WORDS
They are like a crystal, words. Some a dagger, some a blaze. Others, merely dew.
Secret they come, full of memory. Insecurely they sail: cockleboats or kisses, the waters trembling.
Abandoned, innocent, weightless. They are woven of light. They are the night. And even pallid they recall green paradise.
Who hears them? Who gathers them, thus, cruel, shapeless, in their pure shells?
© Translation: 1985, Alexis Levitin From: Inhabited Heart Publisher: Perivale Press, Los Angeles, 1985, 0-912288-24-8
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AS PALAVRAS
São como um cristal, as palavras. Algumas, um punhal, um incêndio. Outras, orvalho apenas.
Secretas vêm, cheias de memória. Inseguras navegam: barcos ou beijos, as águas estremecem.
Desamparadas, inocentes, leves. Tecidas são de luz e são a noite. E mesmo pálidas verdes paraísos lembram ainda.
Quem as escuta? Quem as recolhe, assim, cruéis, desfeitas, nas suas conchas puras?
© 1958, Eugénio de Andrade From: Coração do Dia Publisher: Limiar, Oporto, 1958
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