issue 45: the poetry in pieces

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poet's statement

- thiago rêgo (bio)

Poetry is not for everyone. One year after of start to write I found the reason: “Nul n’a jamais écrit ou peint, sculpté, modelé, construit, inventé, que pour sortir en fait de l’enfer”. There isn’t nothing good in suffer, however, there is a great thing in what you do from it. Convert suffering in anything else isn’t for everyone. And sometimes we can see that in art.

Thus, my poetry shout (nothing in me speak) by itself:

I’m in decomposition permanent. Always incomplete. But that ones are pieces whose I left fall by the way: put fire, it’s the only way of them shine.

Le saut dans le vide (original)

- thiago rêgo (bio)


Ter um próprio céu [um próprio inferno].
Uma tonalidade própria para o sangue.
Costurar um coração com as próprias mãos e fazer o mundo passar por meio dele.
Todo um corpo feito de pedaços de outros corpos.


Acredita em palavras?
Não há nada aqui.

Não me pergunte.
Nos despedimos antes de vir.
Com sua respiração profunda e um doce aceno.
Descanse agora ou apenas finja.
Irei gostar quando acabar.

Não há nada aqui.
Exceto talvez a falta.
Apatia em ao menos um olhar.
Não procuro.
Não há nada aqui.
Algo como um leve tremor nas mãos mas minha febre piorando.

Deixarei que saiba.
Antes que me peça para não olhar.
Ou mesmo que hesite.
Faço questão que escolha a pior maneira.
E o quanto foi engraçado esperar até o outro dia.
Consegue me ver?
Sou o que impede tuas lágrimas de caírem.


Parecia haver um abrigo para ti em algum lugar de mim caso quisesse se esconder.
E pareço não ser movido por mais nada senão por cansaço.
Outro rosto desejando seguir os mesmos passos.
Me ensinando sem que eu queira.
É o que aprendi agora.

Aprendi a fazer promessas antes de entrar em alguém.
À lamentar coisas banais.
À ser fraco e tentar fingir qualquer outra coisa.

Como eu odeio isso.


A sunflower weary of time.
A wild thing que não consegue sangrar sem sorrir.
É só seguir em frente.
Sou eu quem sorri de lá.
Ainda que não seja possível sorrir sem sangrar.

La mort n’insiste pas.
Je vais devoir le prendre.
La mort. La mort. La mort est ici.

Eu com medo com raiva com desprezo.
Em pequenas partes.
Eu esmagado eu esmagado eu esmagado.
Je suis triste et désespéré.
E me recuso a continuar.


Esse é teu desejo de sangue.
E tudo o que ofereço é uma perda.
Meu poema.
Meu estado inacabado em evidência.
Mais uma vez.
Mon poéme est mon voeu en révolte.
E todo o mundo depende apenas dos traços que faço com meus dedos.

Minha palavra eu a escrevo com pedaços que arranco de mim.
Meu limite meu corpo ainda vivo.
Onde tudo é dobrado se tornando suficiente.

My word I poured.
E agora a luz do dia se faz presente sangrando le mauvais sang.
Seul pour toujours.
Você fica melhor sangrando.


Um permanente silêncio.
A violência de um sorriso sem qualquer palavra.
A única forma de você existir é por meio dos meus olhos.

Le saut dans le vide (English)

- thiago rêgo (bio)



To have an own sky [an own hell].
A tonality own for the blood.
To sew a heart with own hands and make the world to pass through it.
Whole a body made by pieces of other bodys.




Believes in words?
There is nothing here.


Do not ask me.
We say goodbye before come over.
With his deep breath and sweet gesture.
Take a rest or just pretend.
I will like when it over.


There is nothing here.
Except maybe the absence.
Apathy at least in one look.
I am not looking for.
There is nothing here.
Something like a slight shiver in hands and my fever getting worse.


I will let you know.
Before you ask me for no look.
I make point you choose the worst way.
And how much was fun to wait until the next day.
Can see me?
I am what prevent your tears to come down.




Seemed have a shelter in somewhere of me to hide you if wanted.
And I look not be moved for nothing but tiredness.
Another face wishing to follow the same steps.
Teaching me without my will.
It is what I learned.


I learned to make promises before enter into someone.
To lament dumb things.
To be weak and try pretend anything else.


How I hate it.




A sunflower weary of time.
A wild thing which cannot bleed without to smile.
It is just move forward.
I am who smile from there.
Although it is not possible to smile without to bleed.


La mort n’insiste pas.
Je vais devoir le prendre.
La mort. La mort. La mort est ici.

I with fear with rage with despise.
In little pieces.


I smashed I smashed I smashed.
Je suis triste et désespéré.


And I refuse to continue.




That is your thirsty to blood.
And all what I offer is a loss.
My poem.
My unfinished status in evidence.
One more time.
Mon poéme est mon voeu en révolte.
And whole world depends only on the scribbles that I do with my fingers.


My word I write it with pieces whose I pluck from me.
My bound my body still alive.
Where everything is bowed becoming enough.


My word I poured.
And now the daylight makes itself present bleeding le mauvais sang.
Seul pour toujours.
You get be better bleeding.




A silence permanent.
The violence of a smile with no any word.
The only way of you exist is through my eyes.


- thiago rêgo (bio)

Come here come close
Show me your eyes
A glimpse of relief using weary and tears
More than a moment when the lights prevent of seeing

A redone mistake with the joy in one of hands
Whishing the best
I guess you not realised I was talking about the clouds
I like the way how them move

Transcription of a deceit

- thiago rêgo (bio)


I left a remembrance drop from my hands without my wanting
You called it of love before I could hide it or care
Comprehension through only one nod and the time wasted

Everything so fragile almost as this blue ink staining the paper


The first clarity of day over so white clouds
Trying do not let anything pass
My heart unlike open affected by something so silly
Maybe as answer


I will spike my fingers in this moment and let it know I am here
And I will not let it go
Even knowing I will have to strive not to confuse my desire with weariness
There are a smile and a joy in me that will never be undone

Words for the love

- thiago rêgo (bio)

Or a breath slaughtered by shouts
After your eyes touch the clouds
Everything in its time

I feel so weak when all that I can do is to write
And writing like a coward
Without dare to pronounce your name even now
Like a coward
Regretting by have ripped our memories
Like a coward
Writing in a language which neither you nor I comprise well
Like a coward
Though full of hope that you will read it one day
Like a coward
In a vain attempt to write something beauty again
For you

We will never see one another again

Hope you are well and bending the world your way
While you are standing I will be too
You seen my heart you know I have one
And I carry you in him forcefully

My Force
You were the part which I most liked from me
– My hands are full of tears right now
But once more I am all yours

My Silence

- thiago rêgo (bio)

Perhaps the sun rend the clouds and the sky deciding awaken from its dream reach the day
slightly raised on ground finally finding me and covering me with its color and I believing that
it is all what I have.

Two words yet for Mayakovsky

- thiago rêgo (bio)

I am now staring a picture which you are with a bullet in chest
Dead in a bed with so few blood runned from you

Why that all my poet
What took me away from you fifteen years ago and now brought me back
As a pupil which return to praise the skull of his ancient master
Before smash it with his own hands and regret the paths that he followed

Already cannot hear you speaking about love or your despair to prove it
Already cannot be filled by your vivid and flawed hope

You taught me about that things when they were phantoms
Or a promise of suffering you told me you were here
When I meet the loneliness for the first time
You were here
Even when I decided paint the world with my blood

Why this all my poet
Sadness was never enough to us
Deception neither a nuisance
You know how all ends

Nevertheless I cannot help to believe exactly like you
Lifting up the nib to preach yourself on paper
By means the nails of words

No my words – create create now
I am your dream forgotten among the waiver and the seek


- thiago rêgo (bio)


I wish I was be the sky
The harmony with no shape just existing
Without to write or desire it
Not be in flames


Although instead to be it I turn my head for it
Screaming as an ailing in pain
Scribbling worlds inside world over empty words
Do not wait meaning
My blood is only a shadow bonded to flesh


The sky seems sleep now
A color at a time and as usual
My chest opens to follow the rite
And vainly not be in flames

end of issue 45. go back to issues page.

the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
the poetry juicebox