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| From "Shadows", by Misha Gordin |
by Cornelius Eady
O palco está montado para um desastre iminente.
Nele, o pequeno vagabundo equilibra-se
sobre uma pilha de livros,
para assim alcançar o microfone.
O poeta que ele representa, de alguma forma
sustenta-se, e murmurando,
amontoa os trapos a seus pés.
Ele abre a boca e... Ta-dááá!
Dela saem pombas, lâmparinas,
rosas de plástico. Bem, é isso,
constrangiu-se o jovem professor
que coordenara tudo isso.
Chega de calouros poetas!
O chefe resmunga algo para a porta
e se afasta.
Observando sua ginga
o vagabundo continua como se
nada tivesse acontecido,
com um braço solto
a imitar uma asa.
Charlie Chaplin Impersonates a Poet
The stage is set for imminent disaster.
Here is the little tramp, standing
On a stack of books in order
To reach the microphone, the
Poet he’s impersonating somehow
Trussed and mumbling in a
Tweed bundle at his feet.
He opens his mouth: Tra-la!
Out comes doves, incandescent bulbs,
Plastic roses. Well, that’s that,
Squirms the young professor who’s
Coordinated this,
No more visiting poets!
His department head groans
For the trap door. As it
Swings away
The tramp keeps on as if
Nothing has occurred,
A free arm mimicking
A wing.
The stage is set for imminent disaster.
Here is the little tramp, standing
On a stack of books in order
To reach the microphone, the
Poet he’s impersonating somehow
Trussed and mumbling in a
Tweed bundle at his feet.
He opens his mouth: Tra-la!
Out comes doves, incandescent bulbs,
Plastic roses. Well, that’s that,
Squirms the young professor who’s
Coordinated this,
No more visiting poets!
His department head groans
For the trap door. As it
Swings away
The tramp keeps on as if
Nothing has occurred,
A free arm mimicking
A wing.
