and if steps stifle silence
and if the mirror swallows the snake
collect the stairs made of glass
spitting the peaceful steps
and if the glass tear – being able to be the intimate
and if the will of swallowing the mirror – in the stairs –
the meaning builds itself
they fasten in the dumb skin,
devoured by the mirror
the cleaning door of ocular salivas
permanent perception of the shelves-hunger
they’re writing spaces
since that is the place where we’re born, since that is the clew we unroll, since that is the portrait we rehearse and which we
you give me velvet spasms. oily buckrams. you open me my
while follicle – phonic larvae which segregate me the voice
waiting for phonemes to be bound and melted
since decorum is the thread of bodies’ dance – stiff
the nursery of mine, since the movement of hands is prominent, since the outline is peripheral, since the womb is obtuse
maddened public inwards of me
. the woman. the dance. in wards.
still the text
(poems translated by the author, emiliana cruz)
emiliana. cruz. 1978…
the true advent and simultaneous poetic blow happened when i joined Oficina de Poesia. 1997.
i positioned and re-positioned myself in writing and in the world. in my writing and in my world. measuring them and measuring myself. as upon persevering fallow ground, tilling the land in an endless ritual.
the dissemination of my poetry has happened with the help of generous hands i have encountered on the way (many of whom have undoubtedly contributed to the definition of my voice in writing) and through publication in many now well-known magazines such as Oficina de Poesia and different sites and blogs. also published is my, to this date, sole book (espaços).
as a language teacher, I have risked trying to inspire my students to became engaged with words. and sometimes poetry will happen. with silence. with space. with freedom.