30.12.19

2019, livros



What is not yours is not yours (Helen Oyeyemi)
You looked at me, and this is how I saw you, when first I saw you: I saw your eyes like flint arrows, and your chin set against the world, and I saw the curve of your lips, which is so beautiful that it's almost illusory-your eyes freeze a person, but then the flickering flame of your mouth becons.


Não se pode morar nos olhos de um gato (Ana Margarida de Carvalho)
Há lá morte mais bonita e diluída, olhai o lirismo do momento, as vossas células a acolherem a água, anfitriões do mar, de regresso ao estado líquido do ventre da mãe, até se fundirem todos os cuspos e as correntes sanguíneas e as do mar seguirem no mesmo rumo e até um dia calcetarem os fundos dos mares com vossos polidos e anónimos ossos...


Girl, woman, other (Bernardine Evaristo)
her favorite poetry book is a book called I is a Long Memoried Woman by a Guyanese lady called Grace Nichols
we the women/whose praises go unsung/whose voices go unheard
she and the reading group had a big argument, no, it wasn't no argument, it was a debate, the other day, about whether a poem was good because they related to it, or whether it was good in and of itself
Bernardette said it was up to the literature specialists to decide what was good, they only knew whether they liked something or not
Winsome agreed, she wasn't no expert
Celestine said poetry was made deliberately difficult so that only a few clever people could understand it as a way to keep everyone else in the dark


A manual for cleaning women (Lucia Berlin)
Kentshereve could read. His name was Kent Shreve, but when he told me I thought it was his first name and that first night said it over and over, sang it over and over to myself as I have done with Jeremys and Christophers ever since. Kentshereve Kentshereve. He could even read the Wanted posters at the post office. He said that when we grew up he’d probably read a poster about me. Of course I’d be using an alias but he would know it was me because it would say large mole on ball of left foot, blaze on right knee, mole in the crack of the ass. Maybe somebody will read this who was once my lover.


In the dream house (Carmen Maria Machado)
You can't come, can't look her in the eye, can't bring yourself to go to one more bar. Your back starts to hurt, and your feet, and a doctor says to you, direly, that you need to lose weight. You bawl your eyes out and miss the punch line entirely: the weight you need to lose is 105 pounds and blonde and sitting in the waiting room with an annoyed expression on her face.

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Menção honrosíssima para The testaments (deusa Margaret Atwood), Calibã e a bruxa (Silvia Frederici), Los peligros de fumar en la cama (Mariana Enriquez), Dear life (Alice Munro) e Sabrina (Nick Drnaso).


[todos de 2019 aqui]

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