Poem
José Miguel Silva
THE BOY WITH GREEN HAIR - JOSEPH LOSEY (1948)
The boy with green hair was me, in the late 70s,fleeing through brambles and gullies while the throng
of jackals chased my sparrowy legs,
and only on a bike could I escape danger, since
the stones, hisses and torments were determined
to teach me basic notions of political philosophy.
I pedaled over tears, back to the open arms
of my own blood, climbing the wall around our yard,
from where I cursed the assassins: sons of bitches!
What happiness, years later, to have ceased being
a coward, to be the hand that slaps and wields the stick,
and to laugh among equals in the row of the anointed:
the first cigarette, the testicle examination. What luck
to see tears fall and those tears not be mine.
© Translation: 2008, Richard Zenith
O RAPAZ DE CABELO VERDE - JOSEPH LOSEY (1948)
O RAPAZ DE CABELO VERDE - JOSEPH LOSEY (1948)
O rapaz de cabelo verde era eu, em finais de setenta,a fugir por entre silvas e valados, quando a turba
dos chacais acometia as minhas pernas de pardal,
e só de bicicleta me tirava eu de apuros, pois
as pedras, os apupos, as polés insistiam em mostrar-me
elementos capitais de filosofia política.
Pedalava sobre lágrimas, de volta para os braços
do meu sangue, trepava para o muro do quintal
e de lá esconjurava os assassinos: filhos de uma puta!
Anos depois — que alegria já não ser o mais
cobarde, ser a mão que traz o pau, a bofetada;
e rir entre os iguais, no renque dos ungidos:
o primeiro cigarro, o exame dos colhões — que sorte
ver as lágrimas cair e não serem as minhas.
© 2005, José Miguel Silva
From: Movimentos no Escuro
Publisher: Relógio d\'Água, Lisbon
From: Movimentos no Escuro
Publisher: Relógio d\'Água, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of José Miguel Silva
Close
THE BOY WITH GREEN HAIR - JOSEPH LOSEY (1948)
The boy with green hair was me, in the late 70s,fleeing through brambles and gullies while the throng
of jackals chased my sparrowy legs,
and only on a bike could I escape danger, since
the stones, hisses and torments were determined
to teach me basic notions of political philosophy.
I pedaled over tears, back to the open arms
of my own blood, climbing the wall around our yard,
from where I cursed the assassins: sons of bitches!
What happiness, years later, to have ceased being
a coward, to be the hand that slaps and wields the stick,
and to laugh among equals in the row of the anointed:
the first cigarette, the testicle examination. What luck
to see tears fall and those tears not be mine.
© 2008, Richard Zenith
From: Movimentos no Escuro
From: Movimentos no Escuro
THE BOY WITH GREEN HAIR - JOSEPH LOSEY (1948)
The boy with green hair was me, in the late 70s,fleeing through brambles and gullies while the throng
of jackals chased my sparrowy legs,
and only on a bike could I escape danger, since
the stones, hisses and torments were determined
to teach me basic notions of political philosophy.
I pedaled over tears, back to the open arms
of my own blood, climbing the wall around our yard,
from where I cursed the assassins: sons of bitches!
What happiness, years later, to have ceased being
a coward, to be the hand that slaps and wields the stick,
and to laugh among equals in the row of the anointed:
the first cigarette, the testicle examination. What luck
to see tears fall and those tears not be mine.
© 2008, Richard Zenith
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère