Dez chamamentos ao amigo from Ten Songs for a Friend

Dez chamamentos ao amigo

Love, love, my season
Sylvia Plath
 
VII
Essa lua enlutada, esse desassossego
A convulsão de dentro, ilharga
Dentro da solidão, corpo morrendo
Tudo isso te devo. E eram tão vastas
As coisas planejadas, navios,
Muralhas de marfim, palavras largas
Consentimento sempre. E seria dezembro.
Um cavalo de jade sob as águas
Dupla transparência, fio suspenso
Todas essas coisas nas pontas dos teus dedos
E tudo se desfez no pórtico do tempo
Em lívido silêncio. Um sol que não vejo
 
Também isso te devo.
 

from Ten Songs for a Friend

VII
This mournfulness, this restlessness
the inner convulsions, an endless island,
solitude within, body dying —
all this I owe to you. And they were vast,
these plans — ships
great walls of ivory, fine words,
promises, promises. And it would be December,
a jade horse above the water,
doubly transparent, a line in mid-air —
all this undone by the trapdoor of time
in perfect silence. Some glass mornings
wind, the hollowed soul, a sun I can't see —
 
this too I owe to you.
 

from Ten songs to a friend

VII
This mournful moon, this unquietness
This convulsion inside, island
in solitude, dying body
all this I owe you. And they were vast
the things planned, ships,
ivory walls, large words
Concede, always. And it would be December
A jade horse over the waters
Double transparence, suspended line
All these things at the tip of your fingers
And all was undone in the portal of time
In livid silence. Some glass mornings
Wind, the hallowed soul, a sun I don't see
 
This too I owe you.
 

Original Poem by

Hilda Hilst

Translated by

Beatriz Bastos with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Portuguese

Country

Brazil