Portuguese Mistake
–Oswald de Andrade
When the Portuguese arrived
It was raining like crazy
He dressed the Indian in clothes
What a shame!
If only it had been a sunny day
The Indian would have undressed
The Portuguese.
Original
Erro de português
Quando o português chegou
Debaixo duma bruta chuva
Vestiu o índio
Que pena! Fosse uma manhã de sol
O índio tinha despido
O português
Vulnerability
–Fedya Filkova/Федя Филкова
I Without fear,
I take off my loneliness.
Full moon,
come lie in my womb!II Your love brought death
so there was no pain.
The angel lingers
uselessly above me;
even the stroke of its wing
is a blow
after you.III May the summer cure me of this love
that peers at me with dead fish eyes.IV The day is vast in my tiny room,
halos gleam from my favorite books,
an open peony peers at me from its vase,
each sigh is a bridge that leads to infinity.
Intimate Rain
–Julia de Burgos
The streets of my soul walk uncovered.
The emotion goes naked through the reclining shadow of longing.
There are winds whipping near my conscience.
The sky of my mind threatens to explode,
to let go the deep pain piled up in innocent nights
over the other pain of being a wave without a beach to lay tears.My pain is bandaged with weeping in my eyes,
it looks for seas of spirit where intimate motives of tragedy can navigate,
it wants to grow, grow
until it bends my scream,
and demolishes me in echoes over the earth.
Original
Lluvia íntima
Las calles de mi alma andan desarropadas.
La emoción va desnuda tras la sombra acostada del anhelo.
Hay vientos azotando cercano a mi conciencia.
El cielo de mi mente amenaza estallar,
para soltar el hondo dolor amontonado en noches innocentes
sobre el otro dolor de ser ola sin playa donde reposar lágrimas.Mi dolor va vendado de llanto entre mis ojos
busca mares de espíritu donde navegar íntimos motivos de tragedia,
quiere crecer, crecer,
hasta doblarme el grito,
y derrumbarme en ecos por la tierra.
Spring…
–Umberto Saba
I don’t care for you at all. It used to be
that when I turned a corner in the street,
the premonition of your coming would cut me
like a razor. The still slender shadows
of bare branches cast upon the still bare earth
make me uneasy, as if I too
might somehow be
reborn. Ancient
spring, even the grave seems uncertain
at your approach. You of all the seasons
most cruelly resurrect and kill.
Original
Primavera
Primavera che a me non piaci, io voglio
dire di te che di una strada l’angelo
svoltando, il tuo presagio mi feriva
come una lama. L’ombra ancor sottile
di nudi rami sulla terra ancora
nuda mi turba, quasi ancho’io potessi
dovessi
rinascere. La tomba
sembra insicura al tuo appressarsi, antica
primavera, che più d’ogni stagione
crudelmente risusciti ed uccidi.
Supersonic Death
–Nicanor Parra
zooms by at high speed
in the direction of the old folks’ home
without paying any attention to me
as if I were a red-lipped teenager
when death knows full well I’m her fiancé
and all I do these days is yawnevasive death—indifferent death
you are the biggest flirt of all
Original
La Muerte Supersónica
pasa a toda velocidad
en dirección al Asilo de Ancianos
sin concederme la menor importancia
como si yo fuera un adolescente de labios rojos
a sabiendas que soy su prometido
y que ya no hago otra cosa que bostezarmuerte evasiva – muerte displicente
eres la más coqueta de todas