标题：原文（葡语，英语） 内容： Der Kuss by Gustav KlimtPoem in Three PartsBy John Ashbery1. Love“Once I let a guy blow me. I kind of backed away from the experience. Now years later, I think of itWithout emotion. There has been no desire to repeat,No hang-ups either. Probably if the circumstances were rightIt could happen again, but I don’t know,I just have other things to think about,More important things. Who goes to bed with whatIs unimportant. Feelings are important. Mostly I think of feelings, they fill up my lifeLike the wind, like tumbling cloudsIn a sky full of clouds, clouds upon clouds. ”Nameless shrubs running across a fieldThat didn't drain last year and Isn't draining this year to fall shortLike waves at the end of a lake,Each with a little sigh,Are you sure this is what the pure dayWith its standing light intends? There are so many different jobs:It's sufficient to choose one, or a fraction of one. Days will be blue elsewhere with their own purpose. One must bear in mind one thing. It isn't necessary to know what that thing is. All things are papable, none are known. The day fries, with a fine conscience,Shadows, ripples, underbrush, old cars. The conscience is to you as what is known,The unknown gets to be known. Familiar things seem a long way off. 2. CourageIn a diamond-paned checked shirtto be setting out this way:A blah morningNot too far from home (homeIs a modest one-bedroom apartment,City-owned and operated),The average debris of the journeyLess than at first thought,Smell of open water,Troughs, special pits. It all winds back againIn time for evening's torque:So much we could have done,So much we did do. Weeds like skyscrapers against the blue vault of heaven:Where it it to end? What is this? Who are these people? Am I myself, or a talking tree? 3. I love the SeaThere is no promise but lotsOf intimacy the way yellowed land narrows together. This part isn't very popularFor some reason: the houses need repairs,The cars in the yards are too new. The enclosing slopes dream and are forgetful. There are joyous, warm patchesAmid nondescript trees. My dream gets obtuse:When I woke up this morning I noticed firstThat you weren't there, then proddedSlowly back into the dream:These trains, people, beaches, ridesIn happiness because their varietyIs outlived but still there, outside somewhere,In the side yard, maybe. Ivy is blanketing one whole wall. The time is darkerFor fast reasons into everything, about what concerns it now. We could sleep together again but that wouldn'tBring back the profit of these dangerous dreams of the sea. All that crashing, that blindness, that bloodOne associates with other days near the seaAlthough it persists, like the blindness of noon. On Board ShipBy Constantine P. CavafyIt's like him, of course,this little pencil portrait. Hurriedly sketched, on the ship's deck,the afternoon magical,the Ionian Sea around us. It's like him. But I remember him as better looking. He was almost pathologically sensitive,and this highlighted his expression. He appears to me better lookingnow that my soul brings him back, out of Time. Out Of Time. All these things are very old-the sketch, the ship, the afternoon. The Afternoon Sun By Constantine P. Cavafy This room, how well I know it. Now they're renting it, and the one next to it,as offices. The whole house has becomean office building for agents, businessmen, companies. This room, how familiar it is. The couch was here, near the door,a Turkish carpet in front of it. Close by, the shelf with two yellow vases. On the right -no, opposite- a wardrobe with a mirror. In the middle the table where he wrote,and the three big wicker chairs. Beside the window the bedwhere we made love so many times. They must still be around somewhere, those old things. Beside the window the bed;the afternoon sun used to touch half of it. . . . One afternoon at four o'clock we separatedfor a week only . . . And then-that week became forever. To Call Up The ShadesBy Constantine P. CavafyOne candle is enough. Its gentle lightwill be more suitable, will be more graciouswhen the Shades come, the Shades of Love. One candle is enough. Tonight the room should not have too much light. In deep reverie, all receptiveness, and with the gentle light-in this deep reverie I'll form visionsto call up the Shades, the Shades of Love. i carry your heart with me (i carry it inBy e. e. cummings i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)i am never without it(anywherei go you go, my dear; and whatever is doneby only me is your doing, my darling)                                                      i fearno fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i wantno world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which growshigher than soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)love is more thicker than forgetBy e. e. cummingslove is more thicker than forgetmore thinner than recallmore seldom than a wave is wetmore frequent than to fail it is most mad and moonlyand less it shall unbethan all the sea which onlyis deeper than the sea love is less always than to winless never than aliveless bigger than the least beginless littler than forgive it is most sane and sunlyand more it cannot diethan all the sky which onlyis higher than the sky Há Palavras que Nos Beijam(Alexandre O'Neill) Há palavras que nos beijam Como se tivessem boca. Palavras de amor, de esperança, De imenso amor, de esperança louca. Palavras nuas que beijas Quando a noite perde o rosto; Palavras que se recusam Aos muros do teu desgosto. De repente coloridas Entre palavras sem cor, Esperadas inesperadas Como a poesia ou o amor. (O nome de quem se ama Letra a letra revelado No mármore distraído No papel abandonado) Palavras que nos transportam Aonde a noite é mais forte, Ao silêncio dos amantes Abraçados contra a morte. “Conheço o sal da tua pele seca. .. ”(Jorge de Sena) Conheço o sal da tua pele secadepois que o estio se volveu invernoda carne repousada em suor noturno. Conheço o sal do leite que bebemosquando das bocas se estreitavam lábiose o coração no sexo palpitava. Conheço o sal dos teus cabelos negrosou louros ou cinzentos que se enrolamneste dormir de brilhos azulados. Conheço o sal que resta em minhas mãos como nas praias o perfume ficaquando a maré desceu e se retrai. Conheço o sal da tua boca, o salda tua língua, o sal de teus mamilos,e o da cintura se encurvando de ancas. A todo o sal conheço que é só teu,ou é de mim em ti, ou é de ti em mim,um cristalino pó de amantes enlaçados. — Madrid, 16. 01. 1973A tua voz fala amorosa(Fernando Pessoa) A tua voz fala amorosa. .. Tão meiga fala que me esqueceQue é falsa a sua branda prosa. Meu coração desentristece. Sim, como a música sugereO que na música não está, Meu coração nada mais querQue a melodia que em ti há. .. Amar-me? Quem o crera? FalaNa mesma voz que nada dizSe és uma música que embala. Eu ouço, ignoro, e sou feliz. Nem há felicidade falsa, Enquanto dura é verdadeira. Que importa o que a verdade exalçaSe sou feliz desta maneira? — 22. 01. 1929 发布时间：2025-03-12 00:58:58 来源：族女网 链接：https://www.zunv.cn/tree/2493.html