A Gangue

a gangue 
não escolhe terrenos
ruas sacadas becos
coberturas escadas
a gangue é assim mesmo
aventura ao extremo
atos irreverentes
a gangue é a urbana gangrena
que sangra no asfalto
que picha os muros
risca os autos
e envenena o cosmopolita poema

the gang
not choose land
streets terraces alleys
stairs covers
the gang is like that
adventure to the extreme
irreverent acts
the gang is the urban gangrene
bleeding on the asphalt
that dirty the walls
scratching the records
and poisons the cosmopolitan poem

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

Com Unhas e Dentes

com unhas e dentes
pulsos firmes
mãos em socos
dedos feitos correntes
esse precoce sentimento de posse
o ciúme efervescente
o amor deixa o seu lado inocente
quando a cega paixão vence
na gangue a lei é assim:
tudo ou nada
mijar para trás
ou derramar todo o sangue

tooth and nail
strong pulses
hands on punches
fingers made chains
this early sense of ownership
the effervescent jealousy
love leaves his innocent side
when the infatuation wins
the gang the law is as follows:
all or nothing
piss back
whole blood or spilling

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

Charleston Contemporâneo

Charleston Contemporâneo 

Desejos não se proíbem
apenas exaltam-se
e embaralham todos os sentidos
como um charleston frenético
que dançam nos olhos de um soldado
que se desespera em enfrentar a primeira
e talvez a ultima guerra...
um desejo não se encerra
pode ser inibido
espremido diluído no gangster whisky
ouro líquido que evapora nos dias e noites
de Lei Seca de confrontos e traições...
Um desejo só um desejo não traí a si mesmo...
e o charleston eufórico perdoa todos os abstêmios...
O charleston termina no salão
mas em quantos cérebros ainda gira
suspira e inspira
pálpebras cinzentas das bailarinas
dançarinas da noite que Degas não pode retratar
saem exaustas segurando uma nas outras...
misturando perfumes brincos tiaras piteiras e
toda sorte de presentes oferecidos por homens
que já nem lembra mais...
assim é o charleston
um salto sempre a frente
como se o futuro só o futuro poderia trazer o melhor presente...
subir as escadarias
como se subisse nas nuvens
morder a maçã com a fome de Eva
tudo que leva aos extremos
o fogo de um ardente beijo
ou a neve que escorre de um gelado olhar...
assim é o charleston
que faz girar copos solitários
e vulneráveis candelabros
que fazem gritar mudas cadeiras...
O charleston faz esquecer...esquecer...
todas as depressões o impiedoso 29
e famigerados macartismos
o charleston faz delirar e
desequilibrar todos os sentidos
como um brinquedo insólito nas mãos de um menino
que não conhece as suas engrenagens
e o trata como se fosse um passarinho
voando tão livremente
O charleston é isso o preservar da juventude
ter ciência do ridículo
tentando a transformar em virtude...

Charleston Contemporary

Desires do not prohibit
only extol
and shuffle every way
as a frantic charleston
dancing in the eyes of a soldier
that is desperate to face the first
and perhaps the last war ...
a desire does not end
can be inhibited
squeezed diluted in gangster whiskey
Gold liquid evaporates in the days and nights
Prohibition of confrontations and betrayals ...
A desire only a desire not betray yourself ...
and the euphoric charleston forgives all abstainers ...
The charleston ends in the lounge
but how many brains still turns
sighs and inspires
gray eyelids Ballerinas
Night Degas dancers who can not picture
leave exhausted holding in each other ...
mixing scents earrings tiaras and cigarette holders
all kinds of gifts from men
already not remember more ...
so is the charleston
always a leap forward
as if the future only the future could bring the best gift ...
climb the stairs
how to come up in the clouds
bite the apple with hunger Eve
all it takes to extremes
the fire of a burning kiss
or snow that flows from an icy stare ...
so is the charleston
which turns lonely cups
vulnerable and candelabra
they do scream seedlings chairs ...
The charleston makes one forget ... forget ...
all the merciless depressions 29
and notorious macartismos
the charleston is delirious and
unbalance every way
as an unusual toy in the hands of a boy
you do not know your gear
and treat it like a bird
flying so freely
The charleston this is the preserve of youth
be aware of the ridiculous
trying to turn because 

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson...

Doce Companhia

quando há amor
a gente nem sente o peso
o colo fica ileso
sempre é bom
uma companhia
um livro
um cigarro entre os dedos
uma taça frágil
desafiando as mãos
melhor ainda
a presença intensa
da garota amada
aquela que sabe
conversar em silencio

when there is love
we do not even feel the weight
the neck is unscathed
is always good
a company
a book
a cigarette between his fingers
a fragile glass
challenging hands
even better
the intense presence
the lover girl
one who knows
talk in silence

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

Old Times News Emotions

Sou ainda aquele jeans invejado
de tempos atrás
que chegava engomado e desajeitado
de corte e modelo tradicionais
cinco bolsos básicos
e rebites dourados
além do botão de pressão
do jeans...do jeans...
que quanto mais se usa e se lava
na chuva nas pedras
ou no tanque áspero da casa
se torna mais confortável
de vestir e olhar
Eu ainda sou a tonalidade azul
índigo blue
que quanto mais se desbota
e disputa nas pernas
com o couro cru das botas
os caminhos sem fim
as aventuras desoladas ou gratificantes
mais se torna atraente e regenerador
depois da dor de uma queda
ou após o sorriso num salto sem juízo
qual um banho quente 
nos aposentos de um saloom
mesmo fora de um ofurô
com o aparato rústico de uma bucha macia
ainda carregada de sementes negras 
em seus densos fiapos interiores
que eliminam todas as toxinas e
impurezas da pele recente de longas trilhas
e impregnam em nossas epidermes
perfumes de paisagem que deixamos para trás
Sou ainda aquela lanchonete com ares rebeldes
barulhenta e efervescente
a muzzarela esticando-se dentro do lanche
seduzindo o paladar e os dentes
em contraste com o chicletes delirante
dentro da sua boca irreverente
que se faz fonte
da pedra do meu maior desejo
Sou a pimenta em excesso em seus olhos inocentes
que derruba em seus ouvidos
os desejos mais inconfessos e prementes
Sou ainda o canudo que sorve o milk shake
para saciar a gula que estrangula
um desejo mal resolvido
Sou a groselha que se espalha 
sobre o sorvete
e imita o sangue de um poeta
que se congela
quando fica frente a frente com a sua musa amada
e apenas grita com os seus olhos embaçados
pela chapa quente que está ao seu lado
fumegante
desafiando as mãos do lancheiro e da garçonete
Sou o guardanapo que absorve a gordura
o beijo amarelo da mostarda
as salivas lascivas de sedes fomes e vontades
de misturarem-se ao batom vermelho
que veste os seus lábios
Sou o paradoxo da juventude
o descrente e o ortodoxo
as atitudes e as extravagâncias
toda a ganância de viver e provar cada segundo
o desejo de ser livre
e ao mesmo tempo apaixonado
Desgarrar-se ou ser agarrado
Sou a ficha ou quando não tenho grana
o clips culpado que engana o Junk Box
e lhe oferece a mais romântica canção!

I'm still that envy jeans
long ago
arriving starched and clumsy
cutting and traditional model
basic five-pocket
and gold rivets
beyond the push-button
the jeans ... the jeans ...
that the more one uses and washes
in the rain on the rocks
or tank rough house
become more comfortable
dress and look
I'm still the blue hue
indigo blue
that the more it fades
dispute and legs
to hide the boots
paths ending
Adventures desolate or rewarding
becomes more attractive and regenerator
pain after a fall
or smile after a jump out of my mind
what a hot bath
in the chambers of a Saloom
even outside of a hot tub
apparatus with a rustic bush soft
still loaded with black seeds
lint in their dense interiors
that eliminate all the toxins and
impurities from the skin of recent long trails
and permeate into our skins
perfumes landscape we leave behind
I am yet to air cafeteria with rebels
noisy and effervescent
the mozzarella stretching into the snack
enticing the palate and teeth
in contrast to the gum delusional
inside your mouth irreverent
which makes source
the stone of my greatest desire
I am in too much pepper in their eyes innocent
Tipping in your ears
desires more ulterior and pressing
I'm still the straw that sucks the milk shake
to satisfy the greed that strangles
a desire unresolved
'm Spreading gooseberry
on ice
and mimics the blood of a poet
which freezes
when it comes face to face with his beloved muse
and just screams with his hazel eyes
the hot plate that is on your side
steamy
challenging the hands of lunchboxes and the bartender
I'm the napkin absorbs the grease
the kiss of yellow mustard
the salivas lewd headquarters hungers and desires
mingling of the red lipstick
you wear your lips
I am the paradox of youth
the unbeliever and the orthodox
attitudes and antics
all greed and try to live every second
the desire to be free
while passionate
Break away or be grasped
I'm the plug when I have no money
clips the culprit who deceives Junk Box
and offers the most romantic song!

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

Esperar Desesperar

não há nada pior na vida
do que esperar
esperar
escorar as horas
esporar o tempo
espalhar pensamentos
esperar rima
com desesperar

there is nothing worse in life
what to expect
expect
strut hours
skewer time
spread thoughts
wait rhyme
with desperate

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

LARGADO

LARGADO
DE UM LADO PARA OUTRO ODAL
LADOS DE UM QUADRADO
E DE UMA FIGURA OVAL
COMO UM LAGO
LARGADO
ALAGADO DE AFAGOS
DE PEDRAS DE DESEJOS
E SÚBITOS SUÍCIDIOS
LARGADO
RODEADO DE ESPINHOS
NO JARDIM DA SOLIDÃO
LARGADO
NOS LAPSOS DO TEMPO
NOS COLAPSOS DOS TORMENTOS
NOS LEITOS DAS RUAS
NAS SARJETAS
NAS BOCAS DE LOBOS ENTUPIDAS
LARGADO ENTRE RESÍDUOS
LAR...GA...DO
FAMIGERADO DESÍGNIO
DE UM OSSO SEM DESTINO
NA BOCA DE UM CÃO VADIO
LARGADO
SEM COLEIRA
SEM EIRA NEM BEIRA
NO RELENTO
SOFRENDO O FRIO E O VENTO
QUE DESARRUMA AS SUAS ORELHAS

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

RUE DE LA POESIE

THEME : LA RUPTUREIllustration : Edvard Munch - La SéparationChristophe Bregaint - À ma féeAmourRêve avec moiCar...

Posted by RUE DE LA POESIE on Sábado, 28 de março de 2015

Dance Comigo

que legal dançar
assim já meio alto
sob os efeitos de um drinque
sentindo-se o máximo
toda a coreografia da ilusão
em sons estridentes
que legal dançar
pagar todos os micos
no centro do salão
que legal dançar
e trapacear o tempo

that cool dance
thus already half high
under the effects of a drink
sensing the maximum
all the choreography of illusion
in sounds shrill
that cool dance
pay all tamarins
in the center of the room
that cool dance
and cheat time

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

Estúpido Cupido

Estúpido Cupido

Estúpido Cupido
Miro os seus olhos
onde moram
os meus sonhos compridos
que odeiam despertar
Flertes e cochichos
sombras e rabichos
onde você está agora?
Vivo mais o seu tempo/fascínio
do que as minhas horas mornas
Sinto inveja do seu delineador
gravado nos cílios
dos seus olhos brilhantes
da sombra que empresta mistérios
em suas pálpebras marcantes
Poderia ser seus óculos escuros
om ray ban que escondesse um gato escuro
e lhe assustasse como um pulo
no afã de um encanto noturno
Poderia ser o topete petulante
de um playboy
que vive no mundo livre das paixões
e dispensa qualquer gel
que ouse conter o seu jeito rebelde de ser
Revisitaria 1961
om número mágico
que pode ser lido de trás p´ra frente
em os ambos os lados
e jamais seria triste....
Um ano em que Yuri Gagarin
o pioneiro do espaço
viu a Terra do alto
e estupefato chamou-a de azul
Um ano em que Robert Zimmerman
rasgou as suas roupas
jorrou os seus versos
de amores e protestos
e fez fluir a soa música
nada preguiçosa
junto com a sua fanhosa voz
e se fez Bob Dylan
com todas ciladas e armadilhas
Um fascínio extremo
não é mesmo baby?
Acotovelados
em desejos velados
doces beijos roubados
sem o amargor de remorsos
Estúpido Cupido
que desfere as suas flechas
com a naturalidade de índios
em corações inteiros ou já partidos
e nos torna cada vez mais divididos
e submetidos aos ditames e dinamites
por razões nobres ou infames
das paixões que nos consomem
e se consumam em febres ou bálsamos
em estufados ou esfomeados desejos.

Stupid Cupid

Stupid Cupid
Eye your eyes
where they live
my long dreams
who hate waking
Flirting and whispering
shadows and pigtails
where are you now?
Live more your time / fascination
than my warm hours
I envy your eyeliner
recorded on the eyelashes
their bright eyes
the shadow that lends mysteries
in their striking eyelids
Could be his sunglasses
om ray ban that hid a dark cat
and frightened him as a leap
the enthusiasm of a night charm
It could be the tuft petulant
a playboy
living in the free world of passions
and needs no gel
who dares to hold his rebellious way of being
Revisit 1961
a magic number
which can be read back face p'ra
on the both sides
and would never be sad ....
A year in which Yuri Gagarin
the pioneer of space
seen from above Earth
stupefied and called it blue
A year in which Robert Zimmerman
rent his clothes
gushed his verse
loves and protests
and made to flow the music sounds
nothing lazy
together with his nasal voice
and became Bob Dylan
with all snares and traps
An extreme fascination
do not you baby?
Jostled
in veiled desires
sweet stolen kisses
without the bitterness of remorse
Stupid Cupid
that strikes your arrows
with the naturalness of Indians
in whole or hearts already parties
and makes us increasingly divided
and submitted to the dictates and dynamite
by noble or infamous reasons
the passions that consume us
and be consumed in fevers or balms
in stews or hungry desires.

Carlos Gutierrez

foto Bruce Davidson

Marcel Garbi

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10153128847177348&set=a.10153076067822348.1073741840.539502347&type=1&theater

Posted by Carlos Roberto Gutierrez on Sábado, 28 de março de 2015

Hurricane

Hurricane - September 10, 1975 from The World of John Hammond.

Posted by Bob Dylan's Music on Quarta, 6 de abril de 2011

Hurricane

How can the life of such a man / Be in the palm of some fool's hand? / To see him obviously framed / Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land / Where justice is a game.

Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night
Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall.
She sees the bartender in a pool of blood,
Cries out, "My God, they killed them all!"
Here comes the story of the Hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin' that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Three bodies lyin' there does Patty see
And another man named Bello, movin' around mysteriously.
"I didn't do it," he says, and he throws up his hands
"I was only robbin' the register, I hope you understand.
I saw them leavin'," he says, and he stops
"One of us had better call up the cops."
And so Patty calls the cops
And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin'
In the hot New Jersey night.

Meanwhile, far away in another part of town
Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin' around.
Number one contender for the middleweight crown
Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down
When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road
Just like the time before and the time before that.
In Paterson that's just the way things go.
If you're black you might as well not show up on the street
'Less you want to draw the heat.

Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops.
Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin' around
He said, "I saw two men runnin' out, they looked like middleweights
They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates."
And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head.
Cop said, "Wait a minute, boys, this one's not dead"
So they took him to the infirmary
And though this man could hardly see
They told him that he could identify the guilty men.

Four in the mornin' and they haul Rubin in,
Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs.
The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye
Says, "Wha'd you bring him in here for? He ain't the guy!"
Yes, here's the story of the Hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin' that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Four months later, the ghettos are in flame,
Rubin's in South America, fightin' for his name
While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game
And the cops are puttin' the screws to him, lookin' for somebody to blame. 
"Remember that murder that happened in a bar?"
"Remember you said you saw the getaway car?"
"You think you'd like to play ball with the law?"
"Think it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin' that night?"
"Don't forget that you are white."

Arthur Dexter Bradley said, "I'm really not sure."
Cops said, "A poor boy like you could use a break
We got you for the motel job and we're talkin' to your friend Bello
Now you don't wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow.
You'll be doin' society a favor.
That sonofabitch is brave and gettin' braver.
We want to put his ass in stir
We want to pin this triple murder on him
He ain't no Gentleman Jim."

Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much.
It's my work, he'd say, and I do it for pay
And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
And ride a horse along a trail.
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they trialed a man into a mouse.

All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance
The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance.
The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums
To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum
And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger.
No one doubted that he pulled the trigger. 
And though they could not produce the gun,
The D.A. said he was the one who did the deed
And the all-white jury agreed.

Rubin Carter was falsely tried.
The crime was murder "one," guess who testified?
Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied
And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride.
How can the life of such a man
Be in the palm of some fool's hand?
To see him obviously framed
Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
Where justice is a game.

Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise
While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell
An innocent man in a living hell.
That's the story of the Hurricane,
But it won't be over till they clear his name
And give him back the time he's done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.


Songwriters: ANDERSON, TIM / FRANGIPANE, ASHLEY
Hurricane lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Bob Dylan