terça-feira, 6 de março de 2012

2 Flies - Charles Bukowski

The flies are angry bits of life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
are angry
that they are flies;
it is not my fault;
I sit in the room
with them
and they taunt me
with their agony;
it is as if they were
loose chunks of soul
left out of somewhere;
I try to read a paper
but they will not let me
one seems to go in half-circles
high along the wall,
throwing a miserable sound
upon my head;
the other one, the smaller one
stays near and teases my hand,
saying nothing,
rising, dropping
crawling near;
what god puts these
lost things upon me?
other men suffer dictates of
empire, tragic love…
I suffer
I wave at the little one
which only seems to revive
his impulse to challenge:
he circles swifter,
nearer, even making
a fly-sound,
and one above
catching a sense of the new
whirling, he too, in excitement,
speeds his flight,
drops down suddenly
in a cuff of noise
and they join
in circling my hand,
strumming the base
of the lampshade
until some man-thing
in me
will take no more
and I strike
with the rolled-up-paper -
missing! -
they break in discord,
some message lost between them,
and I get the big one
first, and he kicks on his back
flicking his legs
like an angry whore,
and I come down again
with my paper club
and he is a smear
of fly-ugliness;
the little one circles high
now, quiet and swift,
almost invisible;
he does not come near
my hand again;
he is tamed and
inaccessible; I leave
him be, he leaves me
the paper, of course,
is ruined;
something has happened,
something has soiled my
sometimes it does not
take man
or a woman,
only something alive;
I sit and watch
the small one;
we are woven together
in the air
and the living;
it is late
for both of us.

Charles Bukowski

Anjo Caído: o poeta Charles Bukowski

Segundo o filósofo francês Jean-Paul Sarte, Bukowski foi "o maior poeta da américa". A poesia de Bukowski privilegia a vida marginal ao sonho americano, e não é raro haver em seus poemas histórias e reflexões sobre carros roubados, jovens e tristes prostitutas, relegados de toda a espécie. Bukowski deu espaço para uma porção dos Estados Unidos que o país tanto busca esconder. Bukowski é o porta-voz dos "anjos caídos" da América.

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