Emigrant
Every afternoon/evening the sunset [poente] folds
your thumb [polegar] over the island
And from the sunset to the thumb
grows
a progress of dead stone
That the Peninsula
Still drinks
In the cup of the colony [‘colonia’ is also a kind of tenant-farmer / landlord contract]
All the blood of your pilgrim body
But when (that) your voice
Will be / Should be a wave on the guitar of the beach
And the earth of the face And the face of the earth
Holds out the palm of the hand
Of/from the maritime fringe/edge of the island
Of/from bread & bread made [ie. palm of hand is made of all these things above]
You will bring together the last hunger
to your first hunger
From above / on-high will come
faces-and-prows-of-not-voyage
so herb so mercuro [can’t find an explanation of this – my guess is mercurio – mercury]
Tears/Rips the crosses from your body
The cry/shout of (the) mothers takes you
Now
To the seventh corner
where the island is shipwrecked
where the island celebrates/parties
Your pain of a daughter
And your pain of a parturient woman [parturiente]
That the whole / all departure [partida] Is potency in death
the whole / all return Is infancy that spells [ie. spells out, letter by letter]
We already don’t [ie. We no longer) wait for / expect (the) metabolism
Pap/pulp [polme] of good fruit fruit of good pulp [polpa]
The earth
inhales
your green [falo = phallus, but also related to ‘speech’]
And before your foot
is [should be – subjunctive]
[a] tree on the hill
And your hand
Sing[s]
[a] new moon in my belly
Go And plant
in the mouth of dead Amílcar [Amilcar Cabral, nationalist politician assassinated in ’73?]
This fistful of watercress
And resolve/explain from goal to goal
a phonetics of freshness
And with the commas of the street/road
With the syllables from door to door
You will sweep before the night
The paths that go
to [as far as] the nocturnal schools
That the whole / all departure is an alphabet that grows
the whole / all return is a nation that spells [as above]
Await you [subject follows]
the dogs and the piglets
from/of the house of Chota
which in the yard become thin from morabeza [this is a CV word for a special ‘warm welcome’ – national characteristic they’re proud of]
Await you
the cups And the semantics of taverns
Await you
the animals/brutes/beasts
gagging on applause and sugar cane
Await you
the faces that explode
in/on the blood of the ants
new fields of pastoral
But
when your body
blood & lignite of pure heat [as in ‘on heat’ – rut]
Raises
Over the cornfield / harvest
Your pain
And your orgasm
Who didn’t know [this is preterite, so finite – who didn’t learn / find out]
Who doesn’t know
Emigrant
That the whole / all departure Is potency in death
And the whole / all return Is infancy that spells [as above]
The literal translation of this poem was made by Daniel Hahn
The final translated version of the poem is by Sean O'Brien
© Poetry Translation Centre 2004-2012
paulo silas says:
Legal! Nunca tinha ouvido um poema em Português de Portugal!
kelly says:
my love is for yur long life
rahul