"Talvez o vento saiba dos meus passos,das sendas que os meus pes ja nao abordam,das ondas cujas cristas nao transbordamsenao o sal que escorre dos meus bracos.As sereias que ouvi nao mais acordama calida pressao dos meus abracos,e o que a infancia teceu entre sargacosas agulhas do tempo ja nao bordam.So vejo sobre a areia vagos tracosde tudo o que meus olhos mal recordame os dentes, por inuteis, nao concordamsequer em mastigar como bagacos.Talvez se lembre o vento desses lacosque a dura mao de Deus fez em pedacos." "Esta noite,e se eu escrevesse um poema para a posteridade?Droga!Que grande ideia Me sinto confianteLa vou eu!E, para a posteridade, eu digo:Merda! Merda de novo!Merda 3 vezes!Sem duvida, enganei a posteridade,que esperava seu poema. Entao, acabou"Texto encontrado no site: http://devaneiosinconscientes.blogspot.com.br/2013/03/raymond-queneau-poeme-pour-la-posterite.html Aurora borealisThe icy sky at nightPaddles cut the waterIn a long and hurried flightFrom the white manTo the fields of greenAnd the homelandWe've never seenThey killed us in our tepeeAnd they cut our women downThey might have left some babiesCryin' on the groundBut the firesticksAnd the wagons comeAnd the night fallsOn the setting sunThey massacred the buffaloKitty corner from the bankThe taxis run across my feetAnd my eyes have turned to blanksIn my little boxAt the top of the stairsWith my indian rugAnd a pipe to share.I wish a was a trapperI would give thousand peltsTo sleep with pocahontasAnd find out how she feltIn the mornin'On the fields of greenIn the homelandWe've never seen.And maybe marlon brandoWill be there by the fireWe'll sit and talk of hollywoodAnd the good things there for hireLike the astrodomeAnd the first tepeeMarlon brando, pocahontas and meMarlon brando, pocahontas and mePocahontas. December 24th and were through again.This time for good I know because I didntthrow you out and anyway we waved.No shoes. No angry doors.We folded clothes and wentour separate ways.You left behind that flannel shirtof yours I liked but remembered to takeyour toothbrush. Where are you tonight?Richard, its Christmas Eve againand old ghosts come back home.Im sitting by the Christmas treewondering where did we go wrong.Okay, we didnt work, and allmemories to tell you the truth arent good.But sometimes there were good times.Love was good. I loved your crooked sleepbeside me and never dreamed afraid.There should be stars for great warslike ours. There ought to be awardsand plenty of champagne for the survivors.After all the years of degradations,the several holidays of failure,there should be somethingto commemorate the pain.Someday well forget that great Brazil disaster.Till then, Richard, I wish you well.I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water,and women kinder than I treated you.I forget the reason, but I loved you once,remember?Maybe in this season, drunkand sentimental, Im willing to admita part of me, crazed and kamikaze,ripe for anarchy, loves still. "Quando ontem adormeci Na noite de Sao Joao Havia alegria e rumor Estrondos de bombas luzes de Bengala Vozes cantigas e risos Ao pe das fogueiras acesas. No meio da noite despertei Nao ouvi mais vozes nem risos Apenas baloes Passavam errantes Silenciosamente Apenas de vez em quando O ruido de um bonde Cortava o silencio