| |
|
As an exercise, and, well, so you guys can know it and maybe get impressed with it, and curious. I translated these poems from this brazilian poet, Joao Cabral de Melo Neto (and as I write I'm thinking I might even make it the first of a series). I could have picked another more "urgent" poet (as in, like when you feel you just have to share something...), or even a more famous poem from João Cabral himself, like "The Fable of Anfion", but... anyway, tell me what you think of 'em:
The ballerina
The ballerina made
of rubber and bird
dances in the vestibule
of the dream.
At three hours of sleep,
beyond the dreams,
in the secret chambers
that Death reveals.
Among monsters made
by writing ink,
the ballerina made
of rubber and bird.
Of the daily and slow
rubber that I chew.
Of the insect or bird
That I cannot hunt.
***
To André Masson
With sleepwalking fishes and horses
You paint the obscure limbo metaphysics.
Warrior horses and fishes
fauna below the earth at our feet
dead children who follow us
from the dreams.
Primitive forms close their eyes
scaphanders hide cold lights;
invisible in the surface eyelids
don't flutter.
Cold we run by the frosted sun
of your mine-like country where you keep
the food the chemistry the sulfur
of night.
* * *
Some might mistake, despite the metaphor for "protection against extraction" in the penultimate line of the poem "To André Masson", the semantic value of "mine" for the homonimal (in English), possessive pronoun, "mine". It is not. However, it says something about the quality of the material, how it opens not few interesting possibilities when translated and adapted to another languages. But I'm being rude. See for yourselves.
I really really want to do "The Fable Of Anfion" now, which is like, Magritte in words. But, bummer, it's too big. I'll see, I'll see. |
|
|
