Poem
Ruy Cinatti
PAX LUSITANICA
Well, if I remember right it was bad enoughhaving to give myself to Greeks and Trojans.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough! Those
strutting thugs, those
tiny worms in Sunday-best all week
and then flat-broke on Sundays.
Odysseus’ Greeks, well, fine, O.K., a flame
burning on the homeland\'s altar.
Trojans . . . there’s Aeneas, pious guy,
lugging all his people on his back.
Of Portugal, nothing’s said, not even the name Da Gama.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
I’d like to see myself among Tahitian girls,
Cunning Titiro, a seller of flutes,
living with them in soothed familiarity.
I’d like to give myself to Circe, get bewitched
in symbolic caverns
suffering no dearth of provender,
with a simulacrum, the vision of a dog fettered
by smell to the warm flesh.
Penelope has waited so long for me
she can, like Lisbon, wait a little longer.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
My affairs in order, I’d like to see
if I’ve got it right.
Against Odysseus, I’d like to be a Trojan.
I’d like to have
my trip for free, an end that dignifies,
a toga, a palace . . . all that might
justify
my precarious existence
marked by treason, dread,
the pilot dead, by the dreamer, fire, an alligator
tear . . .
True, there is a Lusitanian smell . . .
I am a Roman.
What I promise, I never do.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh!, not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
© Translation: 2009, Alexis Levitin
PAX LUSITANICA
PAX LUSITANICA
Ora se bem me lembro bem bastavater que me dar a gregos e troianos.
Mas dar-me a americanos, russos
e chineses, arre! isso não, que bem me bastam
os portugueses! Esses facínoras de pé na mão, esses
minhocas endomingados na semana
e tesos ao domingo.
Gregos de Ulisses, vale é uma chama
acesa no altar da pátria.
Troianos . . . há Eneias, piedoso,
acartando nas costas o seu povo.
De Portugal, não se fala, nem do Gama.
Mas dar-me a americanos, russos
e chineses, arre! isso não, que bem me bastam
os portugueses!
Quero ver-me é entre tahitianas,
Titiro manhoso, vendedor de flautas
e com elas convívio amenizado.
Quero é dar-me a Circe, enfeitiçar-me
em cavernas simbólicas
onde não faltem os sobresselentes,
o simulacro, o ver de cão travado
pelo cheiro a carne quente.
Penélope esperou-me tanto tempo
que pode esperar mais, como Lisboa.
Mas dar-me a americanos, russos
e chineses, arre! isso não, que bem me bastam
os portugueses!
Acertadas as contas, quero ver
se não me engano.
Contra Ulisses, eu quero ser troiano.
Quero ter
viagem paga, um fim que dignifique,
uma toga, um palácio . . . tudo o que
justifique
minha precária existência
marcada pela traição, pelo pavor
piloto morto, pelo sonhador, pelo incêndio, pela lágrima
de aligator . . .
Verdade, que há um cheiro lusitano . . .
Sou romano.
Aquilo que prometo nunca faço.
Mas dar-me a americanos, russos
e chineses, arre! isso não, que bem
me bastam os portugueses!
© 1971, Ruy Cinatti
From: Memória Descritiva
Publisher: Portugália, Lisbon
From: Memória Descritiva
Publisher: Portugália, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of Ruy Cinatti
Close
PAX LUSITANICA
Well, if I remember right it was bad enoughhaving to give myself to Greeks and Trojans.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough! Those
strutting thugs, those
tiny worms in Sunday-best all week
and then flat-broke on Sundays.
Odysseus’ Greeks, well, fine, O.K., a flame
burning on the homeland\'s altar.
Trojans . . . there’s Aeneas, pious guy,
lugging all his people on his back.
Of Portugal, nothing’s said, not even the name Da Gama.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
I’d like to see myself among Tahitian girls,
Cunning Titiro, a seller of flutes,
living with them in soothed familiarity.
I’d like to give myself to Circe, get bewitched
in symbolic caverns
suffering no dearth of provender,
with a simulacrum, the vision of a dog fettered
by smell to the warm flesh.
Penelope has waited so long for me
she can, like Lisbon, wait a little longer.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
My affairs in order, I’d like to see
if I’ve got it right.
Against Odysseus, I’d like to be a Trojan.
I’d like to have
my trip for free, an end that dignifies,
a toga, a palace . . . all that might
justify
my precarious existence
marked by treason, dread,
the pilot dead, by the dreamer, fire, an alligator
tear . . .
True, there is a Lusitanian smell . . .
I am a Roman.
What I promise, I never do.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh!, not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
© 2009, Alexis Levitin
From: Memória Descritiva
From: Memória Descritiva
PAX LUSITANICA
Well, if I remember right it was bad enoughhaving to give myself to Greeks and Trojans.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough! Those
strutting thugs, those
tiny worms in Sunday-best all week
and then flat-broke on Sundays.
Odysseus’ Greeks, well, fine, O.K., a flame
burning on the homeland\'s altar.
Trojans . . . there’s Aeneas, pious guy,
lugging all his people on his back.
Of Portugal, nothing’s said, not even the name Da Gama.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
I’d like to see myself among Tahitian girls,
Cunning Titiro, a seller of flutes,
living with them in soothed familiarity.
I’d like to give myself to Circe, get bewitched
in symbolic caverns
suffering no dearth of provender,
with a simulacrum, the vision of a dog fettered
by smell to the warm flesh.
Penelope has waited so long for me
she can, like Lisbon, wait a little longer.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh! not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
My affairs in order, I’d like to see
if I’ve got it right.
Against Odysseus, I’d like to be a Trojan.
I’d like to have
my trip for free, an end that dignifies,
a toga, a palace . . . all that might
justify
my precarious existence
marked by treason, dread,
the pilot dead, by the dreamer, fire, an alligator
tear . . .
True, there is a Lusitanian smell . . .
I am a Roman.
What I promise, I never do.
But to give myself to Americans, Russians,
and Chinese, arghh!, not that, the Portuguese
are bad enough!
© 2009, Alexis Levitin
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