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redondilha | by carlos pataca
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(sry guys, we need to wait a bit for the last day ... maybe manday?....)


Upon me the sudarium of things. A vast whiteness,

A transparency-layer upon the people. Look:

I do not look at you with your eye that knows

Almost everything in you is transient. My liquid-eye

Discovers a spent afternoon, a dawn-afternoon,

An elongated time where you made your widowhood.

You did not lose the woman or man you loved. We loved so much

And loss is daily and infinite. That’s not it


When I see you and I know of an elongated Time-Afternoon-Dawn.

You looked ahead, or beside you, or above you,

Or you didn’t look at all, or suddenly someone came into your living room

And you said clearly: should I say yes to the folks from the Extens Union?

Which yes? To whom? And am I myself, this person here?

Distance, mysterious incongruence, me myself?

His mouth continues: deadline loss ten percent final solution

Final final solution… You fold whole with much sobriety

The document in the last drawer, over to the left… My Father,

Between paper and me, between this table and me

And this whole gaping mouth, between me myself and he

Who repeats Union Union, which filament? Anchor,

Coagulated time, one day I was all rest and herding. One day

Everything was me, bulb that seduced, soothsaying gullet,

Viscous fat howl, I howled between the grapevines, I howled

Because I know about this NOW,

That the bitch of Time gnawed at me, that is was going to gnaw, that it growled while gnawing me

Bitch-time, you and I… what contour of nothing, what gone thing

In this double adventure, that… that yes, that yes… Look:

Say yes to those from the Extens Union.


Hilda Hilst

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Taken on May 9, 2011