Poem
Antero de Quental
THE CONVERT
Among the sons of an accursed centuryI took my place at the irreverent table,
Where still was heard, under all the revel,
The moan of a helpless thirst for infinity.
Like the rest, I spat onto the altar
A laugh made of blasphemy and disdain.
But one day my hardness was fatally shaken;
An alarm went off in my repentant heart!
Opening the dam to its pent-up tears,
My lonely soul, sad and weary,
Turned to God, unable to resist!
I shrouded my thinking in Belief;
In forgetting and inertia I found relief. . .
My only doubt is if God exists!
© Translation: 1998, Richard Zenith
O Convertido
O Convertido
Entre os filhos dum século malditoTomei também lugar na ímpia mesa,
Onde, sob o folgar, geme a tristeza
Duma ânsia impotente de infinito.
Como os outros, cuspi no altar avito
Um rir feito de fel e de impureza. . .
Mas, um dia, abalou-se-me a firmeza,
Deu-me rebate o coração contrito!
Erma, cheia de tédio e de quebranto,
Rompendo os diques ao represo pranto,
Virou-se para Deus minha alma triste!
Amortalhei na fé o pensamento,
E achei a paz na inércia e esquecimento. . .
Só me falta saber se Deus existe!
© 1886, Antero de Quental
From: Sonetos
Publisher: IN-CM, Lisbon
From: Sonetos
Publisher: IN-CM, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of Antero de Quental
Close
THE CONVERT
Among the sons of an accursed centuryI took my place at the irreverent table,
Where still was heard, under all the revel,
The moan of a helpless thirst for infinity.
Like the rest, I spat onto the altar
A laugh made of blasphemy and disdain.
But one day my hardness was fatally shaken;
An alarm went off in my repentant heart!
Opening the dam to its pent-up tears,
My lonely soul, sad and weary,
Turned to God, unable to resist!
I shrouded my thinking in Belief;
In forgetting and inertia I found relief. . .
My only doubt is if God exists!
© 1998, Richard Zenith
From: Sonetos
From: Sonetos
THE CONVERT
Among the sons of an accursed centuryI took my place at the irreverent table,
Where still was heard, under all the revel,
The moan of a helpless thirst for infinity.
Like the rest, I spat onto the altar
A laugh made of blasphemy and disdain.
But one day my hardness was fatally shaken;
An alarm went off in my repentant heart!
Opening the dam to its pent-up tears,
My lonely soul, sad and weary,
Turned to God, unable to resist!
I shrouded my thinking in Belief;
In forgetting and inertia I found relief. . .
My only doubt is if God exists!
© 1998, Richard Zenith
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère