Thursday, October 26, 2023

Alberto Estima de Oliveira — O Diálogo do Silêncio / The Dialogue of Silence 48

Eis o poema final do livro!

I've enjoyed translating these poems, and I hope you've enjoyed reading them. I wish, more for the reader's sake than my own, that I'd been more inclined to do some research into Estima de Oliveira's life and work so as to provide more context for these poems, but I'll settle for making these poems available, not just in English but in Portuguese—I don't know if they've been reprinted since O Diálogo do Silêncio first came out in Macau in 1988.

As always, thanks for reading, caro leitor/a. Muito obrigado.

DAS

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48


a força vem do sul
em turbulência
meridiano em meridiano
antárctida do meu sonho

espero por ti
na mesopotâmia

espaço que criei

nas margens dos rios
dos meus desejos

    no centro
    do universo
    que me deste

    será o encontro

    das lágrimas
    vertidas
    em séculos
    de espera.


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48


the force comes from the south
turbulent
meridian by meridian
antarctica of my dreams

i wait for you
in mesopotamia

the space i created

on the riverbanks
of my desires

    in the center
    of the universe
    that you gave me

    will be the meeting

    of tears
    shed
    through centuries
    of waiting.

Monday, October 23, 2023

Alberto Estima de Oliveira — O Diálogo do Silêncio / The Dialogue of Silence 47

I don't know what to make of this one, y'all. I didn't put a ton of effort into it, to be honest. I'm way behind on this project, and I'm ready for it to be done.

47


envolvo-me
no átomo que sou
no átrio
do castelo

ajeito a manta
dos retalhos que colhi
de todas as luas
embalo-(me)
no sono da vigília
e recolho-(me)
nos martelos do piano
no derradeiro acorde
do concerto
sons da cachoeira
onde me esgoto.

dou sentido
agora
ao fogo que desperta
do tronco rubro
e
volto a reflectir-(me)
a envolver-(me)
na noite.


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47


i get caught up
in the atom i am
in the courtyard
of the castle

i adjust the patchwork
mantle i gathered
from all the moons
wrap (myself)
in waking sleep
and withdraw (myself)
into the piano's hammers
in the final chord
of the concert
sounds of the waterfall
where I run dry.

making sense
now
of the fire arising
from the crimson trunk
and
return to reflect on (myself)
getting (myself) caught up
in the night.