poetry in translation

the bridge

Standard

The Bridge
–Circe Maia

In a trivial gesture, in a greeting,
in the simple glance, directed
in flight toward other eyes,
a golden, a fragile bridge is constructed.
This alone is enough.

Although it is only for a moment, it exists, exists.
This alone is enough.

Translation

El puente

En un gesto trivial, en un saludo,
en la simple mirada, dirigida
en vuelo, hacia otros ojos,
un áureo, un frágil puente se construye.
Baste esto sólo.

Aunque sea un instante, existe, existe.
Baste esto sólo.

Photo by Tim Bogdanov on Unsplash

habitation

Standard

Room (rough translation)
–Nora Méndez

You enter and leave me
I let you pass and leave

between welcome and farewell
between encounter and disagreement
the trace of love remains
as time signature
like a river that runs

And this room that is not a room
it is a dense balloon of emotions
crushed into herbs
virgin forest of birds
darkness
light
darkness

Translation

Habitación

Tú entras y sales de mí
yo te dejo pasar y salir

entre bienvenida y despedida
entre encuentro y desencuentro
va quedando la huella del amor
como firma de tiempo
como río que hace cauce

Y este cuarto que no es cuarto
es globo denso de emociones
triturado en hierbas
selva virgen de pájaros
oscuridad
luz
oscuridad

Photo by Cherry Laithang on Unsplash

the cats will know

Standard

The Cats Will Know

–Cesare Pavese

Rain will fall again
on your smooth pavement,
a light rain like
a breath or a step.
The breeze and the dawn
will flourish again
when you return,
as if beneath your step.
Between flowers and sills
the cats will know.
There will be other days,
there will be other voices.
You will smile alone.
The cats will know.
You will hear words
old and spent and useless
like costumes left over
from yesterday’s parties.
You too will make gestures.
You’ll answer with words—
face of springtime,
you too will make gestures.
The cats will know,
face of springtime;
and the light rain
and the hyacinth dawn
that wrench the heart of him
who hopes no more for you—
they are the sad smile
you smile by yourself.
There will be other days,
other voices and renewals.
Face of springtime,
we will suffer at daybreak

feeling of the world

Standard

Feeling of the World
–Carlos Drummond de Andrade

I have just two hands
And the feeling of the world,
But I am teeming with slaves,
my memories are streaming
and my body yields
at the crossroads of love.

When I get up, the sky
will be dead and plundered,
I’ll be dead myself,
my desire and the songless
swamp dead.

My comrades didn’t tell me
that a war was on
and I needed
To bring arms and food.
I feel scattered,
before the borders,
and I humbly beseech
your pardon.

When the bodies pass
I’ll remain alone
unraveling the memory
of the herald, the widow and the microscope man
who lived in the tent
and were missing
the next morning

that morning, more night than night itself.

Translation

Sentimiento do mundo

Tenho apenas duas mãos
e o sentimento do mundo,
mas estou cheio de escravos,
minhas lembranças escorrem
e o corpo transige
na confluência do amor.
Quando me levantar, o céu
estará morto e saqueado,
eu mesmo estarei morto,
morto meu desejo, morto
o pântano sem acordes.
Os camaradas não disseram
que havia uma guerra
e era necessário
trazer fogo e alimento.
Sinto-me disperso,
anterior a fronteiras,
humildemente vos peço
que me perdoeis.
Quando os corpos passarem,
eu ficarei sozinho
desfiando a recordação
do sineiro, da viúva e do microscopista
que habitavam a barraca
e não foram encontrados
ao amanhecer esse amanhecer
mais noite que a noite.

Photo by Ira Huz on Unsplash

the time of love

Standard

The Time of Love
–Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Translation

Amor e seu tempo

Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash