Don’t Know Why You Died On Me Because It’s No Use
18 Abril, 2020By Ricardo
Don’t know why you died on me, but I never really understood death, or life, why
(B. 1985)
João’s poetry is like a set of keys that keeps opening doors, small hints that carry us very far. As if poetry were for him an inhabiting of inner echoes that are heard within ourselves as new places, new spaces of sex and death, a creative force, life’s dynamics.
João Bosco da Silva was born in Bragança and spent most of his childhood and adolescence at Torre de Dona Chama, a village in the North-East of Portugal. He currently lives and works in Finland.
Poetry books since 2000:
Os Poemas de Ninguém (2009), Disse-me António Montes (2010), Bater Palmas E Sete Palmos De Terra Nos Olhos (2011), Saber Esperar Pelo Vazio (2012), Destilações (2014), Trepanação de Jerónimo Bosch (2015), Teoria da Perdição Unificada (2017), Um Tropeço nos Dias Quentes (2019).
Poems
In the Chicken Pen
By Ricardo
I read Rimbaud years ago perched on rocks, in the smoke house kitchen
Comparing Space Dimension After Subtracting History
By Ricardo
You’re right when you say Montmartre is like my father’s village, but my father’s
village
Another anniversary
By Ricardo
Waking up is sad, immediately after you got into the car with me, the graveyard so near,
‘Mr Mojo Rising’
17 Abril, 2020By Ricardo
You look for company within four walls saturated by your presence,
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