30 Days Hath September

i will wind up the month of September with a poem clipped from a newspaper some years ago / the poem is by a Brazilian poet whose name is Adelia Prado / i may be breaking copyright laws / who knows ? / oh well, here goes :

DYSRHYTHMIA

Old people spit with absolutely no finesse
and bicycles bully traffic on the sidewalk.
The unknown poet waits for criticism
and reads his verses three times a day
like a monk with his book of hours.
The brush got old and no longer brushes.
Right now what's important
is to untangle the hair.
We give birth between our legs
and go on talking about it until the end,
few of us understanding
it's the soul that's erotic.
If I want, I put on a Bach aria
so I can feel forgiving and calm.
What I understand of God is His wrath;
there's no other way to say it.
The ball thumping against the wall annoys me,
but the kids laugh, contented.
I've see hundreds of afternoons like today.
No agony, just an anxious impatience:
something is going to happen.
Destiny doesn't exist.
It's God we need, and fast.

~~~~~~~

from a collection of her work titled
The Alphabet in the Park : selected
poems of Adelia Prado

published by Wesleyan Press
translated by Ellen Watson
1990

~~~~~~~~

here is another :

DAY

The chickens open their beaks in alarm
and stop, with that knack they have,
immobile--I was going to say immoral--
wattles and coxcombs stark red,
only the arteries quivering in their necks.
A woman startled by sex,
but delighted.

~~~~~~~~~

i think i am sposeto ask permission to use this
so i looked up University Press of New England
who gave the newspaper permission so i am
going to imagine that as a reader of the news-
paper i have permission to share it as well

smile