jim carroll

* Patti Smith e Jim Carroll algures nos loucos anos 70

Não era o Joe Dallesandro

Não era o William Blake

Jim Carroll era antes

o Catholic Boy

um anjo da decadência

observando tudo

desde os arranha céus da city.

a fúria silenciosa

num poema para Mapplethorpe

e a sua inseparável amiga Patti

uma encomenda 

para todas as nossas futuras exéquias

A natureza da poesia

como veneno 

no sangue 

que ela colheu

meditativamente

ela sabe-o,

é esse o caminho

 de todas as palavras, 

ela escolhe-o,  

e enquanto pensa nele

olha para o homem mártir -açoite no braço

esquecido pela luz

ilumina-lhe a alma

e procura de novo

a perfeição do canto do bezerro

lúgubre

como a brisa que queima a vela

do rapaz órfão

- Fala-me Jim...

Fala-me das tuas curtas-metragens 

sem títulos,

das nossas trevas escondidas, 

e dos passeios 

ao Jardim Zoológico

Fala-me 

de todas as horas

em que não nos podíamos tocar

estas são as nossas

ruas sem sono Jim,

conta-me 

uma vez mais

todos 

os teus sonhos urbanos.

é o amor 

às portas de casa

vendido em pequenas bíblias

por meninas 

de vestidos em espartilho

Por favor sê breve,

breve 

como as nossas vidas

- como 

as asas

que estremecem

num 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 . .