Gurdjieff Brazil




What now, Josť?
The party's over,
the lights, are off,
the gang has gone,
the night's grown cold,
what now, Josť?
what now, you?
you who are nameless,
who make fun of others,
you who write verses,
who love, protest,
what now, Josť?

Got no woman,
got no speech,
got no love,
can't drink,
can't smoke,
can't even spit,
the night's grown cold,
daybreak has stalled,
laughter has stalled,
and everything's over,
and everything's fled,
and everything's mouldy,
what now, Josť?

What now, Josť?
Your sweet talk,
your moment of fever,
your feasting and fasting,
your library,
your gold mine,
your suit of glass,
your incoherence,
your hatred - what now?

Key in hand,
you want to open the door -
there is no door;
you want to drown in the sea,
but the sea has dried up;
you want to go to Minas -
Minas no longer exists;
Josť, what now?

If you could scream,
if you could groan,
if you could play
a Viennese waltz,
if you could sleep,
if you could tire,
if you could die...
But you don't die -
you are tough, Josť.

Alone in the dark
like a beast of the wild,
without any theory of gods,
without even a naked wall
to lean against,
without a black horse
to gallop away,
You march, Josť!
Whereto, Josť?



Carlos Drummond de Andrade