Feliz Natal, dudes. Here's a translation of Camilo Pessanha's "Crepuscular," which has nothing to do with Christmas but at least has some imagery vaguely applicable to the season. I'd write a bit more about it, but Mithras' birthday demands my attention.
As always, it's a work in progress, but I hope you dig it anyway.
Até já!
Crepuscular
Há no ambiente um murmúrio de queixume,
De desejos de amor, d’ais comprimidos...
Uma ternura esparsa de balidos,
Sente-se esmorecer como um perfume.
As madressilvas murcham nos silvados
E o aroma que exalam pelo espaço,
Tem delíquios de gozo e de cansaço,
Nervosos, femininos, delicados,
Sentem-se espasmos, agonias d’ave,
Inapreensíveis, mínimas, serenas...
— Tenho entre as mãos as tuas mãos pequenas,
O meu olhar no teu olhar suave.
As tuas mãos tão brancas d’anemia...
Os teus olhos tão meigos de tristeza...
— É este enlanguescer da natureza,
Este vago sofrer do fim do dia.
---
Crepuscular
There's a murmur of sighs in the air,
Of love's desires, of stifled cries...
A sparse tenderness, bleating,
Fading away like perfume.
The honeysuckle withers among the brambles
And the scent it gives off
Is dizzy with joy and fatigue,
Nervous, feminine, delicate,
Spasms, a bird's agonies,
Elusive, tiny, serene...
— I have your small hands between my hands,
My eyes on your soft eyes.
Your hands so white with anemia...
Your eyes so meek with sadness...
— This is nature growing languid,
The vague suffering of the waning day.
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