Homero Aridjis

Today, another latino-american poet, but with greek roots.













IT HAS BEINGS...

It has beings that are more image than substance
more look of that body

so incorporeal we love them
that we almost do not want to touch them with words

since the childhood we search them
more in the dream that in the meat

and always in the threshold of the lips
the morning light seems to say them


Homero Aridjis (Contepec, Michoacán, Mexico,1940)
Translated by José Bento

Vinicius de Moraes

Vinicius de Moraes, 1960

Second month of this daily notes and other poetic adventures. I wish to share another Great Poet. After Carlos Drummond de Andrade, a Poet, also from Brazil and from the World: Vinicius de Moraes.
Another information at "Poetry and Music" link, to the official Vinicius de Moraes website.

POETIC

On morning I become gloomy
At noon I delay
At afternoon I become dark
At night I am on fire.

The west the death
Against who am I living
At the captive south
East is my north.

Others will count
Step by step:
I will die yesterday.

I will born tomorrow
I walk where it has space:
– My time is when.

Vinicius de Moraes, Rio de Janeiro,1913-1980.

New York, 1950

Dialogue

© Isaac Pereira
Lisboa, Monsanto. 2007

In the edge of the road, a wild cherry tree:

- Why you walk without seeing me,
slave of Ignorance?
How your eyes are useful?
Withholds! My traveller!

- Cannot, master. I am the one who suppose to have seen everything already.

Koi Hui Sio

A man...

©Isaac Pereira
Cascais, Guincho. 2006

A man walks.
He sights the sea, mountains,
reptiles over the land.

Koi Hui Sio

Sylvia Plath

I WANT, I WANT

Open-mouthed, the baby god
Immense, bald, though baby-headed,
Cried out for the mother's dug.
The dry volcanoes cracked and split,

Sand abraded the milkless lip.
Cried then for the father's blood
Who set wasp, wolf and shark to work,
Engineered the gannet's beak.

Dry-eyed, the inveterate patriarch
Raised his men of skin and bone,
Barbs on the crown of gilded wire,
Thorns on the bloody rose-stem.

Sylvia Plath, E.U.A. (1932-1963)

Eugéne Guillevic

French poet. Born in Bretagne - Carnac, Morbihan, 5 th August, 1907. One of the majors poets in the second half of XX century. In 1976 Guillevic won the Grand Prix de Poetry "Le grand Prix de poésie de l'Académie française". In 1984 he received the "Grand Prix national de poésie". He died in Paris in 1997.

AND WE LEAVE...

And we leave,

Baptizing the future
With the last tears.


Author:Eugène Guillevic, Sphère(1963)
Translation: David Mourão Ferreira

Luís Vaz de Camões

© Isaac Pereira
Luís Vaz de Camões tumb at Jerónimos Monastery. Lisbon.

SINCE MY EYES DON´T TIRE OF WEEPING

Since my eyes don’t tire of weeping
sorrows that don’t tire of weighing on me,
since nothing softens the fire I burn in
for one whose heart I could never soften,

let blind Love be my tireless guide
to lands I don’t know my way out of,
and let the whole world keep on listening
as long as my weak voice doesn’t fail.

And if there’s pity in hills, rivers
and valleys, or if there’s Love in beasts,
birds, plants, stones and streams,

let them hear my long tale of troubles
and use my sorrow to cure their own,
since greater griefs can cure smaller ones.


© Luís Vaz de Camões (1524/5 -1580)
From: Rimas
Publisher: Almedina, Coimbra, 1994
© Translation: 2006, Richard Zenith