Boris Pasternak
- Death of a Poet, by Don Mager
(Unbelievable, — they declared, — rubbish...)
Boris Pasternak (português)
- A Morte do Poeta, Haroldo de Campos
(Não queríamos crer — delírio!..)
«Out of the leprosarium of falsity and malice / I have roused you and taken you Into reveille! Out of the dead sleep of headstones — / Into my hands, here into these palms, both of them, Shell-like — now grow, be calm: / Grow like a pearl in these palms! O, neither sheikh nor shah may b...»
«Fierce valley, / Valley of love. / Hands: white with salt. / Mouth: black with blood. A left-breasted Amazon’s / Shaft just missed my temple. / Yes — my head on a stone — / Life, who could love you? To hell with my plans! To hell with my lies! / Here: as a lark, there: as...»
«Time I got the message. / In my deaf stupor — time / For those laws of the sublime / Life does telegraph. Uncertainly — on my shoulders, / My head crowned and pushed on. / Uncertainly — as a solitary ray, / Unnoticed in daylight. As if from a slack string — / Dust — shaken ...»
«Through all the tedious tasks of the day, / During all your arduous convulsions upon her, / You must let fall a few amiable trochees / Of mine, of me, your manly mistress. Of my sternness’ bitter edge, / Of my slight shyness’ latent heat, / And of my telegraphic stroke, / Whose name...»