"The Apes and the Two Travelers" by Aesop (in English)

     Two men, one who always spoke the truth and the other who told nothing but lies, were traveling together and by chance came to the land of Apes. One of the Apes, who had raised himself to be king, commanded them to be seized and brought before him, that he might know what was said of him among men. He ordered at the same time that all the Apes be arranged in a long row on his right hand and on his left, and that a throne be placed for him, as was the custom among men.  After these preparations he signified that the two men should be brought before him, and greeted them with this salutation: "What sort of a king do I seem to you to be, O strangers?'  The Lying Traveler replied, "You seem to me a most mighty king." "And what is your estimate of those you see around me?' "These," he made answer, "are worthy companions of yourself, fit at least to be ambassadors and leaders of armies." The Ape and all his court, gratified with the lie, commanded that a handsome present be given to the flatterer. On this the truthful Traveler thought to himself, "If so great a reward be given for a lie, with what gift may not I be rewarded, if, according to my custom, I tell the truth?' The Ape quickly turned to him. "And pray how do I and these my friends around me seem to you?' "Thou art," he said, "a most excellent Ape, and all these thy companions after thy example are excellent Apes too." The King of the Apes, enraged at hearing these truths, gave him over to the teeth and claws of his companions. 

"Fetichismo" by Raimundo Correia (in Portguese)

Homem, da vida as sombras inclementes

Interrogas em vão: - Que céus habita Deus?

Onde essa região de luz bendita,

Paraíso dos justos e dos crentes?

Em vão tateiam tuas mãos trementes

As entranhas da noite erma, infinita,

Onde a dúvida atroz blasfema e grita,

E onde há só queixas e ranger de dentes...

A essa abóbada escura, em vão elevas

Os braços para o Deus sonhado, e lutas

Por abarcá-lo; é tudo em torno trevas...

Somente o vácuo estreitas em teus braços;

E apenas, pávido, um ruído escutas

Que é o ruído dos teus próprios passos!...

"Noções" by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)

Entre mim e mim, há vastidões bastantes

Para a navegação dos meus desejos afligidos.

Descem pela água minhas naves revestidas de espelhos.

Cada lâmina arrisca um olhar, e investiga o elemento que a atinge.

Mas, nesta aventura do sonho exposto à correnteza,

Só recolho o gosto infinito das respostas que não se encontram.

Virei-me sobre a minha própria experiência, e contemplei-a.

Minha virtude era esta errância por mares contraditórios,

E este abandono para além da felicidade e da beleza.

Ó meu Deus, isto é minha alma:

Qualquer coisa que flutua sobre este corpo efêmero e precário,

Como o vento largo do oceano sobre a areia passiva e inúmera...

"Como Nuvens que Passam" (Canto V) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Canto V

     - Pára e me ouve! Foi ótimo, foi maravilhoso. És importante pra mim, mas chega! Eu não suporto mais essa dor, a dor de não te alcançar! Teu jeito me fere, teu desleixo, tua obstinação, teu radicalismo! Ferem-me demais! A quanto tempo não conseguimos conversar? Somente nos ferimos com as palavras, com os olhares não trocados! Então te somes por todos esses dias e noites, dizendo que não podes conciliar a mim e tua vida, pra então vir chorando na chuva pedir o meu regaço? como se nada houvesse? Nada está mais ótimo e maravilhoso! Tudo caiu. Eu desmoronei. Fica com a minha toalha de festa.

     

     Fechei-lhe a porta e chorei eu.

   Tudo muito teatral, nós algumas noites antes. Estávamos numa praça escura e um chuvisqueiro miúdo antecipava a noite de hoje. Sentados num banco, silenciosos. Um pouco além, a avenida cheia de luz, ônibus passando, pessoas a correr.

   Eu havia escutado Luciano e suas razões tão certas, precisas, lógicas para terminarmos nossa relação e continuava em silêncio. As idéias, as palavras me passavam pela mente, mas a boca resignava-se á inutilidade de falar.

     Luciano, sempre incomodado com silêncios, perguntou-me em que pensava.

     - Estou lembrado as palavras de meu psicólogo. Ele me disse que quando uma relação vai mal, não a podemos terminar sem ter resolvido os erros nela cometidos, pois do contrário vamos repetir os mesmos erros na próxima.

      - Mas nossa relação não tem problemas; o problema são os outros que não nos aceitam.

      - Certo. O problema são os outros.

Untitled Flash Gordon tale by Larry Ivie (in English)

 art and cover by Al Williamson. Flash Gordon #1 – King Features, Sep. 1966.

"The Tempter" by Robert E. Howard (in English)

Something tapped me on the shoulder

Something whispered, "Come with me,

"Leave the world of men behind you,

"Come where care may never find you

"Come and follow, let me bind you

"Where, in that dark, silent sea,

"Tempest of the world ne'er rages;

"There to dream away the ages,

"Heedless of Time's turning pages,

"Only, come with me."

           

And my soul tugged at its moorings

And it whispered, "Set me free.

"I am weary of this battle,

"Of this world of human cattle,

"All this dreary noise and prattle.

"This you owe to me."

Long I sat and long I pondered,

On the life that I had squandered,

O'er the paths that I had wandered

Never free.

"Who are you?" I asked the phantom,

"I am rest from Hate and Pride.

"I am friend to king and beggar,

"I am Alpha and Omega,

"I was councilor to Hagar

"But men call me suicide."

I was weary of tide breasting,

Weary of the world's behesting,

And I lusted for the resting

As a lover for his bride.

           

In the shadow panorama

Passed life's struggles and its fray.

And my soul tugged with new vigor,

Huger grew the phantom's figure,

As I slowly tugged the trigger,

Saw the world fade swift away.

Through the fogs old Time came striding,

Radiant clouds were 'bout me riding,

As my soul went gliding, gliding,

From the shadow into day.

"Apologia" by Oscar Wilde (in English)

Is it thy will that I should wax and wane,

Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,

And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain

Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?

Is it thy will--Love that I love so well--

That my Soul's House should be a tortured spot

Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell

The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?

Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,

And sell ambition at the common mart,

And let dull failure be my vestiture,

And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.

Perchance it may be better so--at least

I have not made my heart a heart of stone,

Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,

Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.

Many a man hath done so; sought to fence

In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,

Trodden the dusty road of common sense,

While all the forest sang of liberty,

Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight

Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,

To where the steep untrodden mountain height

Caught the last tresses of the Sun God's hair.

Or how the little flower he trod upon,

The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,

Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun

Content if once its leaves were aureoled.

But surely it is something to have been

The best belovèd for a little while,

To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen

His purple wings flit once across thy smile.

Ay! though the gorgèd asp of passion feed

On my boy's heart, yet have I burst the bars,

Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed

The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!