terça-feira, 22 de maio de 2018

Adriano Nunes: “À noite”

“À noite”

À noite, o meu corpo chama
Parece. Arde em vontades
Que são mais do que vontades.
Tudo em mim tudo além ama.

À noite, o meu ser proclama
A vez de ter liberdades
Que são sóis de liberdades.
Em mim nada se faz drama.

Ah, por que estou só na cama
Dos desejos? Que me invade
Nesta noite que me invade?
Ah, que prazer me programa?

Adriano Nunes: "Do pensar"

"Do pensar"

Noite alta.
Não há corpos
Mesmo próximos 
Nem calor
Para o amor.
Que me assalta?
Só o gozo
Bem gostoso
Do pensar
É que salta.

Adriano Nunes: “Tensão”


Na fila
Do banco.
Na fila
Do crédito
- Que para! -

Da loja
A análise.
À espera
De exames,
Sem mágoas.

À espera
De deuses.
À espera
De tudo
Pra tudo
E nada.

À da

Que se
Quer dada
À folha
Mais alva,
Sob áleas.

Adriano Nunes: "I do not know how to sing cities"

"I do not know how to sing cities"

I do not know how to sing cities.
My city is beautiful.
This is good for it.
It has many birds
With varied songs,
Exotic fishes that express hatred,
Stones that scream
By the tips of the fingers,
High and low plateaus,
Plains of said-not-said,
Alleys of distracted words,
Streets that need to be digested,
A suspension bridge,
Poles placed in readiness,
Places that embrace joys
And graces - Sometimes,
Some incident that hurts.
I do not know how to sing cities...
My city is beautiful.
This is good for it.

terça-feira, 15 de maio de 2018

Adriano Nunes: "Mãe"


Bem antes
De estar

Bem antes
De vir

Do implante
Do ovo
No útero,

Bem antes
De haver

Eu já

Do amor
Que tinha
Pra dar

A ti.
Bem antes
De tudo.

domingo, 13 de maio de 2018

Adriano Nunes: "Mom"


My poem just wants
To say somenthig
About love to you.

First, undestand
My simple heart
That beats so fast

For everything that
Comes from your
Soul, and makes me

Feel very very
Happy happy.
Second, I left

My fears aside.
Mainly, the fear of
Being a beloved son,

Because your love
Is like an Ode
Written by Horace.

It is perfect!
It is eternal like
A Petrarch's sonnet.

Mom, dear Mom,
I know that you
Do not read it

In English, I
Know this, I Know.
But, I know also

That the language
Of love is just one:
This one that does

Not need translation!
Forgive me, Mom,
For my frail verses.

Here, I am, I am
Not interested in
Another aesthetic.

Poetry is naked.
Fully naked. I do
Not need any rules

To say to you
That I love you.
Look at it, look at

It: poetic rule
Does not serve!
Mom, my poem

Will photograph
You! Smile! Is my
Love! Just Smile!

Adriano Nunes: "Mother"


Early she wakes up.
And all Around
Sees: from the yard door
To the entrance
Door. Her heart
Not just be-

Ats (f ) ast: jumps
In broadness
Of infinity love
That she has,
That she keeps.
For us.

Clean clothes.
Ready table.
Only smiles
And even,
Lesson, and

Already tired
Of the daily
Great battle,
In bed she lies down.
The high sky plays
With the stars,

With joy, saying:
Down there,
Sleeps, cheerful,
A bright star.
Oh, how she shines!
Oh, how she shines!