Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Paulo Teixeira

Adam

You sit on the threshold of days
with only the politeness of your gestures.
A window opens your life onto the landscape,
cliffs where for a moment your gaze lingers
under the arched vault of the sky, whose eyelids

lower for you at night, before sleep comes.
If only there weren’t the moon, lying
at your side like a corpse! In vain
your arms swing against its gleaming sword
as if dreaming to deny the world around you:

the leaves that break the air to speak with you
an alphabet, the wind that weaves lace
over the sea, a willow that bends
its knee as if for the office of eventide,
and reeds that weigh wishes as they idly bow

to you who arrive and depart, without words,
as an owl’s beak probes the darkness.
Why speak? All is already known to the steps
you shed over the childhood of these paths,
scanning the future in the stars on high.

Why write your name there? No one
will miss you in the certainty of a world
you cannot come back to – you, the guest
of honour at the grand finale of everything,
waiting to join with the rest your ashes in the fire.

Adão

Adão

Estás sentado na soleira dos dias
só com a cortesia dos teus gestos.
Uma janela abra à paisagem a tua vida,
fragas onde repousas um momento o olhar
sob o arco de abóbada do céu, ele que por ti

fecha à noite as pálpebras, antes do sono.
Se pudesses não ser sob a lua, dormindo
a teu lado como um cadáver! Em vão
esgrimem os teus braços a espada da sua luz
como quem sonha negar o mundo à sua volta:

as folhas que instituem para contigo falar
um alfabeto, o vento que se dedica a trabalhos
de renda sobre o mar, um salgueiro que dobra
os joelhos como pelo ofício das tardes
e os juncos que vacilam uma vontade na vénia inútil

a ti que chegas, a ti que partes, sem palavras,
o bico de um mocho indicando as trevas.
Para quê falar? Já tudo sabem esses passos
que derramas sobre a infância dos caminhos,
perscrutando a sina das estrelas no alto.

Para quê inscrever aí o teu nome? Ninguém
sentirá a falta, na certeza de um mundo
a que não podereis regressar, tu, convidado
de honra para assistires ao fim de tudo,
esperas unir aos outros no incêndio as tuas cinzas.
Close

Adam

You sit on the threshold of days
with only the politeness of your gestures.
A window opens your life onto the landscape,
cliffs where for a moment your gaze lingers
under the arched vault of the sky, whose eyelids

lower for you at night, before sleep comes.
If only there weren’t the moon, lying
at your side like a corpse! In vain
your arms swing against its gleaming sword
as if dreaming to deny the world around you:

the leaves that break the air to speak with you
an alphabet, the wind that weaves lace
over the sea, a willow that bends
its knee as if for the office of eventide,
and reeds that weigh wishes as they idly bow

to you who arrive and depart, without words,
as an owl’s beak probes the darkness.
Why speak? All is already known to the steps
you shed over the childhood of these paths,
scanning the future in the stars on high.

Why write your name there? No one
will miss you in the certainty of a world
you cannot come back to – you, the guest
of honour at the grand finale of everything,
waiting to join with the rest your ashes in the fire.

Adam

You sit on the threshold of days
with only the politeness of your gestures.
A window opens your life onto the landscape,
cliffs where for a moment your gaze lingers
under the arched vault of the sky, whose eyelids

lower for you at night, before sleep comes.
If only there weren’t the moon, lying
at your side like a corpse! In vain
your arms swing against its gleaming sword
as if dreaming to deny the world around you:

the leaves that break the air to speak with you
an alphabet, the wind that weaves lace
over the sea, a willow that bends
its knee as if for the office of eventide,
and reeds that weigh wishes as they idly bow

to you who arrive and depart, without words,
as an owl’s beak probes the darkness.
Why speak? All is already known to the steps
you shed over the childhood of these paths,
scanning the future in the stars on high.

Why write your name there? No one
will miss you in the certainty of a world
you cannot come back to – you, the guest
of honour at the grand finale of everything,
waiting to join with the rest your ashes in the fire.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère