Dunkles zu sagen

Dizer trevas

Como Orfeu, toco
a morte nas cordas da vida
e à beleza do mundo
e dos teus olhos que regem o céu
só sei dizer trevas.

Não te esqueças que também tu, subitamente,
naquela manhã, quando o teu leito
estava ainda húmido de orvalho e o cravo
dormia no teu coração,
viste o rio negro
passar por ti.

Com a corda do silêncio
tensa sobre a onda de sangue,
dedilhei o teu coração vibrante.
A tua madeixa transformou-se
na cabeleira de sombras da noite,
os flocos negros da escuridão
nevavam sobre o teu rosto.

E eu não te pertenço.
Ambos nos lamentamos agora.

Mas como Orfeu, sei
a vida ao lado da morte,
e revejo-me no azul
dos teus olhos fechados para sempre.


Ingeborg Bachmann, O tempo aprazado, Poemas (1953 - 1967), selecção, trad. e intro. João Barrento e Judite Berkemeier, Assirio & Alvim, 1992.

For C.E.

I don't answer as to why I waste time,
that I eat and sleep and read and listen to music,
that I am, am not, am not that, but that
I live.

And I go around in these socks and muddy shoes
through the rotted grass and the vineyards,
so that I live, give everything up, even the meekest
hope that it could be otherwhise, that a plane
will not fly, that a face will appear in front of me
not again, but finally, that's what I hope for.

And so I don't move, I drink my tea and sleep
badly. But I hope, strangled by banalities,
I hope for a life in which red blossoms.
That's not modesty, but extinguishment,
an agreement with joy that enters the face out of boredom,
the accomplice of banality and passing time, and
the wild...

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006

Hôtel de La Paix

The weight of roses falls silently from the walls
and through the carpet shine the floor and earth.
The light's heart breaks within the lamp.
Darkness. Steps.
The bolt slams shut as death comes knocking.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006

City

I was born in a city,
but i didn't know what that meant.
I grew up in a city,
and I didn't know that meant.
Onde day I left this city,
and I didn't know what that meant.
One day I returned to this city,
and then I knew what that meant.

City, you monstruosity of narrow streets and stone,
city, crowds and people pressing at one,
city, the rushing, shoving and chase,
city, full of sirens, cars and trains,
city, full of pale faces that continually suffer,
city, at night your streetlight flicker,
city, which has no space for the elements,
city, where a tree grasps wearily in the cement.

City, which I could never tolerate,
city, which I will always hate.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.

Estrangement

Within the threes I no longer can see any threes.
The branches are bare of leaves, carried off by wind.
The fruits are sweet, but empty of love.
They do not even satisfy.
What shall happen?
Before my eyes the forest flees,
the birds no longer sing to my ears,
and for me no pasture will become a bed.
I am full with time
yet hunger for it.
What shall happen?

Nightly upon the mountains the fires will burn.
Shall I head out, draw near to them all once again?

I can no longer see on any path a path.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.

After Many Years

Time's arrow rests easily in the sun's drawn bow.
As soon as the agave blossoms from the cliffs,
your heart will sway above in the wind that blows
each hour's lenght trough its every tick.

Already a shadow drifts above the Azores
and over your breast's own quaking garnet.
Death is also the moment's conspirator,
and you, towards whom it streaks, the target.

The sea is also spoiled and vain, a mere
shift of its mirror swallowing a handfull of blood,
just as the agave blooms after many years
in the shelter of cliffs, before the druken flood.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.

Round Dance

Round dance: a love can sometimes cease
in the extinguish of an eye,
and what we come to see
is love's extinguished eye.

Cold smoke from the crater
breathes upon our lashes;
only once did empty terror
not breathe at all upon us.

We've seen the eyes of the dead
and will forget them never.
Love lasts to the end,
but apprehends us never.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.

Darkness Spoken

Like Orpheus I play
death on the strings of life,
and to the beauty of the Earth
and your eyes, which administer heaven,
I can only speak of darkness.

Don't forget that you also, suddendly,
on that morning when your camp
was still damp with dew, and a carnation
slept on your heart,
you saw the dark stream
race past you.

The string of silence
taut on the pulse of blood,
I grasped your beating heart.
Your curls were transformed
into the shadow hair of night,
black flakes of darkness
buried your face.

And I don't belong to you.
Both of us mourn now.

But like Orpheus I know
life on the side of death,
and the deepening blue
of your forever closed eye.

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.

[I Step Outside Myself]

I step outside
myself, out of my eyes,
hands, mouth, outside
of myself I
step, a bundle
of goodness and godliness
that must make good
this devilry
that has happened

Ingeborg Bachmann, Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems, Peter Filkins (trad.), Charles Simic (intr.), Zephyr Press, 2006.

Chegado ontem da América (mas já não sei ao certo de que cidade), com um atraso de um mês, este livro muito esperado.