THE WAR

Who remembers love afterwards . . .
in the swelling of the setting sun?
 
The positions were already set.
A war between wind and the end of the world.
The one who has no space at all
comes to his fate at the palings.
 
Without water
Without a boat.
The boat without mountains,
Without rowing, pursuing pumas.
 
The family of that girl was far, far off.
Desolate, drunk from the river and without children.
 
How to cling to the one
who divides the portions of the earth?
 
Girl of time.
In her own eyes, her beauty was in vain,
but she put it on.
 
***
 
The cicadas of that warm afternoon were singing:
She, who will not forget her land
for anyone other than her children.

DE OORLOG

Wie herinnert later de liefde . . .
in de maximale lengte van de ondergaande zon?
 
De posities stonden al vast.
De oorlog tussen de wind en het einde van de wereld.
Wie geen enkele ruimte heeft
wreekt zijn lot op de palen.
 
Zonder water
Zonder boot.
De boot zonder bergen,
zonder te roeien en zonder poema’s te volgen.
 
De familie van het meisje was ver.
Woestenij, drinkende rivier, kinderloos.
 
Hoe haar te grijpen
die de stukken land verdeelt?
 
Meisje van de tijd.
Haar schoonheid was ijdel in haar eigen ogen,
maar kleedde haar.
 
***
 
De krekels van die warme middag zongen:
Zij die haar land niet zal vergeten
aan iemand anders dan haar kinderen.

A GUERRA

Quem lembra o amor depois . . .
no comprimento máximo do sol ao se por?
 
As posições já estavam estabelecidas.
A guerra entre o vento e o fim do mundo.
Aquele que não tem espaço algum
vinga a sua sina nas estacas.
 
Sem água
Sem bote.
O bote sem montanhas,
Sem remar e seguir pumas.
 
A família daquela moça era longínqua.
Descampada, bebida de rio e sem filhos.
 
Como agarrar aquela
que divisa as partes da terra?
 
Moça do tempo.
Sua beleza era vã aos seus próprios olhos,
mas a vestia.
 
***
 
Cantavam as cigarras daquela tarde quente:
Ela, que não esquecerá sua terra
a outro que não os filhos.