Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gastão Cruz

COOL LEMONS

Each time we came to the house
of our long dead great grandparents
who had chosen for it
a place in the purity
of absolute earth
as
spring was just beginning
and grandmother would greet the swallows
as if they were the same
returning from the previous year
and the buzzing of the beetles would make me
feel that something was changing
in my days and summer
would be rising and the afternoon heat would swell
my adolescent sex
and before going back to shaking down the almonds
my young uncle in a silence of sweat would be lying asleep
each time we would see
cool lemons
dropping from their tree

OS LIMÕES FRIOS

OS LIMÕES FRIOS

De cada vez que vínhamos à casa
dos bisavós longinquamente mortos
que para ela tinham escolhido
um lugar na pureza
da terra absoluta
quando
principiava a primavera
e a avó saudava as andorinhas
como se no regresso
do ano anterior as mesmas fossem
e o sopro dos besouros me fazia
sentir que qualquer coisa novamente mudara
nos meus dias e o verão
subia e o calor da tarde intumescia
o sexo adolescente
e antes de regressar ao varejo da amêndoa
num silêncio de suor o jovem tio dormia
de cada vez nós víamos
da árvore desprenderem-se
os limões frios
Close

COOL LEMONS

Each time we came to the house
of our long dead great grandparents
who had chosen for it
a place in the purity
of absolute earth
as
spring was just beginning
and grandmother would greet the swallows
as if they were the same
returning from the previous year
and the buzzing of the beetles would make me
feel that something was changing
in my days and summer
would be rising and the afternoon heat would swell
my adolescent sex
and before going back to shaking down the almonds
my young uncle in a silence of sweat would be lying asleep
each time we would see
cool lemons
dropping from their tree

COOL LEMONS

Each time we came to the house
of our long dead great grandparents
who had chosen for it
a place in the purity
of absolute earth
as
spring was just beginning
and grandmother would greet the swallows
as if they were the same
returning from the previous year
and the buzzing of the beetles would make me
feel that something was changing
in my days and summer
would be rising and the afternoon heat would swell
my adolescent sex
and before going back to shaking down the almonds
my young uncle in a silence of sweat would be lying asleep
each time we would see
cool lemons
dropping from their tree
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère