Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Manuel Gusmão

It’s night-time in the morning:

It’s night-time in the morning:
you get out of bed

Morning and night, forever at odds,
instead of seeing each other in the mirror
cause it to shatter into itself

but they hear each other in the rooms of the house

Suddenly there you are at the end of the hallway
I feel for a moment your black face
and the vastness of your nocturnal body

you hand me the morning
slowly
like a phosphorescent map

where we would surely die

It’s night-time in the morning:

É isto: a noite de manhã
Tu levantas-te

Manhã e noite não se vêem ao espelho
antes o estilhaçam para dentro
desencontram-se interminavelmente  

mas ouvem-se uma à outra entre as salas da casa

Tu estás súbita ali na esquina do corredor
sinto por momentos a tua cara negra
e a imensidão do teu corpo anoitecido

passas-me a manhã devagar
de mão a mão
como um mapa fosforescente

onde por certo íamos morrer
Close

It’s night-time in the morning:

It’s night-time in the morning:
you get out of bed

Morning and night, forever at odds,
instead of seeing each other in the mirror
cause it to shatter into itself

but they hear each other in the rooms of the house

Suddenly there you are at the end of the hallway
I feel for a moment your black face
and the vastness of your nocturnal body

you hand me the morning
slowly
like a phosphorescent map

where we would surely die

It’s night-time in the morning:

It’s night-time in the morning:
you get out of bed

Morning and night, forever at odds,
instead of seeing each other in the mirror
cause it to shatter into itself

but they hear each other in the rooms of the house

Suddenly there you are at the end of the hallway
I feel for a moment your black face
and the vastness of your nocturnal body

you hand me the morning
slowly
like a phosphorescent map

where we would surely die
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère