sábado, 24 de agosto de 2013

H de (A) Humanidade em Agosto (V)


One doesn't know where one has landed.
One knows only: here
the sun never fails to shine.
Soft rush of waves
on the gentle sand of the pale shore:
island rythm.

Naked the other sex 
approaches the new arrivals:
phallic flowering
the mid-day heat

Life is and death is
very simple: a toothless cowering
at the end, the eye
on the motionless sea, the back
towards the rough cliffs, no more expectations,
no hope: a final recognition 
that the place lost in passage
was no other than

Günter Kunert
[Trad. Agnes Stein]

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