quarta-feira, 29 de dezembro de 2010


The leopard and the antelope

“There was, buried deep inside the stories of old,
an old tale revisited that told
of the leopard and of the antelope.

The people of this place said dream was a ride
inside their journey they would gaze
eyes closed wide fluid liquid open blind
stare of the storm
so blue it would gobble you down whole,
in gesture
digest you in jest
bit by bit in bite.

In exchange of tickets and fates
allow you to ride
if you wished
and the time was ripe
yellow light spots of luna
prowl mounted
moonlit on the leopard
black night

That is how the tale of the leopard
and of the antelope goes.

And then of course
there is the rest
the pace of verse the impression
slight imprint spur of antelope like bird
on a prowl of her own
in a quest of flight in different nature
akin to air in travel bird
chameleon, dandelion, a fighter,

this creature leaps at chance
for invitation to the ride

landscapes in journey they traveled
galloped territories across rivers dirt roads
trans-versed named forests un-named brooks,
inside the clearances inside the woods.
Flooded roads surrounding ascending waters from the rains. Bare passages.
Bridges built across dams near overflowing - memories of other spaces, territories revisited from above. Red dirt and water.
Daylight filtered in a sparing moment or light not at all.
A moonlit space.

In spiral dance down swirls
escape and joy
they rode across the traveling fields
to dream like life.

They traveled,
this leopard and this antelope.

What the readers nor the riders know
was that a leopard of another spotted color would attack and jump.
An antelope of another feathered kind would leap in flight.
But so the story goes that this leopard and this antelope were old
made out of air and dirt and fire,
old stuff, old soul,
fused elemental tales of necessary childhoods in both,
fused tales of some future,
elemental synthesis.

Except in dream or for a fault of mine in fate or in time,
these two, these people said, will never meet,
this leopard and this antelope
except in dream, they said, where they love each other,
as fiercely as they can,
given their leopard and antelope within and without
their natural and not so natural skins.

Take a ticket to ride, a destination,
take a ticket, they said, these people
and just go,
just ride the dream.

better still know,
the dream is you,
you are the ride.”

August 4, 1999 – 2006 - 2010

segunda-feira, 13 de dezembro de 2010


“Fortified by its knowledge of the Book of the Dead, then, the Wake here answers the haunting eschatological question of how the decaying corpse, buried in loamy inertia and scattering throughout the material universe, initiates the process by which it resurrects itself bodily into life: it opens its mouth in the hour when the sun moves through the gates of dawn, and it lets language, consciousness, and sunlight flood back in to replace darkness.”
Quotes from “Joyce’s book of the dark: Finnegan’s wake”, by John Bishop
Forever do we try to gather then at dawn
force open the lid to the loamy inertia
so as to return to scattered play primordial dance
no mating in view, lusco fusco twilight chiaro scuro
sunlight so bright
the words of language curse our morning breath so foul

Unable to retreat the light a beacon we flock to Sunday Sermon
we build inside these walls we dress
we mate the tonic of our loss
we lose our visions we chat in language forget the magic
unable to sustain in holding hands we marry
the rituals of these words.


"Presuming to speak directly from the point of view of the corpse, the Book of the Dead may be one of the few books on earth ideally written for an audience consisting entirely of the dead.”
If you write of things from the night
of the dark perspectives,
yet continue to expect living creatures
to give you understanding…

Well then apply the great concept,
call yourself the reluctant writer from the depths,
start to keep two sets of books,
two sets of diaries, two sets of memories,
two sets of loves:
one for the accounting of the living
one for the accounting of the dead.

Erica Weick
At the turn of the millennium…

quinta-feira, 9 de dezembro de 2010

Inhabit the body

“In-habit the body”:

when I grow old
i will enter my body

crawl the corridors
inside my skin
frolic in vein

loom in textiles
review the prices, the fairness,
invest in coins

the market place
in simmer the harvest

sample the meat
conquer the yeast
inhabit my indonesia

brocade, velvet burgundy
sacred cows
golden buffaloes

lantejouled Indian theatre
untamed tree of life
hometown of my dreams

in ferris wheel giggle
the pleasure of the ride.

September 30, 2010
Erica Weick in a dream

quarta-feira, 8 de dezembro de 2010



Se eu fosse um gato
ia lamber
sua orelha do escutar
a bôca do seu falar
mão do acolher seu coraçao do caçar

no pé da gôta do envelhecer
em cima da sua pena
eu ia dormir
cada dia de noite

E no acordar
se eu fosse um gato
eu caçaria seus ratos

Alfonsina y el mar (subtitled)