"Interrogação" de Camilo Pessanha

Not much to say about this one. Among Camilo Pessanha's poems, this one is strikes me as being one of the more straightforwardly romantic. That said, the sense of sad, bitter longing present in so much of his work is on display here as well, more or less stripped of symbolist imagery. I have no idea where the title comes from.

I couldn't find a satisfactory way to translate the first line of the second stanza, which reads weirdly in Portuguese too, and the shifting verb tenses don't make a lot of sense to me, but I hope you enjoy the poem anyway.

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Interrogação

 
Não sei se isto é amor. Procuro o teu olhar,
Se alguma dor me fere, em busca de um abrigo;
E apesar disso, crê! nunca pensei num lar
Onde fosses feliz, e eu feliz contigo.

Por ti nunca chorei nenhum ideal desfeito.
E nunca te escrevi nenhuns versos românticos.
Nem depois de acordar te procurei no leito
Como a esposa sensual do Cântico dos Cânticos.

Se é amar-te não sei. Não sei se te idealizo
A tua cor sadia, o teu sorriso terno...
Mas sinto-me sorrir de ver esse sorriso
Que me penetra bem, como este sol de Inverno.

Passo contigo a tarde e sempre sem receio
Da luz crepuscular, que enerva, que provoca.
Eu não demoro o olhar na curva do teu seio
Nem me lembrei jamais de te beijar na boca.

Eu não sei se é amor. Será talvez começo...
Eu não sei que mudança a minha alma pressente...
Amor não sei se o é, mas sei que te estremeço,
Que adoecia talvez de te saber doente.

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Interrogation


I don't know if this is love. I seek your gaze,
If any pain wounds me, in search of refuge;
Nevertheless, believe me! I never thought of a home
Where you would be happy, and me happy with you.

For you I never cried an unmade ideal.
And I never wrote you any romantic verses.
Nor after waking up did I seek you in bed
Like the sensual wife of the Song of Songs.

I don't know if this is loving you. I don't know if I idealize you
Your healthy color, your tender smile...
But I feel myself smile to see that smile
That penetrates me so, like this winter sun.

I pass the afternoon with you and always without fear
Of crepuscular light that enervates, provokes.
I do not let my gaze linger on the curve of your breast
Nor did I remember to kiss your mouth.

I don't know if this is love. Maybe the beginning...
I don't know what change my soul foresees...
I don't know that love is what it is, but I know you make me tremble,
That I might have sickened to know you ill.