Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Vasco Graça Moura

a dog for pompei

rather than a pair of embracing lovers i propose
a dog from pompei. one that was no doubt
frolicking next to the forum, in search of a bone,
when friskier vesuvius caught and molded him

into pumice-stone. i insist
on seeing him as a scrawny, neglected creature
for whom poverty was a way of life. he skipped
through peristyles, a stranger to luxury, to corruption

to astrology, and no poisoned morsel ever befell him
from the triclinia, he never became
a symbolic animal or barking myth.
he was never found in any excavation, but we summon him now.

he was just a dog, un chien, who had fleas and
raised his paw like all dogs
and yelped and bit when necessary.
he lived for today and, faun of street corners, for bitches in heat.

a sign no doubt read cave canem in tiny tesserae,
making no mark in history, surviving only
in expurgated books in latin, mixed up
with the gallic wars and a few names of gods.

i sing of a dog without fable or pedigree, who didn’t escape fate,
an ordinary mutt belonging, let’s say, to pliny
the elder, who happens to have died nearby,
perhaps screaming, a few days later.

“you’re so cerebral,” said vexed and golden-haired chloe.
“yes,” i replied cautiously, “but so are a lot of other people.
and love and death have always been ponderable.”
“besides,” i added, “what harm does it do the dog?”

um cão para pompeia

um cão para pompeia

aos amantes enlaçados contraponho
um cão de pompeia, decerto ele andaria
a brincar junto ao forum, à cata de algum osso,
quando o vesúvio o caçou, mais lesto,

para moldá-lo em pedra-pomes.
insisto em vê-lo como um bicho magro e descuidado,
de penúria diuturna. passou de leve
pelos peristilos, alheio ao luxo, à corrupção,

à astrologia, e nunca dos triclínios
lhe caiu um naco envenenado, nunca se tornou
nem animal simbólico, nem mito que ganisse.
nunca foi encontrado nas escavações, mas é para aqui chamado.

era um cão, just a dog, com pulgas e
que alçava a perna como todos os cães
e ladrava e mordia quando era preciso.
fazia pela vida e, fauno das esquinas, pelas cadelas no cio.

alguma tabuleta diria cave canem em tésseras minúsculas,
sem alaridos da história, e só sobreviveu
nos livros de latim expurgados, misturada
com a guerra das gálias e alguns nomes de deuses.

eu canto um cão sem fábula nem pedigree, que não fugiu aos fados,
um rafeiro vulgar, digamos, de plínio
o velho que, a propósito, morreu perto dali,
talvez uivando, uns dias depois dele.

“você é um cerebral”, disse-me cloé, flava e enervada.
“sim”, disse-lhe eu com prudência, “mas há tantos.
e o amor e a morte sempre foram pensáveis”.
e acrescentei “e depois? que mal faz isso ao cão?”
Close

a dog for pompei

rather than a pair of embracing lovers i propose
a dog from pompei. one that was no doubt
frolicking next to the forum, in search of a bone,
when friskier vesuvius caught and molded him

into pumice-stone. i insist
on seeing him as a scrawny, neglected creature
for whom poverty was a way of life. he skipped
through peristyles, a stranger to luxury, to corruption

to astrology, and no poisoned morsel ever befell him
from the triclinia, he never became
a symbolic animal or barking myth.
he was never found in any excavation, but we summon him now.

he was just a dog, un chien, who had fleas and
raised his paw like all dogs
and yelped and bit when necessary.
he lived for today and, faun of street corners, for bitches in heat.

a sign no doubt read cave canem in tiny tesserae,
making no mark in history, surviving only
in expurgated books in latin, mixed up
with the gallic wars and a few names of gods.

i sing of a dog without fable or pedigree, who didn’t escape fate,
an ordinary mutt belonging, let’s say, to pliny
the elder, who happens to have died nearby,
perhaps screaming, a few days later.

“you’re so cerebral,” said vexed and golden-haired chloe.
“yes,” i replied cautiously, “but so are a lot of other people.
and love and death have always been ponderable.”
“besides,” i added, “what harm does it do the dog?”

a dog for pompei

rather than a pair of embracing lovers i propose
a dog from pompei. one that was no doubt
frolicking next to the forum, in search of a bone,
when friskier vesuvius caught and molded him

into pumice-stone. i insist
on seeing him as a scrawny, neglected creature
for whom poverty was a way of life. he skipped
through peristyles, a stranger to luxury, to corruption

to astrology, and no poisoned morsel ever befell him
from the triclinia, he never became
a symbolic animal or barking myth.
he was never found in any excavation, but we summon him now.

he was just a dog, un chien, who had fleas and
raised his paw like all dogs
and yelped and bit when necessary.
he lived for today and, faun of street corners, for bitches in heat.

a sign no doubt read cave canem in tiny tesserae,
making no mark in history, surviving only
in expurgated books in latin, mixed up
with the gallic wars and a few names of gods.

i sing of a dog without fable or pedigree, who didn’t escape fate,
an ordinary mutt belonging, let’s say, to pliny
the elder, who happens to have died nearby,
perhaps screaming, a few days later.

“you’re so cerebral,” said vexed and golden-haired chloe.
“yes,” i replied cautiously, “but so are a lot of other people.
and love and death have always been ponderable.”
“besides,” i added, “what harm does it do the dog?”
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