Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

A. M. Pires Cabral

THE PROSTITUTES

Back then our town
would be visited by prostitutes –
our only recourse,
the perfect answer to our accumulated
seminal anxiety.
They came from Vale da Porca, or from
some equally godforsaken place.
They came with flashy scarves on their heads
and handbags containing the old, sad story:
artless seduction and chronic squalor,
but not mere mercenary vice.
In barnyards, planted between their legs
like kings, we gave them our waters.
To flatter us they tried to time
their feigned orgasms with our own.
They kissed us, saying: so young!
They endured our insults and rude thrusts.
With an experienced (but not surfeited) hand
they guided us in that beautiful and urgent
education that cannot wait,
extending us credit and affection –
those women who were so chaste,
those prostitutes.

AS PROSTITUTAS

AS PROSTITUTAS

Naquele tempo,
elas desciam à vila, as prostitutas –
a única saída,
exactíssima resposta para a nossa
angústia seminal acumulada.
Vinham de Vale da Porca, ou outra
terra assim pasmada.
Traziam na cabeça lenços garridos,
na carteira de mão a triste história:
a sedução primária, a miséria espessa,
mas jamais o vício mercenário.
Nas eiras recebiam nossas águas,
de permeio plantados como reis.
Procuravam lisonjeiras acertar
seu êxtase fingido com o nosso.
Beijavam-nos, diziam: tão novinho!
Suportavam-nos insultos e arremessos.
Com mão experiente (mas não habituada)
guiavam-nos na bela, impreterível,
urgente aprendizagem,
concediam-nos crédito e carinho –
as tão castas mulheres,
as prostitutas.
Close

THE PROSTITUTES

Back then our town
would be visited by prostitutes –
our only recourse,
the perfect answer to our accumulated
seminal anxiety.
They came from Vale da Porca, or from
some equally godforsaken place.
They came with flashy scarves on their heads
and handbags containing the old, sad story:
artless seduction and chronic squalor,
but not mere mercenary vice.
In barnyards, planted between their legs
like kings, we gave them our waters.
To flatter us they tried to time
their feigned orgasms with our own.
They kissed us, saying: so young!
They endured our insults and rude thrusts.
With an experienced (but not surfeited) hand
they guided us in that beautiful and urgent
education that cannot wait,
extending us credit and affection –
those women who were so chaste,
those prostitutes.

THE PROSTITUTES

Back then our town
would be visited by prostitutes –
our only recourse,
the perfect answer to our accumulated
seminal anxiety.
They came from Vale da Porca, or from
some equally godforsaken place.
They came with flashy scarves on their heads
and handbags containing the old, sad story:
artless seduction and chronic squalor,
but not mere mercenary vice.
In barnyards, planted between their legs
like kings, we gave them our waters.
To flatter us they tried to time
their feigned orgasms with our own.
They kissed us, saying: so young!
They endured our insults and rude thrusts.
With an experienced (but not surfeited) hand
they guided us in that beautiful and urgent
education that cannot wait,
extending us credit and affection –
those women who were so chaste,
those prostitutes.
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