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| Henri Matisse - La Danse |
Nuala Ní Chonchuír
Eu vi Paul Durcan no Escada Sinuosa (*)
folheando um livro de sonetos de amor.
'Paul', eu disse, 'sua poesia é deliciosamente suja.'
Ele disse, 'Você gostaria de dançar?'
Então tetas com peito, tornamos uma polca
Durcanesca de poemas longos e além-harém
rolamos pelas pilhas de livros.
E, oh, que corpo.
'Eu não vou me apaixonar por você', eu disse,
'Tudo bem', Paul murmurou, 'o amor não está
me procurando no momento. Estamos entendidos.'
Nossos corpos se chocaram naquele vai-e-vem,
de homem e mulher, nossa pele costurada uma na outra,
nossas pernas numa dança sensual, dançam, dançam,
Paul girou-me por sinuosas escadas abaixo,
por entre o arco da Ponte Ha'penny,
e, girando juntos, todas nossas páginas voaram.
[ in The Juno Charm , nova coletânea de poemas de Nuala Ní Chonchuír, Salmon Poetry, Knockeven, Cliffs of Moher, Co. Clare, Irlanda ]
(*) The Winding Stair, restaurante-livraria em Dublin, Irlanda
Dancing with Paul Durcan
Nuala Ní Chonchuír
I saw Paul Durcan in The Winding Stair,
fingering a book of love sonnets.
‘Paul,’ I said, ‘your poetry is filthy with longing.’
He said, ‘Would you like to dance?’
So breast to chest we turned a Durcanesque
polka of long poems and harem-scarem
happenings around the bookstacks.
And, oh, the heft of him.
‘I won’t be falling in love with you,’ I said,
‘That’s OK,’ Paul murmured, ‘love’s not
looking for me at the moment. We’ve fallen out.’
Our bodies collided into man-woman as we swung,
our clothes and skin sewn into each other,
our legs a kicking chorus of dance, dance, dance
Paul spun me down the winding stairs
up across the bow of the Ha’penny Bridge,
and, spinning together, all our pages flew.
Nuala Ní Chonchuír
I saw Paul Durcan in The Winding Stair,
fingering a book of love sonnets.
‘Paul,’ I said, ‘your poetry is filthy with longing.’
He said, ‘Would you like to dance?’
So breast to chest we turned a Durcanesque
polka of long poems and harem-scarem
happenings around the bookstacks.
And, oh, the heft of him.
‘I won’t be falling in love with you,’ I said,
‘That’s OK,’ Paul murmured, ‘love’s not
looking for me at the moment. We’ve fallen out.’
Our bodies collided into man-woman as we swung,
our clothes and skin sewn into each other,
our legs a kicking chorus of dance, dance, dance
Paul spun me down the winding stairs
up across the bow of the Ha’penny Bridge,
and, spinning together, all our pages flew.
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| Ha'penny Bridge - Droichead na Life |
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| The Winding Stair, Dublin |
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