Malest, Cornifici, tuo Catullo
malest, me hercule, et laboriose,
et magis magis in dies et horas.
Quem tu, quod minimum facillimumque est,
qua solatus es allocutione?
Irascor tibi. Sic meos amores?
Paulum quid lubet allocutionis,
maestius lacrimis Simonideis.
Vai mal, Cornifício, o teu Catulo,
vai mal e - por Hércules -, padece demais, muito
mais, a cada dia, a cada hora.
E tu - se era nuga, se era nada -
que consolo deste, que palavras?
Sinto ódio. Assim, és meus amores?
Só poucas palavras, certas, mais
tristes que o lamento de Simônides.
sábado, 15 de junho de 2013
Malest Cornifici Tuo Catullo, de Allen Ginsberg
I'm happy, Kerouac, your madman Allen's
finally made it: discovered a new young cat,
and my imagination of an eternal boy
walks on the streets of San Francisco,
handsome, and meets me in cafeterias
and loves me. Ah don't think I'm sickening.
You're angry aat me. for all of my lovers?
It's hard to eat shit, without having visions;
when they have eyes for me it's like Heaven.
San Francisco, 1955
finally made it: discovered a new young cat,
and my imagination of an eternal boy
walks on the streets of San Francisco,
handsome, and meets me in cafeterias
and loves me. Ah don't think I'm sickening.
You're angry aat me. for all of my lovers?
It's hard to eat shit, without having visions;
when they have eyes for me it's like Heaven.
San Francisco, 1955
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