Early this morning, the Girl from São Paulo (you will remember her well), sent me a piece of writing she'd been working on the previous night. At first I was shocked. I understood none of it! Her writing was so brilliant that I gleamed no meaning at all from it. Here it is...
"agridoce
o primeiro café do dia e o amor às segundas-feiras: único sinal de que mais uma noite se foi, que mais sete dias se passaram.
ele sempre falava sobre o que ela pensava, mas não ousava dizer. era um ritual realizado uma vez por semana para provar que sim, sincronia, sim, eu conheço o fundo, ela diz.
recorrência demais não cabe na diagramação, nem deus. até aí deus não cabe em lugar algum, na verdade coisa alguma cabe direito em palavras. ela diz: eu também não, mas continuo insistindo. ele insiste menos, mas se recusa a desistir.
naquela manhã não houve cama capaz de aquietar angústias. era o pó, a claridade, solidão demais estampada no papel. o amor então abraçou bem de leve, dando a falsa impressão de casualidade, e partiu.
na semana seguinte ele retornaria, pontualmente. eles podiam pecar por excesso, por ausência, por orgulho. mas ele era constante. e, por ser espelho dela, a tornava constante também, num excercício diário de esperar.
mas só às segundas-feiras."
ele sempre falava sobre o que ela pensava, mas não ousava dizer. era um ritual realizado uma vez por semana para provar que sim, sincronia, sim, eu conheço o fundo, ela diz.
recorrência demais não cabe na diagramação, nem deus. até aí deus não cabe em lugar algum, na verdade coisa alguma cabe direito em palavras. ela diz: eu também não, mas continuo insistindo. ele insiste menos, mas se recusa a desistir.
naquela manhã não houve cama capaz de aquietar angústias. era o pó, a claridade, solidão demais estampada no papel. o amor então abraçou bem de leve, dando a falsa impressão de casualidade, e partiu.
na semana seguinte ele retornaria, pontualmente. eles podiam pecar por excesso, por ausência, por orgulho. mas ele era constante. e, por ser espelho dela, a tornava constante também, num excercício diário de esperar.
mas só às segundas-feiras."
Quite elegant, no?
In any such case, she lovingly explained that it was in face in Portuguese and was generous and lovely enough to provide a translation...
"bittersweet
the first coffee of the day and love at mondays: the sole sign another night was gone, another seven days had passed.
he always talked about what she thought, but didn't dare to say. it was a ritual performed once a week, to prove that yes, synchrony, yes, i know the bottom.
the excess of recurrence does not fit the diagram, nor does god. but then god doesn't fit anywhere, no thing can suit words properly. she says: neither can i, but i insist. he is less insistent, yet he refuses to give up.
on that morning there was no bed capable of calming down their anguish. it was the dust, the clarity, the loneliness printed on paper. then love embraced her lightly, giving the false impression of casualness, and left.
in the following week he would punctually return. they could sin for being indulgent, absent, proud, but he was constant. and, as her mirror, he brought her constance, in the shape of a daily waiting.
it only happened at mondays."
In any such case, she lovingly explained that it was in face in Portuguese and was generous and lovely enough to provide a translation...
"bittersweet
the first coffee of the day and love at mondays: the sole sign another night was gone, another seven days had passed.
he always talked about what she thought, but didn't dare to say. it was a ritual performed once a week, to prove that yes, synchrony, yes, i know the bottom.
the excess of recurrence does not fit the diagram, nor does god. but then god doesn't fit anywhere, no thing can suit words properly. she says: neither can i, but i insist. he is less insistent, yet he refuses to give up.
on that morning there was no bed capable of calming down their anguish. it was the dust, the clarity, the loneliness printed on paper. then love embraced her lightly, giving the false impression of casualness, and left.
in the following week he would punctually return. they could sin for being indulgent, absent, proud, but he was constant. and, as her mirror, he brought her constance, in the shape of a daily waiting.
it only happened at mondays."
Many thanks to the girl in São Paulo.
-Robert de Saint-Loup
1 comment:
fascinating, this...construction
Post a Comment