p. leminski

in english

 


Tranlations from
UNENCONTRARIES 6 brazilian poets

Curitiba, Brazil, 1995

Unencontraries I told the word to rhyme, but it did not obey. It spoke of skies, a bay, a rose in Greek, in silence, in prose. Seemed out of its wits, the silent syllable. I told the phrase to dream, and into a labyrtnth it went. Making poetry, I feel, only this. Having an army sent to conquer an extinct empire. Translated by Charles A. Perrone Full pause A place where's done what's already be done, the blank of the page, sum of all texts, time departed when, in writing, an exempt leaf was needed. No page was ever clean. Even the most Saharian, Arctic one, signifies. That there never was, a blankpage. In the depths, they all shout, pallid from so much. Translated by Charles A. Perrone silk curtains the wind blows in without permission Translated by Regina Alfarano probe the mire everything that can respire can conspire Translated by Regina Alfarano spacetimeship for alice frag ments from the shipwreck of a lifetime washed onto the beach of an unknown landline the reason for holding us so closing us so together facing the night of interstellar spaces Translated by Regina Alfarano (revised by Dana Stevens) Iceberg An Arctic ballad, I'd, of course, like to entice. A practice so pallid, three verse-lines of ice. A phrase of the surface where a life-phrase never could be possible. Phrase, no. None whatsoever. Null and lyrical reduced to purely minimal, a blinking of the spiritual, a lone unique unit. Yet I speak. And my speaking is provoking equivocating clouds (or hives of monologues?). Yes, winter, we are alive. Translated by Charles A. Perrone Notice to the shipwrecked This page, for example, wasn't born to be read. It was born to be pallid, merely to plagiarise the Iliad, something keeping quiet a leaf that returns to the branch, long after it was felled. It was born to be sand, who knows Andromeda, Antarctica, Himalaya, a syllable felt it was born to be the last one the one not yet born. Words brought from afar by the waters of the Nile, one day, this page, papyrus, will have to be transcribed, into symbols, into Sanskrit, into all the dialects of India, it will have to say good day, to what is only whispered in my ear, it will have to be the harsh stone where someone dropped the glass. Isn't that the way life is? Translated by Charles A. Perrone

 

see also:

· LIES ABOUT THE TRUTH 14 brazilian poets
· METAPHORMOSIS translated by CHRIS DANIELS
· poems translated by CHARLES A. PERRONE
· poems translated by CHRIS DANIELS
· NOTHING THE SUN COULD NOT EXPLAIN 20 Contemporary Brazilian Poets
· a poem by ROSA CLEMENT

 

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