Mais dois poemas - estes em inglês, de tradução do meu amigo BENÉ e do meu tio DOUGLAS (in memoriam)

 Dois poemas... um recente e outro bem mais antigo, afinal fiz 60... 

As traduções para o inglês estão nominadas, mas as letra é de minha autoria.

Tradução por Ebenezer Paz

Lord

There is a long way

Through which my feet

Wounded or not 

Have passed.

I could ask the reasons

For the cursed pages 

To be read again 

As if deja vu.

I don’t wish for full pages

Big letters 

Nor marks on the wall.

I don’t even appeal to the heavens

To give me answers,

All in all, it’s only me.

And yet in a trace of a garden

I notice (understand) that loneliness hurts me, 

As it did to Your son, 

It (loneliness) makes me sick.

And as a son 

I end up imitating

Tears

Anguish

And an escape.

I just want to know 

What use it all has

Whether it makes sense

To me or anyone else,

For on this road I am

I no longer know what to do.

Therefore 

In my loneliness, I say:

I am tired.

That former meaningless life I had 

Before you

Knocks on my door.

Though seemingly futile,

It seems useful

In this time of pain.

The Cathedral shines

With strength

And an atmosphere of closure.

And finally 

The clock 

Can beat midnight.Tradução por Ebenezer Paz

Lord

There is a long way

Through which my feet

Wounded or not 

Have passed.

I could ask the reasons

For the cursed pages 

To be read again 

As if deja vu.

I don’t wish for full pages

Big letters 

Nor marks on the wall.

I don’t even appeal to the heavens

To give me answers,

All in all, it’s only me.

And yet in a trace of a garden

I notice (understand) that loneliness hurts me, 

As it did to Your son, 

It (loneliness) makes me sick.

And as a son 

I end up imitating

Tears

Anguish

And an escape.

I just want to know 

What use it all has

Whether it makes sense

To me or anyone else,

For on this road I am

I no longer know what to do.

Therefore 

In my loneliness, I say:

I am tired.

That former meaningless life I had 

Before you

Knocks on my door.

Though seemingly futile,

It seems useful

In this time of pain.

The Cathedral shines

With strength

And an atmosphere of closure.

And finally 

The clock 

Can beat midnight.

------------------------------------------

Tradução Douglas Ferreira

To be a poet

I open my copybooks and

What I see?

Just White, emptypages.

Where are those letters,

Where have they gone?

Those words, they don’t exist anymore

Where have the drafts of life gone?

Has anybody scrapped them

Or was they erased by the time?

Those were the words

Wich meant the only sense of life: LOVE.

Those were leaves that could fly away

With just a simple breeze.

Those are papers that together

Should make another “I”.

From just a few letters,

Words have been born...

From just a few words

The blow up of ideas and poesy

And in those ideas and poesies

“I”.

I turned into letters,

Drawings

And paintings.

Then in a heart

And then

In a feeling.