Poem
Antero de Quental
WORDS OF A CERTAIN DEAD MAN
I've been dead for over a millennium,Exposed, on this cliff, to wind and rain:
Not even a ghost has a thinner frame,
And no abortion is more misshapen. . .
Only my spirit lives, absorbed
By a single, inexorable thought:
“Dead and buried in life!” That
Is my torment. . . the rest I ignore.
I know I lived. . . but it was all of a day,
Just one – and the next day Idolatry
Built me an altar. . . Ah! they all bowed
As if I were someone! as if Life
Could be someone! – and then they decided
I was a God. . . and wrapped me in a shroud!
© Translation: 1998, Richard Zenith
Palavras dum Certo Morto
Palavras dum Certo Morto
Há mil anos, e mais, que aqui estou morto,Posto sobre um rochedo à chuva e ao vento:
Não há como eu espectro macilento,
Nem mais disforme que eu nenhum aborto. . .
Só o espírito vive: vela absorto
Num fixo, inexorável pensamento:
«Morto, enterrado em vida!» o meu tormento
É isto só. . . do resto não me importo. . .
Que vivi sei-o eu bem. . . mas foi um dia,
Um dia só – no outro, a Idolatria
Deu-me um altar e um culto. . . ai! adoraram-me,
Como se eu fosse alguém! como se a Vida
Pudesse ser alguém!– logo em seguida
Disseram que era um Deus. . . e amortalharam-me!
© 1886, Antero de Quental
From: Sonetos
Publisher: IN-CM, Lisbon
From: Sonetos
Publisher: IN-CM, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of Antero de Quental
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WORDS OF A CERTAIN DEAD MAN
I've been dead for over a millennium,Exposed, on this cliff, to wind and rain:
Not even a ghost has a thinner frame,
And no abortion is more misshapen. . .
Only my spirit lives, absorbed
By a single, inexorable thought:
“Dead and buried in life!” That
Is my torment. . . the rest I ignore.
I know I lived. . . but it was all of a day,
Just one – and the next day Idolatry
Built me an altar. . . Ah! they all bowed
As if I were someone! as if Life
Could be someone! – and then they decided
I was a God. . . and wrapped me in a shroud!
© 1998, Richard Zenith
From: Sonetos
From: Sonetos
WORDS OF A CERTAIN DEAD MAN
I've been dead for over a millennium,Exposed, on this cliff, to wind and rain:
Not even a ghost has a thinner frame,
And no abortion is more misshapen. . .
Only my spirit lives, absorbed
By a single, inexorable thought:
“Dead and buried in life!” That
Is my torment. . . the rest I ignore.
I know I lived. . . but it was all of a day,
Just one – and the next day Idolatry
Built me an altar. . . Ah! they all bowed
As if I were someone! as if Life
Could be someone! – and then they decided
I was a God. . . and wrapped me in a shroud!
© 1998, Richard Zenith
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