALHA  AZUL

Semeias no verde
pinhões para a natureza
não morrer estéril.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

VOO

VOO

Livre, de tardinha,
passeia no ar e vagueia
alegre andorinha.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

UIRAPURU

UIRAPURU

A mata se cala
meditando o teu cantar
em tom de oração.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

ORQUESTRA

ORQUESTRA

Natural orquestra
toca no quente verão:
canto de cigarra.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

BEIJA-FLOR

BEIJA-FLOR

Pousado na flor
balança suave a pétala
leve colibri.

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

TRÉGUA

No alto do edifício
a cortina se desfralda
num gesto de paz.

Delores Pires

In: O Livro dos Haicais

SALGUEIRO

SALGUEIRO

Os ramos caídos
choram amores que foram
teus entes queridos

Delores Pires
In: O Livro dos Haicais

Elogio do esforço

Vale a pena tornar tudo tortuoso, adornar
com folhas de chumbo a cabeça confusa
e fazer a volta que serpenteia e se afasta
do atalho que chama, cheio de grama.

Se podemos nos bifurcar em dúvidas, errar
o alvo próximo e acertar o inocente difuso na lonjura;
se a discussão, além de inútil, pode ser interminável
quando as partes simplesmente não se escutam.

Tudo é tão fácil! O difícil sou eu que faço —
o máximo cansaço já no início do caminho.


Jorge Emil
De 'Pequeno arsenal' (2004)

A festa-surpresa

‘O melhor que você faz
é jamais olhar pra trás.’
Foi o que disse a voz
uivante da sensatez.

Mas eis que o passado atroz
ao meu olhar se desfaz,
pulverizando-se. Zás!
Vira uma nuvem de giz.

Antes, durante, após,
existiu só esta paz
envolvida em pó-de-arroz
que nem em sonho supus.

Da névoa, dos cafundós,
os amigos que não fiz
surgem todos de uma vez.



Jorge Emil
(Poema inédito)

Biografia

No começo sente apenas que é uma cabeça.
Quando lhe dizem ‘cresça’, passa
a dar notícia da garganta
(quiçá das omoplatas),
canta, articula palavras.
Desce a brinquedos complexos,
a posse do peito, a presença do sexo.
Lentamente as longas coxas.
Dois joelhos no meio das pernas,
da vida. Declive, canelas. E os pés
percutindo no chão até
a transformação em raiz.



Jorge Emil

Oco

Sei que a História me esmaga
embora eu não saiba História.
Se soubesse, lograria
escapar ao peso dela?

Mas como hei de apreendê-la
e entrever escapatória?
Minha própria historiazinha
já me escapou à memória —



Jorge Emil
De 'Pequeno arsenal' (2004)

Bazar

Eu já devia ter partido...
Contudo, ainda sou capaz
de ler revista feminista no dentista
e jornal cultural no recital.
Me conte quantas vezes você pulou da ponte.
Afora ir longe com um tapa, só faço viagens através do mapa.
2 da manhã; estou persuadido
de que não há amor; mas aí
um parente tosse no quarto ao lado.
Eu tu ele e ah bem nós vós eles mas em
verdade ninguém. Mundo louco, não sei
se estás todo oco ou se está tudo
OK. Que entusiasmo: breve serei fantasma.
Sou ruim sim — ó minha cópia
infinitamente melhor que eu próprio.
Sofri o acidente, estou cego?, quero
ser o líder. Rebolou demasiado acabou
perdendo o rebolado. Não sei por que cargas
d’água quase morri de sede.
A minha ótica, longe de ótima, é patética.
Descompreendo a coisa enfática — tu sem migo, eu
sem vosco... Erro tosco de gramática, de amor.
Descoberta um dia
a fonte de toda angústia a fonte de toda
angústia de descobrir.
Eu já devia ter partido... Não houve jeito:
sobrevivi. A culpa é do comprimido.


Jorge Emil
De 'O dia múltiplo' (2000)

Eu, Atlas

Nasce maiúsculo o Vocacionado Otário,
pronto a suster, com osso e músculo, a Cruz, o Globo,
o Sofrimento Coletivo. Bobo: a Grande Dor
é a dor de cada vivo, indivídua, não-cumulativa.

Para o Operário Cioso do Desnecessário,

esta dor, Dor! tão vívida nas costas,
capaz de liquidar qualquer dívida,
maior que as dores todas, agrupadas,

é apenas parte pequena de seu Calvário.


Jorge Emil
(Poema inédito)

Novo registro de nascimento

Tudo — não só os imprevistos
da semana que entra,
uma dívida futura
que talvez me atormente,
um prenúncio das doenças
reservadas ao final;
tudo — aquele dia obscuro
do ano de oitenta e oito,
o nojo adolescente
pensando o dentro do corpo,
a primeira taquicardia
do primeiro namoro,
o garoto estupefato
diante do avô morto
debaixo do dilúvio;
tudo — estou me afogando
em vésperas — tudo
está por acontecer.


Jorge Emil
De 'Pequeno arsenal' (2004)