Poem
Antero de Quental
REDEMPTION
IVoices of trees, the wind, the sea!
When, in certain sorrowful dreams,
I’m lulled by your powerful melodies,
I sense that you’re distraught, like me.
Twilight words and secret breath
Of speechless things, mysterious psalm,
Wispy grieving, are you not
The world’s sighing and lament?
A spirit inhabits the immensity:
A cruel yearning to be free
Makes the fleeting forms rave.
I understand your strange tongues,
Voices of seas, mountains, jungles. . .
My soul’s sisters – souls enslaved!
II
Don’t cry, seas and trees and winds,
Ancient chorus of strident voices
Chanting ageless, mournful verses
Like a dirge of mortuary worms. . .
One day you will finally leave
The shade of twilight visions, emerging
Radiant from that dream and those yearnings
Born of all that makes you grieve.
Souls still in the limbo of existence,
One day you'll awake, in Consciousness,
Hovering already as pure thought.
You’ll see Forms, daughters of Illusion,
Crumble like a dream’s confusions. . .
And never again will you be distraught.
© Translation: 1998, Richard Zenith
Redemption
Redemption
IVozes do mar, das árvores, do vento!
Quando às vezes, num sonho doloroso,
Me embala o vosso canto poderoso,
Eu julgo igual ao meu vosso tormento. . .
Verbo crepuscular e íntimo alento
Das cousas mudas; salmo misterioso;
Não serás tu, queixume vaporoso,
O suspiro do mundo e o seu lamento?
Um espírito habita a imensidade:
Uma ânsia cruel de liberdade
Agita e abala as formas fugitivas.
E eu compreendo a vossa língua estranha,
Vozes do mar, da selva, da montanha. . .
Almas irmãs da minha, almas cativas!
II
Não choreis, ventos, árvores e mares,
Coro antigo de vozes rumorosas,
Das vozes primitivas, dolorosas
Como um pranto de larvas tumulares. . .
Da sombra das visões crepusculares
Rompendo, um dia, surgireis radiosas
Desse sonho e essas ânsias afrontosas,
Que exprimem vossas queixas singulares. . .
Almas no limbo ainda da existência,
Acordareis um dia na Consciência,
E pairando, já puro pensamento,
Vereis as Formas, filhas da Ilusão,
Cair desfeitas, como um sonho vão. . .
E acabará por fim vosso tormento.
© 1886, Antero de Quental
From: Sonetos
Publisher: IN-CM, Lisbon
From: Sonetos
Publisher: IN-CM, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of Antero de Quental
Close
REDEMPTION
IVoices of trees, the wind, the sea!
When, in certain sorrowful dreams,
I’m lulled by your powerful melodies,
I sense that you’re distraught, like me.
Twilight words and secret breath
Of speechless things, mysterious psalm,
Wispy grieving, are you not
The world’s sighing and lament?
A spirit inhabits the immensity:
A cruel yearning to be free
Makes the fleeting forms rave.
I understand your strange tongues,
Voices of seas, mountains, jungles. . .
My soul’s sisters – souls enslaved!
II
Don’t cry, seas and trees and winds,
Ancient chorus of strident voices
Chanting ageless, mournful verses
Like a dirge of mortuary worms. . .
One day you will finally leave
The shade of twilight visions, emerging
Radiant from that dream and those yearnings
Born of all that makes you grieve.
Souls still in the limbo of existence,
One day you'll awake, in Consciousness,
Hovering already as pure thought.
You’ll see Forms, daughters of Illusion,
Crumble like a dream’s confusions. . .
And never again will you be distraught.
© 1998, Richard Zenith
From: Sonetos
From: Sonetos
REDEMPTION
IVoices of trees, the wind, the sea!
When, in certain sorrowful dreams,
I’m lulled by your powerful melodies,
I sense that you’re distraught, like me.
Twilight words and secret breath
Of speechless things, mysterious psalm,
Wispy grieving, are you not
The world’s sighing and lament?
A spirit inhabits the immensity:
A cruel yearning to be free
Makes the fleeting forms rave.
I understand your strange tongues,
Voices of seas, mountains, jungles. . .
My soul’s sisters – souls enslaved!
II
Don’t cry, seas and trees and winds,
Ancient chorus of strident voices
Chanting ageless, mournful verses
Like a dirge of mortuary worms. . .
One day you will finally leave
The shade of twilight visions, emerging
Radiant from that dream and those yearnings
Born of all that makes you grieve.
Souls still in the limbo of existence,
One day you'll awake, in Consciousness,
Hovering already as pure thought.
You’ll see Forms, daughters of Illusion,
Crumble like a dream’s confusions. . .
And never again will you be distraught.
© 1998, Richard Zenith
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