Mature in the days, I found myself on an island,
Therefore.
How to know things if not being them?
How to know the sea if not living it?
Things God one day turned us back.
I gaze at the clouds. They are like dew in me.
They reflect in my blood: clouds and birds.
Serpents challenge me from under the shadow of my feet.
So many jungles hidden! I am a horse,
I run in my steppes, I run in myself,
I feel my hooves, I hear my neigh,
I strive in the waters, I’m herd
Of wild boars; I am also a tiger and a killer;
And birds, and I fly and I am lost,
Landing on me, landing on God and the devil.
Born forest, ravaging big pests,
Meanwhile,
I lie in myself, I rejoice, I reflect
I know the birds, I know the hippos,
I know of metals, of ages, I happen,
I soak in the rain that is from heaven,
I burn in the fire of hell.
Meanwhile,
How to know things if not being them?
I shelter my muses, loving over.
I grieve for them, I suffer in them,
I embody in poetry, I die in cross,
I cling onto it, I resurrect. Petrus sum.
I am Him but cheating on him, but in dumb,
with those hooves on the earth, and winds in the air,
smelling Flora; my four prowess paws
rhyme alike, lined, manumitted,
donkey from Ramos, take the back
Someone in bloom, Someone in pain, Someone.
(Jorge de Lima, Invenção de Orfeu)
After that, everything will be, as in Pagliaro’s photos, inexorably past, a vestige. The whole process of preparation would have been a great take of strength, delicacy and courage to, at the precise moment of the scene, live at full power and, right there, eternalize