Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Nuno Júdice

Epitaph

The best died in epidemics: some
went by the plague, others by the flu
they called pneumonic, still others by
St Vitus’s dance, leprosy or consumption,
the simple or galloping kind. This, when
they didn’t put a gun to their head, hang
themselves from a street lamp, or jump into
the river. There were others who stopped
writing, who drank until they lost
their minds, or who simply quit
without explanation. As if life
depended on so little: a few
lines scribbled on scraps of paper,
phrases that might or might not rhyme,
thoughts . . .  which they might have
kept to themselves. But when
I read them I understand their
despair. It’s not every day
beauty appears to man;
perfection does not always seem
to be of this world. Yes:
I climb the steps to the top, from
where I can see the city in spite
of the stormy weather. What
is happening, right now, beneath
those rooftops? What subtler
epidemic has grounded those
who so recently dreamed of flying?

Epitáfio

Epitáfio

Morreram da epidemia, os melhores: a uns,
levou-os a peste; a outros, a gripe a que
chamaram pneumónica; e houve os da
doença de S. Vito; os da lepra, os da
tísica, galopante ou não. Isto, quando
não davam um tiro na cabeça, não se
enforcavam num candeeiro, não se deitavam
ao rio. Houve ainda os que deixaram
de escrever; os que beberam até perder
o juízo; os que, pura e simplesmente,
desistiram sem nada explicar. Como
se a vida dependesse de tão pouco –
linhas rabiscadas em papéis baratos,
frases que podiam ou não rimar,
pensamentos . . .  que poderiam ter
guardado para eles próprios. No
entanto, quando os leio, percebo o seu
desespero. A beleza não aparece
todos os dias à vista do homem;
a perfeição nem sempre parece
uma coisa deste mundo. Sim:
subo as escadas até ao fim,
de onde se vê a cidade, embora
o tempo esteja de tempestade. O
que se passa, neste instante, sob
aqueles tectos? Que epidemia, mais
subtil, prende ao chão os que,
ainda há pouco, sonhavam com o voo?
Close

Epitaph

The best died in epidemics: some
went by the plague, others by the flu
they called pneumonic, still others by
St Vitus’s dance, leprosy or consumption,
the simple or galloping kind. This, when
they didn’t put a gun to their head, hang
themselves from a street lamp, or jump into
the river. There were others who stopped
writing, who drank until they lost
their minds, or who simply quit
without explanation. As if life
depended on so little: a few
lines scribbled on scraps of paper,
phrases that might or might not rhyme,
thoughts . . .  which they might have
kept to themselves. But when
I read them I understand their
despair. It’s not every day
beauty appears to man;
perfection does not always seem
to be of this world. Yes:
I climb the steps to the top, from
where I can see the city in spite
of the stormy weather. What
is happening, right now, beneath
those rooftops? What subtler
epidemic has grounded those
who so recently dreamed of flying?

Epitaph

The best died in epidemics: some
went by the plague, others by the flu
they called pneumonic, still others by
St Vitus’s dance, leprosy or consumption,
the simple or galloping kind. This, when
they didn’t put a gun to their head, hang
themselves from a street lamp, or jump into
the river. There were others who stopped
writing, who drank until they lost
their minds, or who simply quit
without explanation. As if life
depended on so little: a few
lines scribbled on scraps of paper,
phrases that might or might not rhyme,
thoughts . . .  which they might have
kept to themselves. But when
I read them I understand their
despair. It’s not every day
beauty appears to man;
perfection does not always seem
to be of this world. Yes:
I climb the steps to the top, from
where I can see the city in spite
of the stormy weather. What
is happening, right now, beneath
those rooftops? What subtler
epidemic has grounded those
who so recently dreamed of flying?
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
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