Saturday, November 8, 2008

Rua do Alecrim



Rua do Alecrim

“A man can go astray
even when he follows
a straight line.”
—José Saramago,
The Year of the Death
Of Ricardo Reis

1.

the silky texture
of her sleeve

the warmth of her skin…

Lydia lowered her eyes

moved sideways
his hand

accompanied her

they remained like that

for a few seconds

now she departs

she will not regain

her composure

in a hurry…
labyrinths are like

Lisbon streets

crossroads

blind alleys…

2.

the Rua do Alecrim

up down left right

Ferragial
Remolares
Arsenal
Vinte e Quatro de Julho

The unwindings

of the skeins

the web

Boavista

Crucifixo

even a man

with the sight of 2 eyes

needs a light

he can follow

3.

watching the spectacle

of the world
call it

wisdom

aloofness

indifference

upbringing

what Ricardo Reis

requires

is a guide dog

a walking stick

a light

Lisbon

is a dark mist

north south east west

all merge

sloping

downward

4.

Ricardo Reis

falls headlong

to the bottom

a tailor’s dummy

a manikin

without legs just a head

Cherico-esque

Fernando Pessoa

is dead

unique

irreplaceable

returning from Rio

I walk down

Avenida da Liberdade

Both poets dead

Yet here I am

our portraits

in oval frames

5.

watching the spectacle

of the world

I go astray

even when I follow

a straight line

entering Rossio

crossroads of

4 or 8 choices

taken and retraced

letting chance

guide me

driving me letting myself

be driven

by forces unknown

even if I knew

what would I know?

6.

Pessoa the poet hoards his poems

journalists scratch their ass

critics publish rubbish

I tap the pavement

little is gained from

secondaire lit queans

Pessoa hoards his poems

unlike other geniuses

dot dot dot


I let myself

go astray

entering Rossio

letting Lisbon

guide me past

Freire the Engraver’s

shiny bronze nameplates

lawyers doctors notaries

important “compass” people

but poets?

nameplates deceive

so do

journalist & critic’s questions

poets reply with action

with action

we ask questions

such questions converge

our change is

thru our senses

poet questions

don’t require answers

heteronyms work better

just ask them all…




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