selection of poems FOREIGN NEWS (Ediciones del Mirador, Montevideo, 1984)
I see you once-Lisbon and Tagus and all-,
Transient useless to you and me,
alien here as everywhere, Casual
the life and soul, to err on
Phantom rooms memories
the noise from mice and creaking floorboards in the castle
accursed of having to live ...
Lisbon Revisited (1926)
FERNANDO PESSOA
LOS Emigrated
We sent decir:
No pasa por la nuestra history Húmeda
Galicia de las mother or father knows his Lombardy
alcoholic.
day had gone into exile in order to leave and never
our lines of hand.
The bay in which the poor mother was born
us facing the sea for better learning
leaving us still up to the eyes and the past
always plotting future dust
geography without language.
not repent figures
pain or the reverse is our mail
evening shadows in the pictures that we erase the face of the planet
.
FEAR,
FATHER Father, I
fear of being imprisoned in my body, condemned
threshold, perfect, this return, Father, eternally
trip and killed by the four seasons and the fate
pitch men
obedient children of the species, father,
dead ahead.
Who is this guest in my body? These years, of whom
are prisoners in their veins?
What do I do, father, to my horror
in tow, and my days in the days
implacable of men? WHO
Who am I to say the sky
storm rose and the bird lost. Who
if I'm away back this far back
window. The sky,
and today is pink, the tragic
bird to die, fall and not know
sea salt which perpetuates the other side
glass or storm.
SOMEONE Someone is no longer suffering, slides
between days, standing watch
and tears.
The provincial house is empty. Someone
never tires, and yard
left alone with the world's weather.
Someone asks for nothing,
not lie on the whitewashed wall
or tank supports
house because he forgot the secret
falling like stones and not afraid to move or slide
Sunday
out between days without anyone to see. PORTRAIT
Look the mirror in the window reflects
and everything but him.
It reflects your body, go
his eyes, dark circles, see
your clothes, put carefully
finally learned is that the world belongs to the other, carefully
others, with dark circles and other
this street and the country
and rules of this patient, this suspecto
nobody's child, this
anonymous on the street and in life
of others who do not look
the mirror in which he looks and is absent entirely
.
NOTHING, LIFE
I
was a place I knew
a place, there was infinite,
was a place, was a place
without exile, was a place I knew a place
was infinite,
was a place, had
a Instead, it was infinite,
without exile, a place.
II
is infinite, it is today is unspeakable, obscene
is today, is nothing,
goes, is unspeakable, leaves,
is nothing, today, is infinite,
is, it is exile is
today is nothing, is a place,
an exile, nothing.
III will be a banishment, exile
know, will not see anything, out of memory
, will exile
know you will not see anything,
be banishment, nothing
on without, you see, know
exile, without memory, nothing.
IV
place is obscene, is
the nothing, the unspeakable
memory, exile
infinite
place of exile, memory
nothing, no place,
banishment, obscene, memory
no name, no place, no nothing.
V
I, what I say, what no other place I
, what
anything, I see what
memory, which, what
obscene, today, what
failure, is absent, what
infinite is not, what
place, is not, what
ground, two meters, which
exile, which
nothing, not much, nothing. VI
who says nothing,
the silent,
of it is silent, the
him that neither death, the lonely, only
the what, without
the landless, the silent
, yellow,
the what that photo, dust,
anything.
ASK ME
How could this shame,
this mess, resist, say
such phrases and school.
do this say yes, no,
so good, that is enough
accept this love, a passport, and this wound
in memory
medieval and unbridgeable said office on the planet.
How could I escape from death many times
the meeting marking the sky and delayed
indifferent. Birds eternal
nobody will stop flying, nobody could accompany
and how I look my age
and not die and do not pollute the sky
and water and fire, how
if I die. How could I
embrace the loved and
numb as if nothing out
this succession of days and nights
and children who had no clothes
and gave me
-and this lack in my body Amazon
and thirst of horizons that I ignored.
And the lies, the dead fugitives
and
They verdict and each new terror torture.
How could I keep silent when silent,
how not stop crying, how
be alive, to accept the love died,
see the end of desire
as a foreigner. How could these rules
and the other of the dead gods, ancient
revenge, the kind
ancient ancestor irremediable
with his death. And abide quietly
his solitary ritual. How?
REGENCY
still the tragic opera Darius, the continent still
border raped
Incanto,
always hope in debt, child and urgency
Nicaragua, and the unwary
always solemn
profile on the journey of men. And a cautious
adviser
despair still governs its history preagenciada
at the scene of death. CITY
A thin tightrope
you through the days with their bones loose canvas and Sunday as the row
broken teeth and steps into smithereens
cup of late-night drunk. Same
dreams am
smoked in the corner and skyscrapers
and nap with her scent old remedy.
A thief is the silent rain at bay,
gloved hands, the false document to the desire and anxiety
accomplice and speakers, as you
stunning pirouettes and somersaults every day.
A Cherche l'idée sur ce Theatres and circus, je me reponds they contain doivent des boutiques Drames assez sombre. Je pense qu'il binds and police. Mais la loi doit être tellement étrange, que je renonce idée à me faire des unites d'ici Aventuriers.
Rimbaud, Villes II.
POSTCARD
Night view of downtown Montevideo, do not recognize
violet air of the streets, but a memory lasts
amethyst, and prey on
resistant.
not die in Montevideo, but the hands
teach me the way to spin
still whirling with the world
(the night view of the time of my childhood)
But photos
declared and faith in the yellow boxes, unrecognizable
Night view over my bed, reverse
the world, in another language, a top
of lies: the eyes are prisoners to the memory of other hard
days. PRAGUE
INVADED
Well before 1968, in 1950, the poet Zavis Kalandra had been condemned and killed for treason. Was unnecessary in the 60 rehabilitated. His death is a long metaphor of the beginning of an invasion.
write about Prague in my circumstance, it is something more to write about a city I love and it hurts. I recognized the fear in Prague, arbitrariness, the threat. I write about Prague and I do our hard-privileged memory. AF, 1983
I
anyone hears the silence of Bohemia? The tightrope walkers deaf
Castillo dance. Craftsmen sing dumb mess.
The cardinal points and the zodiac
exchanged their places.
Forget to Kalandra. A plot
flutes in the bones of the Jewish Cemetery. Kalandra
already dead and blind fish
navigate the Vltava. Say,
anyone hear the silence of Bohemia?
Petr
II crossed the Bridge of May. Petr
crossed the belly of the New Town
and crossed every street in the small part. Petr
went through the days and seasons.
Petr was killed in a spring
Vltava (which did not stop the march of young snake)
St. Wenceslas III,
I do not believe you, St. Wenceslas
,
where you were,
St. Wenceslas,
long sleeves (was drunk and was beheaded)
IV
untouched forest of Bohemia, you can die
petrified. Knocker
Death
can play late at night. Bridges
Vltava
can sink into the belly of Prague. Knights of fear
arrived at dawn, they are the Mighty
,
have cold hands.
hundred towers of darkness can be lifted
contaminated.
A stone is the soul
Prague
a dam of concentric circles
the Vltava.
NIGHT TWO SÃO PAULO
I
Night battered and tattered, night
third world metropolitan
night long words and drizzle
faceless dreams manager
contaminated industrious night of waiting
and working-class neighborhoods and good intentions do not testify
anything.
vain I watch in this room of the Center of the thirteen million inhabitants of São Paulo
around the abyss of the night maldormida
and night, night stratified
sick and fragile, wet cell metallurgy
and multilingual, it bursts into
words and language is lost forever aborted
between the four walls of my room.
sleepers unaware that they have in the neck
mining map of the night choking on the network
undernourished weaving genes dirty smog.
There are children born without brain
and they roam at night pollute, paralytic beggar
night subway aimlessly
trepidation makes my room in the center of the thirteen million inhabitants of São Paulo
,
my room where I could lose myself, without a compass, in my bones dumb
if slowly opened the window and carefully
night, night world poor fragmented,
enters the vault in my mouth and I stopped.
II
AVENUE NIGHT IN SÃO JOÃO
A transvestite in silence against a post
is so sad that São João Avenue before dawn, when the fog
Northeast
and venereal lies in the outside walls without employment, and expect the
women, and the drunkard waits for his shadow fall on the road
. The time sinking its tail
question unanswered
cats and sailors sang and look
waiting for his song, waiting to hear it
and all languages \u200b\u200bare incomprehensible as expected
wind itself heard
your complaint old broken window.
The room just lit
anonymous by neon outside
lovers are puppets of the time, hear to
violent caresses of the night and take the back
soft as unmade bed.
The wind is encased in a sour smell Avenue
and neon lovers repeated sleep, cordless bottled
night between the posts.
MEMORY
What barbarism day,
remember, what
fever in the knees, what peace
cried, forgetting what
pure elemental stone
forgotten what pure mineral
what animal night
of
pure love began to nacerse in your ribs. TODAY
Today I have hands
glass to break, for rajarme
fragile chest and insurance
magnificent brightness blinds me. Planets
lost, now I have short
knees, to fall from its orbit, turning
the degree that there is, this
lost a summer beach, sex
sterile glass longitude, latitude
few hours are
marrow and a lover of salt
rises up through the eyes and I
bankruptcy.
AMOR BELLO
Bello
love, beautiful love, because love
fails to a memorial of men who loved me,
the same sex, same ancestor
conjugate
beautiful and barren, beautiful
because sterile because
for the memorial of men who
loved me before, not after, the other side
of their lives, no other face that the insomniac
inhabitant of desire, beauty
consumed before, always before men,
the memorial of men who loved me.
I
ETERNAL
What a party the gesture of your body, boy,
springboard off the bones, jump
your joy, loose
haunt me, I abducted by ruthless ancestors
skin and sweat and the beer
of gestures, this leap ahead of desire. What a party
arc and bodies,
boy, what a tide of zeal music and repeating back
time of rales, a perennial in the body
mystic joy, salted
children of the children of your gesture.
II MEMORY
disarmed me I Is not the sentence, leaving no
the plot of the bones, not me bristle
sponges on the back,
boy
sharp bend in the world and the desire , raising it by your thighs
relentless, death
not just temporary?
BUT THE ROSE
Yes, I can count the roses
stations, perfume and body
wind roses and stone, yes, Prague
roses and morning.
But other illegal pink, sweet pink
indebted to the species, not violent
rose on the tide of time, but the rose
defector and sterile, the vacancy rose
season, not countless, lonely, but the hard pink
doomed.
THE LAST SUPPER
One of these days
crows escaped me
pockets and an egg on a misunderstanding
soul, the soul,
I blocked the esophagus.
perpetrator of crows, before egg, and soul, I overrode
them as dead.
write the shadow of the soul in the esophagus.
I'm a traitor, as a fabulous journey around the raven
,
egg or death. I
misunderstanding and threatening danger, a scarecrow,
useless as an egg, then crow
or poetry.
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