MARIA LUIZA FAZOLO

PORTUGUÊS

MARIA LUIZA FAZOLO

THE AUTHOR'S TEXTS

“…The river seemed calm, still, serene. The silence of the night embraced me, as did the silence of the sideway plants, the moon and the stars, the whole sky reflected on the water, as if gazing and scrutinizing the dark mysteries of my heart. I finally caught my fish – a large, beautiful fish. I was impressed by its size. Apart from being huge and worth of any trophy, he was a different fish: it spoke.

So far, nothing extraordinary. All the fish speak. My fish, however, was somewhat special. It talked, but not as the ordinary fish talked. It spoke to me in an encrypted language. Not withstanding, he also had the gift of slowly entering, swimming and diving in the polluted and angry waters of the Great River.

After he presented itself to me, I took the anvil out of his mouth. It was tearing his mouth to his right. It looked as if it hurt a lot, for when it smiles to me, the smile was broken. For the first time I felt bad for hurting a fish’s mouth. I never considered a fish worthless again….
(From Fragmentos da Estrada, Conto Pescaria, unpublished work).

“…While I was searching for my keys in my purse, the policeman that brought me informed his partner of the reason for my arrest. I had been gone to Brazil and was now returning to work in the same irregular condition. And concluded: ‘She is all for you’. I wished I didn’t understood English. That sentence passed through as a gunshot in my eras and hit my brain right in the spot. It hurt. It really hurt…”

( From Memórias da América , Chapter Deportation, 2005, unpublished work ).

* * *

THE STREET WHERE I LIVE with no empty land the street where I live is filled with beautiful houses and buildings huge abandoned terrain is the street where I live the houses of the street where I live the apartments too are filled with doors and large windows there are no doors nor windows houses and apartments of the street where I live the walls of the houses and buildings in the street where I live are high to enter and leave alone the gates open no ones goes in or out you can’t pass through the walls in the street where I live the street where I live looks like a party place always filled with people everything happens people come and go it’s empty nothing happens desert is the name of the street where I live in the street where I live to my right lives José to my left Maria’s in the building across the street superposed there’s men women live many children are born in the building they play in the street no one is born or dies no one plays or cries in the street where I live In the desert I saw come and go ambulance police mortuary car didn’t see come or go didn’t see anything happen in the street where I live spooky is the city where I live where all streets are the same

(From Vida na Poesia na Vida, 2005, unpublished work)

Translated by Juliana Ciccarini

Author's Biography

WRITERS' INDEX NEXT WRITER REBRA PERSONAL LINKS

AUTHOR'S E- MAIL