CIRCULAR TIME

In the leafed shadows of our footsteps
under a mantle of cloud, the day darkened; Autumn
crafted and wiped out new and ephemeral
constellations, and by the window, reaching out to distant
snow dusted peaks robed in sweet suffering dew,
our eyes grew old; our memories and those
we loved weaved a forgotten word; and life,
ever returning, and ever falling, seemed to vanish
like foam or a brief remembrance, an ice block,
transparent, shaping and changing the faces of time, or
like a shattering of fragile wings, were the geese
to try and grab it in full flight.
 
But it was precisely because the passing of the years
weighing on us was coming back or disappearing, that the lands and
the valleys were heard sighing, were allowed to leave the grains of sand
on their face, like long ago in Connemara; nature
seemed to be about to transform, our shadow was
about to disappear; the snow was falling, kept falling, the yew snow
letting the snow through; and Winter arrived with
its roots dipped in water, and the turn of the year
went yet fortuitously round the heath,
through Spring, and Summer; another breath of its spirit like
a geranium whose petals drew an incessant, invisible path, and fell
into the crater of innocence of those who live, of those who die.
 

TEMPO CIRCULAR

TEMPO CIRCULAR

Na sombra das folhas de nossos passos
sob um manto de nuvens o dia escureceu; o Outono
gerou e apagou novas e efémeras
constelações, e à janela, olhando os cumes nevados ao
longe envoltos no orvalho de um doce sofrimento,
nossos olhos envelheceram; as nossas lembranças e aqueles
que amámos teceram palavras esquecidas; e a vida,
seguindo e caindo sem fim, pareceu apagar-se
como espuma numa recordação fugaz, um bloco de gelo,
transparente, esculpindo e transformando os aspectos do tempo ou
que os gansos agarravam com as asas as frágeis
penas do seu ser, as faziam estilhaçar.
 
Mas era justamente por os anos passados pesarem
sobre nós, voltarem, ou desaparerem, que as terras e os
vales se sentia que suspiravam, que marcavam grãos de areia
no rosto, como outrora em Connemara; que se sentia que a natureza
estava prestes a transformar-se, que a nossa sombra estava
prestes a desaparecer; que a neve caía, ia caindo, a neve dos teixos
deixando passar a neve; e que o Inverno chegava com
as suas raízes escoradas pela água, e que a ronda do ano
dava outra volta fortuita na charneca, outra volta
na Primavera e no Verão; outro sopro do seu espírito, como um
gerânio que as pétalas desenham num curso incessante, invisível, e caíssem
na cratera da inocência, dos que vivem, dos que morrem.