• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: Portuguese translation

before the storm: poem for lilith

24 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Armenian, bibical erotica, Feminism, Illustration and art, Lilith, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Armenia, Armenian translation, art, Lilith, Portuguese translation, storm

before the storm 1

Ահա թե ինչ եմ հրաժարվել: խոստումը ծերության, պոեզիայի, սիրո.
Ես չեմ ուզում մի բաժակ գինի.
Բան չկա, իր բյուրեղային խորքերը.
Իմ ափիոն խողովակը վնասվել է:
LSD չի բավարարում.
Քույր. Քույր. Քույր.
Սովորեցրեք ինձ ձեր ալքիմիա.
Ես ուզում եմ իմանալ, թե ինչպես պետք է կատարել մի մոռացկոտություն դեղ, օգտագործելով ձեր կույս-կաթ.
Երեկ ես կենդանի.
Վաղը ես կլինեմ մահացած.

.
Aqui está o que eu vou desistir: a promessa da velhice, da poesia, do amor.
Eu não tenho nenhuma necessidade de copos de vinho.
Não há nada dentro de suas profundezas cristalinas.
Meu cachimbo de haxixe está quebrado.
LSD não vai satisfazer.
Irmã. Irmã. Irmã.
Ensina-me a alquimia.
Mostre-me como fazer um elixir do esquecimento do teus moça-leite.
Ontem eu estava vivo.
Amanhã vou estar morto.

.
Here’s what I’ll give up: the promise of old age, of poetry, of love.
I have no need for a glass of wine.
There is nothing within its crystal depths.
My hashish pipe is broken.
LSD will not do.
Sister. Sister. Sister.
Teach me alchemy.
Show me how to make an elixir of forgetfulness out of your girl-milk.
Yesterday I was alive.
Tomorrow I’ll be dead.

before the storm 2

before the storm 3

monster [monstro]

20 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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monster, monstro, Poetry, Portuguese translation

Acordar o bicho a minha forma usual. Tens sido vida fora o meus desejos escuros. As treva desliza, se desenrola na dentro treva. Este é o meu noturnos. Tua boca em flor; beija-te, beija-te, beija-te. Forma usual.
.
Waking the beast my usual way. You’ve been living off my dark desires. The darkness slips, unfolds within the darkness. This is my night. Your mouth is in bloom; I kiss you, I kiss you, I kiss you. The usual way.

all of us who love the erotic [todos nós que amamos o erótico]

20 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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all of us who love the erotic, Poetry, Portuguese translation, todos nós que amamos o erótico

O teu corpo é um licor em minha boca; água que queima com a minha língua dentro de a têmpora.
O teu leite é um mistério que escorre senhora sensualidade.
Quando criança o erótico me assustou.
Eu carregava a loucura dentro de mim, eu compreendi; um beijo e meu melhor amigo regrediu com o desejo devassa.
Mas isso foi há muito tempo atrás
Hoje eu perder teus mortos mãozinhas.
Eu perder teu louco riso; teu julgamento sobre todos nós que amamos o erótico.

.
Your body is like liqueur inside my mouth; burning water with my tongue inside the temple.
Your milk is a mystery that oozes sensuality.
As a child the erotic scared me.
I carried the madness inside me, I realized; a kiss and my best friend regressed with wanton desire.
But that was a long time ago
Today I miss your dead little hands.
I miss your crazy laugh; your judgment on all of us who love the erotic.

my sister [irmã minha]

19 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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incest, irmã minha, my sister, Poetry, Portuguese translation, the dead are never satisfied

Irmã morta minha dentro de mim está.
Você entende os mortos?
Se a minha irmã era uma montanha eu era um cactus em chamas, aquecendo sangue dela.
Os mortos não têm casa, e nada pode acalmar seus medo.
É por isso que irmã morta minha dentro está de mim.
Porque eu amo ela.

.
My dead sister is inside me.
Do you understand the dead?
If my sister was a mountain then I was a burning cactus warming her blood.
The dead have no home and nothing can calm their fear.
That is why my dead sister is inside of me.
Because I love her.

dreams of the dead [sonhos dos mortos]

19 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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dreams of the dead, Poetry, Portuguese translation, sonhos dos mortos

Como faço os mortos dormem?
Eles são feitos de céu e pedra.
O céu não dorme.
Pedras não durmo.
Sempre que a minha irmã sonhou, a grama torcida.
O céu sangrou.
Sonhos da minha irmã definir nossa cama em chamas.

.
How do the dead sleep?
They are made out of stone and sky.
The sky does not sleep.
Stones do not sleep.
Whenever my sister dreamed, grass twisted.
The sky bled.
The dreams of my sister set our bed on fire.

the heat of the beast [o cio da fera]

19 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Heat of the Beast, O cio da fera, Poetry, Portuguese translation

Você é um deusa do morte,
e eu sou sem pudor sem roupa.
Não me toca.
Eu sou o fogo que os mortos tem de se lembrar.
O cio da fera.
A loucura de uma irmã.
Há alguns incêndios que você não pode matar.

.
You are a goddess of death,
and I’m shamelessly naked.
Do not touch me.
I’m the fire that the dead must remember.
The heat of the beast.
The madness of a sister.
There are some fires you can not kill.

i will not show you mine [não vou mostrar mina para você]

19 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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I will not show you mine, não vou mostrar mina para você, Poetry, Portuguese translation

Estamos todos vimos que de fenda imaculado. Mesmo as crianças vão dizer o que é. Eles vão explicar-lhe por que ele abre e fecha. Ai!, minha contrações, sangue bombeando, minha flor que arde. Vá-se embora. Não vou mostrar mina para você. Minha longos arrepios. O pulso de meu desejo, duros, retesados. Minha curtas contrações. Vida latejando, querendo implodir, ou escoar fora. Vá-se embora. Aquele pequeno fogo, no interior do ferimento de faca, pulsa e repuxa, molha minha boca, pressionado contra o chão da cozinha.
.
We’ve all seen that immaculate slit. Even children will tell you what it is. They will explain to you why it opens and closes. Ai!, my contractions, blood pumping, my flower that burns. Go away. I will not show you mine. My long chills. The pulse of my desire, hard, taut. My short contractions. Life throbbing, wanting to implode, or seep out. Go away. That small fire inside the knife wound, pulsating and jerking, wets my mouth, pressed against the kitchen floor.

once there was a girl who fell in love with a ghost …

18 Tuesday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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art, BBW, blue ghost blues, erotic, ghost lover, phantasmal orgasm, Poetry, Portuguese translation

the girl who fell in love with a ghost 1

there was once a girl who fell in love with a ghost ….
.
Minha amada tem nenhuma de carne, tem nenhuma de pele, tem nenhuma pêlo. Minha amada é lisa como um fantasma. Ele está no jardim. Ele está arrancando as pétalas fora flores. “Ela me ama … Ela não me ama …” Minha amada é azul.
.
My beloved has no body, has no skin, has no fur. My beloved is smooth like a ghost. He is in the garden. He is plucking the petals off flowers. “She loves me … She loves me not …” My beloved is blue.

girl who fell in love with a ghost 3

the girl who fell in love with a ghost 2

the girl who fell in love with a ghost 4

at the door of the house

17 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

art, Casa de orgasmo, entering the house of the orgasm, miko, Poetry, Portuguese translation

entering the house of the orgasm

Quando a orgasmo vem, e o vento sopra e canta para os deuses; por favor, orem por mim. Eu sou o suplicante. Você deve lamber minha carne. Minha pele que é poesia. Casa de orgasmo. Você alega que você é o redentor de delírios. Amor e os deuses pode ser delírios, mas eles são a única loucura que eu sei.
.
When the orgasm comes and the wind blows and sings to the gods; please, pray for me. I am the supplicant. You must lick my flesh. My skin is poetry. The house of the orgasm. You claim that you are the redeemer of delusions. Love and the gods may be delusions, but they are the only madness that I know.

anne sexton’s HER KIND

16 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Anne Sexton, art, HER KIND, Poetry, Portuguese translation

HER KIND

Todos sozinhos eu saí, uma bruxa possessa,
assombrando o ar negro, mais corajosa à noite;
sonhando maldade, realizei meu voo
por sobre as casas, luz após luz:
Eu sou um coisa sozinha, com doze dedos, fora do juízo.
Uma mulher como essa não é uma mulher, quase.
Uma vez eu era o tipo dela.

.
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

.
— from Anne Sexton, HER KIND

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