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por Carla Hilário Quevedo, em 06.02.06
Diva dixit

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"I don't mind growing old. If I have to go before my time, this is how I'll go - cigarette in one hand, glass of scotch in the other." Ava Gardner

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publicado às 15:21

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por Carla Hilário Quevedo, em 06.02.06
Modo de vida

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publicado às 12:25

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por Carla Hilário Quevedo, em 06.02.06
Uns sobre outros: "Until I was thirty-five years old I had not read any of her poetry. In fact, with the exception of some children's verses of my father's when I was very young, I hadn't read his either." Frieda Hughes, filha de Sylvia Plath e Ted Hughes.

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publicado às 11:05

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por Carla Hilário Quevedo, em 06.02.06
Early Morning Blogs©

The Courage of Shutting-Up
Sylvia Plath

The courage of the shut mouth, in spite of artillery!
The line pink and quiet, a worm, basking.
There are black discs behind it, the discs of outrage,
And the outrage of the sky, the lined brain of it.
The discs revolve, they ask to be heard,

Loaded, as they are, with accounts of bastardies.
Bastardies, usages, desertions and doubleness,
The needle journeying in its groove,
Silver beast between two dark canyons,
A great surgeon, now a tattooist,

Tattooing over and over the same blue grievances,
The snakes, the babies, the tits
On mermaids and two-legged dreamgirls.
The surgeon is quiet, he does not speak.
He has seen too much death, his hands are full of it.

So the discs of the brain revolve, like the muzzles of cannon.
Then there is that antique billhook, the tongue,
Indefatigable, purple. Must it be cut out?
It has nine tails, it is dangerous.
And the noise it flays from the air, once it gets going!

No, the tongue, too, has been put by,
Hung up in the library with the engravings of Rangoon
And the fox heads, the otter heads, the heads of dead rabbits.
It is a marvellous object?
The things it has pierced in its time.

But how about the eyes, the eyes, the eyes?
Mirrors can kill and talk, they are terrible rooms
In which a torture goes on one can only watch.
The face that lived in this mirror is the face of a dead man.
Do not worry about the eyes?

They may be white and shy, they are no stool pigeons,
Their death rays folded like flags
Of a country no longer heard of,
An obstinate independency
Insolvent among the mountains.

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publicado às 10:46