Man to the Apocryphal Glow from Puya
- Man to the Apocryphal Power of Rouge Part I of puya*
zum zum zum I drink rum rum rum I score and I praise
such ire here in the cane store in the sugar mills I castrate a stalk, one’s nothing * * *
the tall black man like a palm tree chipping the scales off a sleep-walker replacing others outside
he welcomes my hint of discouragement which is total peacefulness slacks and spare change and also inserted in a newspaper’s fold an avocado twisting in the dark so that its
nakedness
softens with its bland discharge . . . [End Page 748] . . . the headline I was going to talk about
that I immediately caught sight of: therein a certain person who hasn’t even an erection points his eminent self over there towards the row rich in black women
his pant zipper unsewn unsheathed: the Bahian water-spirit whores against mistress’ lamp bodies
and peeping he remains and then he randomly offers a worthless bill for their trills and undulations
planted with the thought of a whiteness
of arbors in a flurry of amnesia that enhances this leisurely hour
* * *
common water through a plastic
hose
the exhausted mulatto girls (never stenographers)
sprinkle
the streets so the dust can’t turn flips
pre-colored paperboard feet age the damp sod [End Page 749] * * *
fleshed again ashen elbows shinbones suddenly waylaid by the whitewasher what’s-his-name (shifting sand dunes silent films) the black suspect is here my
crushed leg that resembles a crushed red sail my insignificant leg of a cripple gnashed in the cane, caned for taking off clothing
and for losing the mulatto broth known as village where the sugar grows
to the dense hundreds a hundred frowns advance they pause in their routes and they stop
I sell the business for an incalculable amount for the cost of a piss
a few will relive the afternoon of the ruined one the one degraded
by the voice by the knee
by the verse and conversations the evening the coiling the quest
- Homem Ao Rubro ApÓcrifo
zum zum zum golo logo rum rum rum golo louvo
cá na eira larga ira cape um um é pouco
o preto de porte palmarino rapando as escamas dum sonâmbulo outdoor repondo outras
cumprimenta meu início de desencorajamento que é todo quietude atavio e proveito e também abacate enfiado num capuz de jornal torcendo no escuro pra que sua
nudez
amoleça com insípido disparo
o slogan que ia dar isso logo avistei
nisso um tal qualquer que nem taludo é põe-se apontado pra ala rica em pretas
desembainhada em abanos das baianas ondinas rameiras contra fifós donas
e espreitando fica e depois confere uma nota à toa aos seus giros e gorjeitos
lavrados [End Page 920]
com tento numa alvura
de arvoredo numa avidez de olvido que encarece o recreio
água de praxe enfileirada em mangueira
de plástico
as cabrochas extenuadas nunca estenógrafas
agora águam
as calçadas privando a poeira de romper em cabriolas
pés de papelão pretinto envelhecendo a água
cinzentos cotovelos canelas num encarne atocaiado de supetão por fulanos caiados (muda de duna película calada) o suspeito negro aqui minha
perna espremida que se assemelha a uma vela vermelha espremida minha perna ninharia cotó de cana fixado pra perder a capa
e o caldo mulato aka vilacanavial
aos centos espessos cenhos avançam pousam seus passes e param
vendo o caso por um prazo que não vence ao de uma mijada
uns quantos reprisarão a tarde do arruinado do corrido
pelo som pelo nó
através do verso em conservagões a véspera o serpenteio a cata
Reprinted by permission of the author.
Ronald Augusto: Uma Entrevista
Ronald Augusto: autor de Disco e Puya, coleções de poesia. Mora em Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul.
Ronald Augusto is author of Disco and Puya, volumes of poems. He lives in Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul.
Footnotes
* Translator’s Note: The poems of Ronald Augusto are said to be “difficult.” Sometimes the vocabulary is...
