Maria Elsa da Rocha - "Goa, esse teu sari" / "Goa, that sari of yours"

好久不見, caros leitores. It's been a hell of a summer, mostly in a bad way, but I'll get into that another time, maybe. For now, I give you a poem by Goan teacher and writer Maria Elsa da Rocha (1924-2005). Primarily an author of short stories, a collection of which has been translated from Portuguese to English by Paul Melo e Castro, some of her poems appeared in Goa's shrinking post-1961 Portuguese newspapers. The  poem "Goa, esse teu sari" appeared in the Margão newspaper A Vida on July 15, 1963, according to Cielo Festino, who asked me to translate this in the first place. I'll probably translate the others found in the Archive of Goan Writing in Portuguese in the near future, despite the fall looking to be no less eventful than the summer.

Abraço,
DAS

-----

"Goa, esse teu sari"
Maria Elsa da Rocha

Goa,
bebe a luz
do facho da Liberdade
a longos haustos
se os quiseres.
Mas filha,
dá antes um jeitinho
às pregas desse teu sari
desarranjado.

Se quiseres,
põe carmim
nessa tua boca,
pálida e sofredora.
Mas disfarça um nadinha
nas dobras do pallav
o alvoroço
que te vai a alma.

Se quiseres,
vai,
mistura-te na manhã
e azula
o sonho sidéreo
do Vagueri sonhador...

Depois,
devagarinho
arrastando o sari
verde lentejoilando,
junto ao espelho do Mandovi,
empoa-te, filha,
na doirada poeira
que jorra
desse poente
incandescente.

À noite,
se quiseres,
inda podes brincar,
alegre,
cozendo ao sari
de cacimba-húmida
a leitosa espuma
da cascata sempre a dar...

Mas menina,
sê cautelosa!
manda a brisa, tua amiga,
dizer ao velho Himalaia
que cerre a cortina dos Gates,
que ventos insólitos
te podem arrancar
com fúria libidinosa,
gananciosa
pedaços
desse teu pobre manto...


-----


"Goa, that sari of yours"
Maria Elsa da Rocha

Goa,
drink the light
of Freedom's torch
in long gulps
if you want.
But girl,
first fix
the creases in that disheveled
sari of yours.

If you want,
put some rouge
on that mouth of yours,
pale and suffering.
But try a little to hide
the disturbance in your soul
in the folds of your pallav.

If you want,
go
mingle yourself with the morning
and paint
the celestial dream
of dreaming Vagueri blue...

Then,
slowly
dragging your
sequined green sari
along the mirror of the Mandovi,
powder yourself, daughter,
with the golden dust
that gushes from
that incandescent
sunset.

At night,
if you want,
you can still play,
joyous,
sewing the milky foam
of the endless waterfall
to your sari
made of fog...

But be careful,
child!
Have your friend the breeze
tell the old Himalayas
to close the curtains of the Ghats,
for strange winds
might snatch away
with lusty, greedy
fury
pieces
of your shabby garment...