Poem
António Franco Alexandre
Dwelling Places III (18)
to burn it all is a much simplerprocess. I cover my head with ashes
(not stars) as if in warning.
Here we are at the end
of the world! It’s a sizeable wall, a monument
to ancient wisdom,
and it runs inside us! Meanwhile we pour
ourselves out in all directions, and I know I’m forgetting
the essential thing, that vial of perfume
at day’s end (or was it at night?) when
hands still made us close,
fire was an easy word,
and in us light alone lived.
Terceiras Moradas (18)
Terceiras Moradas (18)
incendiar, sim, é um processomais simples. Cubro a cabeça de cinza
(não de estrelas!), como se fora um aviso.
Eis-nos chegados ao fim
do mundo! É uma parede considerável, um monumento
ao saber mais antigo,
percorre-nos interiormente! E entretanto
entornamo-nos em todos os sentidos, e sei que no meio esqueço
o essencial, esse frasco de perfume
ao descer o dia? ou seria a noite? quando
as mãos ainda nos aproximavam,
o fogo era uma palavra entre todas a mais fácil,
e só, em nós, a luz vivia.
© 1996, António Franco Alexandre
From: Poemas
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim,
From: Poemas
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim,
Poems
Poems of António Franco Alexandre
Close
Dwelling Places III (18)
to burn it all is a much simplerprocess. I cover my head with ashes
(not stars) as if in warning.
Here we are at the end
of the world! It’s a sizeable wall, a monument
to ancient wisdom,
and it runs inside us! Meanwhile we pour
ourselves out in all directions, and I know I’m forgetting
the essential thing, that vial of perfume
at day’s end (or was it at night?) when
hands still made us close,
fire was an easy word,
and in us light alone lived.
From: Poemas
Dwelling Places III (18)
to burn it all is a much simplerprocess. I cover my head with ashes
(not stars) as if in warning.
Here we are at the end
of the world! It’s a sizeable wall, a monument
to ancient wisdom,
and it runs inside us! Meanwhile we pour
ourselves out in all directions, and I know I’m forgetting
the essential thing, that vial of perfume
at day’s end (or was it at night?) when
hands still made us close,
fire was an easy word,
and in us light alone lived.
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère