Wherever I hang

E naquele livro amarelo, achei uma linda adaptação do poema abaixo. A adaptação (e o livro) é de Jan de Jager. O poema é de Grace Nichols. Onde ela deixa os sapatos, onde ele deixa as cuecas. Omnia mea mecum porto. Mas onde deixo os meus livros?

Totalmente perdido. Mas, pelo menos, terminei de escrever a peça. A primeira versão dela.

 

Wherever I Hang

 

I leave me people, me land, me home
For reasons I not too sure
I forsake de sun
And de humming-bird splendour
Had big rats in de floorboard
So I pick up me new-world-self
And come to this place call England
At first I feeling like I in a dream -
De misty greyness
I touching the walls to see if they real
They solid to de seam
And de people pouring from de underground system
Like beans
And when I look up to de sky
I see Lord Nelson high - too high to lie.

And is so I sending home photos of myself
Among de pigeons and de snow
And is so I warding off de cold
And is so, little by little
I begin to change my calypso ways
Never visiting nobody
Before giving them clear warning
And waiting me turn in queue
Now, after all this time
I get accustom to de English life
But I still miss back-home side
To tell you de truth
I don't know really where I belaang
Yes, divided to de ocean
Divided to de bone
Wherever I hang me knickers - that's my home.