Poem
Márcio-André
here from the belly of this whale
here from the belly of this whalethe city is a glittering shoal
and
drummond’s statue has its back to the ocean –
[statues are for people and not for seas]
tending the fish within
to be able to eat them one day
waiting for a woman to emerge from the precision of bones
one day we feel happy in our cetacean garden
and she walks lightly beside me
dreaming of the saddest sunday in the world in the suburbia of the other side
one day we are middle-aged and we drink because there’s no other option
and the crane on the quay will be crushed like a dead insect
facing the thousand strips of the water’s throat
the sea is in the photograph of men not in the dream of statues
© Translation: 2012, Ana Hudson
van hier uit de buik van deze walvis
van hier uit de buik van deze walvisis de stad een glinsterende school vissen
en
het standbeeld van drummond staat met zijn rug naar de oceaan –
[standbeelden zijn voor mensen niet voor de zee]
een vis van binnen opkweken
om hem op een dag te eten
wachtend op een vrouw die opduikt uit de precisie van gebeente
een dag zijn we gelukkig in onze walvistuin
en zij wandelt lichtvoetig aan mijn zijde
de droevigste zondag dromend van de voorstedelijke wereld aan de overkant
een dag zijn we op middelbare leeftijd en drinken we omdat er geen keus is
en de kraan op de kade zal geplet zijn als een dood insect
voor de duizend kieren in de keel der wateren
de zee staat op de foto van de mensen niet in de droom van de standbeelden
© Vertaling: 2012, Arie Pos
aqui do estômago desta baleia
a cidade é um cardume cintilante
e
a estátua de drummond tem as costas ao oceano –
[as estátuas são para os homens não para o mar]
cultivar um peixe por dentro
para um dia comê-lo
esperando uma mulher surgir da precisão da ossada
um dia somos felizes em nosso jardim cetáceo
e ela caminha suavemente ao meu lado
sonhando o domingo mais triste do mundo no subúrbio do lado de lá
um dia estamos na meia idade e bebemos porque não há opção
e o guindaste no cais estará esmagado como um inseto morto
diante das mil falhas na goela das águas
o mar está na foto dos homens não no sonho das estátuas
a cidade é um cardume cintilante
e
a estátua de drummond tem as costas ao oceano –
[as estátuas são para os homens não para o mar]
cultivar um peixe por dentro
para um dia comê-lo
esperando uma mulher surgir da precisão da ossada
um dia somos felizes em nosso jardim cetáceo
e ela caminha suavemente ao meu lado
sonhando o domingo mais triste do mundo no subúrbio do lado de lá
um dia estamos na meia idade e bebemos porque não há opção
e o guindaste no cais estará esmagado como um inseto morto
diante das mil falhas na goela das águas
o mar está na foto dos homens não no sonho das estátuas
© 2012, Márcio-André
Poems
Poems of Márcio-André
Close
here from the belly of this whale
here from the belly of this whalethe city is a glittering shoal
and
drummond’s statue has its back to the ocean –
[statues are for people and not for seas]
tending the fish within
to be able to eat them one day
waiting for a woman to emerge from the precision of bones
one day we feel happy in our cetacean garden
and she walks lightly beside me
dreaming of the saddest sunday in the world in the suburbia of the other side
one day we are middle-aged and we drink because there’s no other option
and the crane on the quay will be crushed like a dead insect
facing the thousand strips of the water’s throat
the sea is in the photograph of men not in the dream of statues
© 2012, Ana Hudson
here from the belly of this whale
here from the belly of this whalethe city is a glittering shoal
and
drummond’s statue has its back to the ocean –
[statues are for people and not for seas]
tending the fish within
to be able to eat them one day
waiting for a woman to emerge from the precision of bones
one day we feel happy in our cetacean garden
and she walks lightly beside me
dreaming of the saddest sunday in the world in the suburbia of the other side
one day we are middle-aged and we drink because there’s no other option
and the crane on the quay will be crushed like a dead insect
facing the thousand strips of the water’s throat
the sea is in the photograph of men not in the dream of statues
© 2012, Ana Hudson
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère