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quinta-feira, 17 de setembro de 2009

Jim Carroll




*Patti Smith e Jim Carroll algures nos loucos anos 70





Não era Joe Dallesandro
                                          Não era William Blake
Caroll o Catholic Boy
um anjo da decadência
observa tudo desde os céus de cimento 

- Nova York vista dos telhados


canção de pássaro 
que me acorda às 5 da manhã
Eu tremo com a súbita sensação de medo
o pássaro está doente e canta fora de tom


Jim Carrol, amigo de Mapplethorpe
                                 amiga Patti canta-lhe uma canção
e dedica-lhe um poema


"Jim, não vendas hoje o teu corpo à rua 42..."



Bem, ela diz que és um homem
                                pelo menos é assim que ela te chama
homem mártir com açoites nos braços
aguda agulha nos vasos sanguíneos
homem junkie esquecido pela luz 


"Fala-me de curtas-metragem sem títulos,
                         trevas escondidas, passeios ao Jardim Zoológico
Fala-me da hora em que não podemos tocar-nos..."



ruas sem sono
                                               amores tépidos
Jim, 
canta uma vez mais
os teus sonhos urbanos


E aquela rapariga sentada no banco de jardim
por quem ela suspira?
suspira por ti
não há obrigação mais digna 
do que a satisfação do prazer
amor às portas de casa
vendido em pequenas bíblias
por meninas de vestidos em espartilho
Por favor sê breve, breve como a vida
como um espasmo 
uma solitária loucura 
asas que estremecem no adeus




"Always remember to keep your river on the right..."





“First he tried to be pure now he just wants a cure

He's wasted, his skin's sore, he's flat-out poor

When you live in doubt that's when your luck runs out

He's on the roof alone, outside the zone

Now he's on the street again when he calls him then

Billy just cannot resist 
Now he's an orphan sleeping with the coffins
Just like Oliver Twist”



(Falling down Laughing)



From: Jim Carroll Band - Dry Dreams (1982) LP Vinyl
Opening Poem: Lorraine



Seven blonde women
They gather in the square
They raise their hands up to the sun
Their skin is so thin and white
You know their fathers must surely be wealthy
I watch the others stand around and form a crucifix
A serpent of vapor
Some stray birds rise
The one on the end, the fine one on the end
She called me over, she pulled me aside
She said, You know, I have to make it all look different
It seems that every time I lay down
On it, and its like a snake in water
And when I look out of it,
It's like the one from last week
Was breathing again
And she said she had some white light
You know, she said that she had some morphine
But she didn't have no gimmicks
So she just took this razor
And she laid it on a white vein
And then she took a black orchid
And she just ripped apart that flower
And then she took the white light
Then she said, Hey, later for the morphine
She took the razor and slit open her white vein
She slit open her white vein
She put the flower through the slit vein
She poured the white light through the red stem
She put the white light through the red stem
She just poured it through the red stem
I was talkin' with my angel
I was talkin' with my angel then . .






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