Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Teixeira de Pascoaes

APOLLO

From distant smoke and haze
Ethereal and vaporous blue,
Dizzying, the splendor
Of a flame arises.
There are bonfires burning
Shadowed distances:
They will say all turns to flame touched by our gaze.

A fire of mad ecstasy
Burns all of space.
Extinguished, it is stone,
Man, a grove of trees.
I see a brilliance grace
The Blue, looming like a lily on a lonely hill.
I see a beam of light take on the contours of a rock.

I see the burning up of everything;
And feel the great sun
Crackling as it sears,
Burning there within my blood;
And gleaming in a blossoming trunk,
In the voice of the nightingale,
Pouring over the earth in endless tears.

I focus on the light:
I rise in the radiant sweep
The image of this world
Gives other worlds;
And it is clear to me how deep
It is I drop
When my being floods the mighty flood of night.

Your lyre, grown mute,
Apollo, is the night.
And day’s the pure and holy
Sound it breathes.
Hearing it, on the open plains,
The wheat grows ripe;
The lily laughs at daybreak, at evening the water speaks.

I have an astral sense
Able to discern
Your joyous song
Of mystic harmony.
My dream would be
To translate into verse
Your song of light that turns all worlds to ecstasy.

Apolo

Apolo

Dos fumos da distância,
Etéreos e azulados,
Surge, vertiginoso,
Um resplendor de chama.
Há fogueiras queimando
Os longes ensombrados;
Dir-se-á que o nosso olhar tudo o que toca inflama.

Abrasa todo o espaço
Um fogo de delírio;
Ao apagar-se, é pedra,
É homem e arvoredo.
Vejo um clarão, no Azul,
Que, em ermo outeiro, é lírio.
Vejo um raio tomar as formas dum penedo.

Vejo o incêndio de tudo;
E sinto o grande sol
Crepitar no meu sangue,
Arder dentro de mim;
Fulgir num tronco em flor,
Na voz do rouxinol,
Derramar-se, na terra, em lágrimas sem fim.

Concentro-me na luz;
Subo na claridade
Que a imagem deste mundo
Aos outros mundos leva;
E vejo bem que desço
A uma profundidade,
Quando meu ser alaga a inundação da treva.

A noite é a tua lira,
Apolo, que emudece.
O dia é o som divino
E puro que ela exala.
Ouvindo-o, na planície,
O trigo amadurece;
O lírio ri, na aurora; à tarde, a água fala.

Tenho um sentido astral,
Que sabe distinguir
Tua alegre canção
De mística harmonia.
Meu sonho era poder,
Em versos, traduzir
Teu cântico de luz que os mundos extasia.
Close

APOLLO

From distant smoke and haze
Ethereal and vaporous blue,
Dizzying, the splendor
Of a flame arises.
There are bonfires burning
Shadowed distances:
They will say all turns to flame touched by our gaze.

A fire of mad ecstasy
Burns all of space.
Extinguished, it is stone,
Man, a grove of trees.
I see a brilliance grace
The Blue, looming like a lily on a lonely hill.
I see a beam of light take on the contours of a rock.

I see the burning up of everything;
And feel the great sun
Crackling as it sears,
Burning there within my blood;
And gleaming in a blossoming trunk,
In the voice of the nightingale,
Pouring over the earth in endless tears.

I focus on the light:
I rise in the radiant sweep
The image of this world
Gives other worlds;
And it is clear to me how deep
It is I drop
When my being floods the mighty flood of night.

Your lyre, grown mute,
Apollo, is the night.
And day’s the pure and holy
Sound it breathes.
Hearing it, on the open plains,
The wheat grows ripe;
The lily laughs at daybreak, at evening the water speaks.

I have an astral sense
Able to discern
Your joyous song
Of mystic harmony.
My dream would be
To translate into verse
Your song of light that turns all worlds to ecstasy.

APOLLO

From distant smoke and haze
Ethereal and vaporous blue,
Dizzying, the splendor
Of a flame arises.
There are bonfires burning
Shadowed distances:
They will say all turns to flame touched by our gaze.

A fire of mad ecstasy
Burns all of space.
Extinguished, it is stone,
Man, a grove of trees.
I see a brilliance grace
The Blue, looming like a lily on a lonely hill.
I see a beam of light take on the contours of a rock.

I see the burning up of everything;
And feel the great sun
Crackling as it sears,
Burning there within my blood;
And gleaming in a blossoming trunk,
In the voice of the nightingale,
Pouring over the earth in endless tears.

I focus on the light:
I rise in the radiant sweep
The image of this world
Gives other worlds;
And it is clear to me how deep
It is I drop
When my being floods the mighty flood of night.

Your lyre, grown mute,
Apollo, is the night.
And day’s the pure and holy
Sound it breathes.
Hearing it, on the open plains,
The wheat grows ripe;
The lily laughs at daybreak, at evening the water speaks.

I have an astral sense
Able to discern
Your joyous song
Of mystic harmony.
My dream would be
To translate into verse
Your song of light that turns all worlds to ecstasy.
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