Poem
Ruy Belo
ANNIVERSARY MASS
It’s been one year since your stepslast walked in our parish
Where do you who belonged to these fields
whose wheat is again turning ripe
belong now?
What’s your new name?
Can there be a more unusual weekend
than a saturday like this one that never ends?
How do you fill your time
now that all the time ahead of you is free?
What sort of steps might take you
behind the cooing of a dove in our skies?
Why have you never again had a birthday
even though the table is set and waiting for you
and the mulberry trees along the road are in bloom again?
That’s what his voice was like that’s how he talked
says the yellow-flowered broom that grows here
and that saw him walk on the pathways of childhood
next to his first flight of partridges
Now only in our neckties do we take you who are dead
to those paths where you left the mark of your feet
Only in our neckties. Your death
has stopped dressing us up completely
The summer you departed I clearly remember
thinking profound things
It’s summer again. You have ever less place
in this corner of us where every year
we will piously unearth you
Until the death of your death
© Translation: 2005, Richard Zenith
Missa de Aniversário
Missa de Aniversário
Há um ano que os teus gestos andamausentes da nossa freguesia
Tu que eras deste campos
onde de novo a seara amadurece
donde és hoje?
Que nome novo tens?
Haverá mais singular fim de semana
do que um sábado assim que nunca mais tem fim?
Que ocupação é agora a tua
que tens todo o tempo livre à tua frente?
Que passos te levarão atrás
do arrulhar da pomba em nossos céus?
Que te acontece que não mais fizeste anos
embora a mesa posta continue à tua espera
e lá fora na estrada as amoreiras tenham outra vez florido?
Era esta a voz dele assim é que falava
dizem agora as giestas desta
sua terra
que o viram passar nos caminhos da infância
junto ao primeiro voo das perdizes
Já só na gravata te levamos morto àqueles caminhos
onde deixaste a marca dos teus pés
Apenas na gravata. A tua morte
deixou de nos vestir completamente
No verão em que partiste bem me lembro
pensei coisas profundas
É de novo verão. Cada vez tens menos lugar
neste canto de nós donde anualmente
te havemos piedosamente de desenterrar
Até à morte da morte
© 1961, Ruy Belo
From: Todos os Poemas
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim, Lisbon
From: Todos os Poemas
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of Ruy Belo
Close
ANNIVERSARY MASS
It’s been one year since your stepslast walked in our parish
Where do you who belonged to these fields
whose wheat is again turning ripe
belong now?
What’s your new name?
Can there be a more unusual weekend
than a saturday like this one that never ends?
How do you fill your time
now that all the time ahead of you is free?
What sort of steps might take you
behind the cooing of a dove in our skies?
Why have you never again had a birthday
even though the table is set and waiting for you
and the mulberry trees along the road are in bloom again?
That’s what his voice was like that’s how he talked
says the yellow-flowered broom that grows here
and that saw him walk on the pathways of childhood
next to his first flight of partridges
Now only in our neckties do we take you who are dead
to those paths where you left the mark of your feet
Only in our neckties. Your death
has stopped dressing us up completely
The summer you departed I clearly remember
thinking profound things
It’s summer again. You have ever less place
in this corner of us where every year
we will piously unearth you
Until the death of your death
© 2005, Richard Zenith
From: Todos os Poemas
From: Todos os Poemas
ANNIVERSARY MASS
It’s been one year since your stepslast walked in our parish
Where do you who belonged to these fields
whose wheat is again turning ripe
belong now?
What’s your new name?
Can there be a more unusual weekend
than a saturday like this one that never ends?
How do you fill your time
now that all the time ahead of you is free?
What sort of steps might take you
behind the cooing of a dove in our skies?
Why have you never again had a birthday
even though the table is set and waiting for you
and the mulberry trees along the road are in bloom again?
That’s what his voice was like that’s how he talked
says the yellow-flowered broom that grows here
and that saw him walk on the pathways of childhood
next to his first flight of partridges
Now only in our neckties do we take you who are dead
to those paths where you left the mark of your feet
Only in our neckties. Your death
has stopped dressing us up completely
The summer you departed I clearly remember
thinking profound things
It’s summer again. You have ever less place
in this corner of us where every year
we will piously unearth you
Until the death of your death
© 2005, Richard Zenith
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère