3 translations
Self-portrait (at fifty) Auto-retrato (aos cinquenta)
A
doença anda aí (rondando os da minha idade)
não sei o que tem esta idade que
tanto apraz à doença
(mesmo aqueles que a vencem ficam
com o corpo
avariado). Esta dor que hoje sinto
ontem não estava ainda
(vai procurando lugar como
quem desafia a paciência)
qual figura de xadrez saltando daqui
para
aqui. Os meus amigos telefonam para
se queixar da doença (com o entibiar dos dias
todos vão
perdendo peças)
quem de nós nunca morreu que atire
a primeira terra.
Illness
lurks nearby (circling my age group)
I don’t know why my age attracts
so much disease
(even those who overcome it remain
with damaged
bodies). This pain I feel today
wasn’t here yesterday
(keeps looking for a spot as
if testing my patience)
like a chess piece moving around from here
over to
here. My friends call me to
complain about diseases (as the days get warmer
each of them
starts losing pieces)
let whoever among us has never died throw
the first clump of dirt.
Missing Walls As paredes em falta
Nos prédios bombardeados (por exemplo: nos Balcãs)
é fácil de figurar as
caixas em que vivemos. Blocos altos sem fachada
(desde os dias da guerra)
tornam-no mais evidente: celas cúbicas exíguas
às quais falta uma parede–
essa que dá para a fuga
que mostra a liberdade. Mas isso é
nos sítios da
guerra. Nos lugares em paz os banqueiros
(e os cobradores de impostos)
brincam com os moradores
(privando-os de quatro paredes!)
como quem brinca às casinhas com
uma casa de bonecas
dessas que há nos museus ricos do Norte
da Europa.
In the bombed-out buildings (for example: in the Balkans)
it is easy to imagine which
boxes we live in. High blocks without façade
(since the days of the war)
make it all the more evident: miniscule cubic cells
each missing a wall–
the one that points to the escape
that shows freedom. But that is
in the crosshairs
of war. In the places where there’s peace the bankers
(and the tax collectors)
play with the locals
(depriving them of four walls!)
like someone playing with one of those
doll houses
the ones on display at the rich museums of
northern Europe.
Os corvos em Birkenau
«Let the grass grow over our footprints»
CZESŁAW MIŁOSZ
I am the grass.
Let me work.
CARL SANDBURG
Os vagões que aqui chegavam
partiram para outros lugares. O madeiro dos barracos
(onde os mantinham à espera)
não resistiu às estações. Nenhuma
coluna de cinza os leva (em nuvem) pelo ar.
Não há olor a queimado (nem
gritos sob o silêncio) na
plataforma puída ninguém aparta ninguém. As
próprias câmaras de gás (hoje
um monte de ruínas) podiam passar a ideia de que
nada se passou. Mas eles já
vestem de negro para não deixar esquecer.
Sobre a erva que renasce (e faz
por cobrir o passado) os corvos velam a morte
colhendo provas de vida
(restos de biologia:)
sementes
vergonha
aqua lacrimae.
The crows in Birkenau
«Let the grass grow over our footprints» CZESŁAW MIŁOSZ
I am the grass.
Let me work.
CARL SANDBURG
The rail cars that arrived here
left for other locations. The wood planks that made up the shacks
(where they kept them waiting)
did not survive the seasons. No
column of smoke takes them (as a cloud) through the air.
There is no burnt odor (no
screams under the silence) on the
threadbare platform no one is rounded up. The
gas chambers themselves (today
a heap of ruins) could certainly convey the idea that
nothing happened at all. But they
all dress in black so that no one forgets.
Over the grass that grows back (and tries
to cover the past)the crows keep watch over death
pecking out the proofs of life
(the remnants of biology:)
seeds
shame
aqua lacrimae.
João Luís Barreto Guimarães was born in Porto, Portugal in June 1967 where he graduated in medicine. He is the author of 13 poetry books and anthologies such as Mediterranean (Mediterrâneo, Lisbon, Quetzal, 2016) chosen for the National Award António Ramos Rosa 2017 for best poetry book edited in Portugal in 2016, also finalist for the Camaiori International Prize 2018 in Italy, and Nomad (Nómada, Lisbon, Quetzal, 2018) chosen for the Best Poetry Book of the Year Bertrand Award 2018. His poems have been published in anthologies and literary magazines in 19 countries and have appeared in the International Poetry Review, Tupelo Quarterly, The London Magazine, Salamander, Anima, Asymptote, The Chaattahoochee Review, Ezra Translation, The Cortland Review, Bellevue Literary Review, The Columbia Review, ANMLY, World Without Borders, Poetry London and World Literature Today.
António Ladeira was born in Portugal in 1969. He currently lives in Lubbock, USA, where he is an Associate Professor of Portuguese and Spanish at Texas Tech University. He holds a Licenciatura degree in Portuguese Studies from Nova University in Lisbon, and a PhD in Hispanic Languages and Literatures from the University of California in Santa Barbara. He taught at Middlebury College and Yale University and he was a visiting researcher at the Universidade de São Paulo, in Brazil. He has published five volumes of his own poetry in Portugal and two books of short stories in Portugal, Brazil and Colombia. He is also a lyricist for Jazz singer Stacey Kent.
Calvin Olsen is an internationally published poet and translator. He holds an MA in English and Comparative Literature and an MFA in Creative Writing. He has taught English, composition, creative writing, and comparative literature at Boston University, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Wentworth Institute of Technology, and Bunker Hill Community College. He is currently an optician and social media manager in addition to his work as a freelance copywriter and editor. Calvin’s work has appeared in AGNI, Tampa Review, The Baltimore Review, International Poetry Review, The London Magazine, and many others. A former Robert Pinsky Global Fellow and recent Pushcart Prize nominee, Calvin now lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where he is poetry editor for The Carolina Quarterly