Poem
Luís Miguel Nava
From the Wastelands
Grass has begun sprouting between my bones.Perhaps in the wastelands of the mind
that end up at the mouth of my senses
those who dig as if pursuing
a more authentic life will finally appear.
They’ll hold time in their hands like a hoe.
Breathing chunks of my body
will gleam in their shovels.
© Translation: 2008, Richard Zenith
Dos descampados
Dos descampados
Cresceram-me entre os ossos já as primeiras ervas.Talvez dos descampados que me vêm
do espírito acabar à boca dos sentidos
por fim surjam aqueles que quando escavam
o fazem como se avançassem
assim para uma vida mais autêntica.
Terão o tempo nas mãos como uma enxada.
Brilhar-lhes-ão nas pás
pedaços do meu corpo que respiram.
© 1989, Fundação Luís Miguel Nava
From: O Céu Sob as Entranhas
Publisher: Limiar, Oporto
From: O Céu Sob as Entranhas
Publisher: Limiar, Oporto
Poems
Poems of Luís Miguel Nava
Close
From the Wastelands
Grass has begun sprouting between my bones.Perhaps in the wastelands of the mind
that end up at the mouth of my senses
those who dig as if pursuing
a more authentic life will finally appear.
They’ll hold time in their hands like a hoe.
Breathing chunks of my body
will gleam in their shovels.
© 2008, Richard Zenith
From: O Céu Sob as Entranhas
From: O Céu Sob as Entranhas
From the Wastelands
Grass has begun sprouting between my bones.Perhaps in the wastelands of the mind
that end up at the mouth of my senses
those who dig as if pursuing
a more authentic life will finally appear.
They’ll hold time in their hands like a hoe.
Breathing chunks of my body
will gleam in their shovels.
© 2008, Richard Zenith
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