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sexta-feira, 27 de maio de 2016

From greeks

Half of our bones
bubbling as airy temples

The other half,
seeping up in the footsteps
that Pegasus drew on clay

Are men, gods
or the gods, men?

Statues, poems and fine figures,
moving from urn to urn,
recall plaster souls in plain cloths.

All white over white
In the background starry darkness for each islands,
a sun tunnel fading in sleep,
a faint,
for when we wake up costumed liked fauns,

Athena has already become an angel,
illuminating the rowers' fearless ignorance.

(tradução de Ronan Hyancinthe)

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