Poem
António Franco Alexandre
Syrinx, a Pastoral Fiction (II)
Stashed under my mattress I’ve got
the cleanest heart on earth,
like a fish washed by the rain
that floods me deep down.
I wake up each day with a different body
from the one I went to bed with,
and I’m never sure if what I am
is the project or memory of what I was.
I hug the powerful but accurate arms
that brought me last night to where I am,
and as I sip coffee I read today’s weather
in the leaves of the park’s trees.
Later on I’ll cross the bridges
to buy, sell and trade life on fire,
but cautiously, lest I scorch
my artful, princess’s hands.
Syrinx, Ficção Pastoral (II)
Syrinx, Ficção Pastoral (II)
Debaixo do colchão tenho guardado
o coração mais limpo desta terra
como um peixe lavado pela água
da chuva que me alaga interiormente
Acordo cada dia com um corpo
que não aquele com que me deitei
e nunca sei ao certo se sou hoje
o projecto ou memória do que fui
Abraço os braços fortes mas exactos
que à noite me levaram onde estou
e, bebendo café, leio nas folhas
das árvores do parque o tempo que fará
Depois irei ali além das pontes
vender, comprar, trocar, a vida toda acesa;
Mas com cuidado, para não ferir
as minhas mãos astutas de princesa.
© 1999, António Franco Alexandre
From: Quatro caprichos
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim, Lisbon
From: Quatro caprichos
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim, Lisbon
Poems
Poems of António Franco Alexandre
Close
Syrinx, a Pastoral Fiction (II)
Stashed under my mattress I’ve got
the cleanest heart on earth,
like a fish washed by the rain
that floods me deep down.
I wake up each day with a different body
from the one I went to bed with,
and I’m never sure if what I am
is the project or memory of what I was.
I hug the powerful but accurate arms
that brought me last night to where I am,
and as I sip coffee I read today’s weather
in the leaves of the park’s trees.
Later on I’ll cross the bridges
to buy, sell and trade life on fire,
but cautiously, lest I scorch
my artful, princess’s hands.
From: Quatro caprichos
Syrinx, a Pastoral Fiction (II)
Stashed under my mattress I’ve got
the cleanest heart on earth,
like a fish washed by the rain
that floods me deep down.
I wake up each day with a different body
from the one I went to bed with,
and I’m never sure if what I am
is the project or memory of what I was.
I hug the powerful but accurate arms
that brought me last night to where I am,
and as I sip coffee I read today’s weather
in the leaves of the park’s trees.
Later on I’ll cross the bridges
to buy, sell and trade life on fire,
but cautiously, lest I scorch
my artful, princess’s hands.
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère