Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Luiza Neto Jorge

THE HOUSE OF THE WORLD

Sometimes what seems
to be a birthmark on one’s face
is the house of the world
is a mighty armoire
with bloody tissues stored there
and with its tribe of sensitive doors

It smells of erotic cobwebs. A delirious chest
on the scent-of-the-sea of sensuality.

A bracing sea. Roman walls. Any and all music.
The hallway recalls a rope stretched between
the Pyrenees, the windows between Greek faces.
Windows that smell of the air outside,
of the air’s marriage to the ardent house.

I reached the door gleaming.
I interrupt the family objects, I throw open
the door.
I switch on the lights, switching everything around,
the new landscapes are lucid, light
is a clear painting, I remember more clearly:
a door, an armoire, that house.

A green, oval-shaped mirror
seems to be a tin bulging
with a shark writhing in its stomach,
its liver, its kidneys, its bloody tissues.

It’s the house of the world:
it’s here, it disappears.

A Casa do Mundo

A Casa do Mundo

Aquilo que às vezes parece
um sinal no rosto
é a casa do mundo
é um armário poderoso
com tecidos sanguíneos guardados
e a sua tribo de portas sensíveis.

Cheira a teias eróticas. Arca delirante
arca sobre o cheiro a mar de amar.

Mar fresco. Muros romanos. Toda a música.
O corredor lembra uma corda suspensa entre
os Pirinéus, as janelas entre faces gregas.
Janelas que cheiram ao ar de fora
à núpcia do ar com a casa ardente.

Luzindo cheguei à porta.
Interrompo os objectos de família, atiro-lhes
a porta.
Acendo os interruptores, acendo a interrupção,
as novas paisagens têm cabeça, a luz
é uma pintura clara, mais claramente lembro:
uma porta, um armário, aquela casa.

Um espelho verde de face oval
é que parece uma lata de conservas dilatada
com um tubarão a revirar-se no estômago
no fígado, nos rins, nos tecidos sanguíneos.

É a casa do mundo:
desaparece em seguida.
Close

THE HOUSE OF THE WORLD

Sometimes what seems
to be a birthmark on one’s face
is the house of the world
is a mighty armoire
with bloody tissues stored there
and with its tribe of sensitive doors

It smells of erotic cobwebs. A delirious chest
on the scent-of-the-sea of sensuality.

A bracing sea. Roman walls. Any and all music.
The hallway recalls a rope stretched between
the Pyrenees, the windows between Greek faces.
Windows that smell of the air outside,
of the air’s marriage to the ardent house.

I reached the door gleaming.
I interrupt the family objects, I throw open
the door.
I switch on the lights, switching everything around,
the new landscapes are lucid, light
is a clear painting, I remember more clearly:
a door, an armoire, that house.

A green, oval-shaped mirror
seems to be a tin bulging
with a shark writhing in its stomach,
its liver, its kidneys, its bloody tissues.

It’s the house of the world:
it’s here, it disappears.

THE HOUSE OF THE WORLD

Sometimes what seems
to be a birthmark on one’s face
is the house of the world
is a mighty armoire
with bloody tissues stored there
and with its tribe of sensitive doors

It smells of erotic cobwebs. A delirious chest
on the scent-of-the-sea of sensuality.

A bracing sea. Roman walls. Any and all music.
The hallway recalls a rope stretched between
the Pyrenees, the windows between Greek faces.
Windows that smell of the air outside,
of the air’s marriage to the ardent house.

I reached the door gleaming.
I interrupt the family objects, I throw open
the door.
I switch on the lights, switching everything around,
the new landscapes are lucid, light
is a clear painting, I remember more clearly:
a door, an armoire, that house.

A green, oval-shaped mirror
seems to be a tin bulging
with a shark writhing in its stomach,
its liver, its kidneys, its bloody tissues.

It’s the house of the world:
it’s here, it disappears.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère