domingo, 14 de novembro de 2010

Poemas de Nick Cave

Early Poems by Nick Cave

Quando eu comecei a ouvir, Nick Cave, eu fiquei MUITO FÃ de Nick Cave. Foi na época em que rolou uma promoção e se podia comprar qualquer disco dele por meros 5 reais. Estes poemas eu descobri um pouco depois, e foram escritos na adolescência dele.

Cheguei a apresentar "The Magic Pudding" no auditório, como exercício do curso de inglês. Eu entrava em cena comendo um flan e quando acabava de comer, uma mão misteriosa botava outro flan no lugar. Sendo que o cara perdeu a deixa e ficou meio comprometida a performance jejejeje. Isso foi em algum buraco negro entre 1999 e 2000. Ah, e publiquei uma tradução para "One Average Morning" no primeiro número do meu fanzine Troglodita.

Gosto muito.


There's been an earthquake in Peru and someone has missed the ashtray.
My coffee is cold, National Disaster.
Another aircrash, Third this week.
I stand and walk to the mirror.
My eyeballs sink in the quicksand of their sockets.
I turn the page. Did you know that Marilyn Monroe was married four times?
Another pimple. Too many late nights.
I journey downstairs as a young boy is injured in a bank robbery: $60 000 taken in all.
I look into the fishbowl. Snow White floats naked on top of the water.
Pity, such a harmless fish. Scooping him out.
I make him the victim of a Peruvian earthquake, of an aircrash.
Make Arthur Miller green. Give him his cut of the bank takings.
I step out with the parcel of National Disasters and cry on the shoulder of the garbage man.

I take a slice of life and once eaten and digested,
I turn to find the same piece on my plate
A past that's best forgotten yet is always there,
lingering a hinderance a rememberance
Like a shadow it follows leeching on our future
re-occuring to remind us of a history long gone
Can we destroy this phantom of the past
this demon of rememberance this magic pudding
(Remember Norman Lindsay)

Uncertain really why I am drawing
keys and keyholes on my desk top
though I am sure Mr Freud would find some excuse to tell me
and that Ms Cheer take the opposition
I search with my pen
perhaps not a razor blade in shape
but surely that it draws lines
like veins upon my wrists
for a person who will let me
open the door of that heart
and bid me enter.

Though I am not thirsty
yes, pour me another drink
though my tounge is red and sore
I occupy my boredom by licking
the rim of my glass
As idle chatter swells around me
I remain silent
And as bursts of laughter
thunder flash flouds in my ears
I remain solemn
If I was a renowned rebel
I would not seal off my frustrations
I would stand on the arm of the chair
and scream obscenities
at my ageing grandmother
but as it is her birthday
and I am at school
I will bear with the 'my haven't
you growns'
and will not resign to the lava
for the evening.

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