Monday, 12 October 2015

Poetry Revisited: Torre de Névoa – Tower of Mist by Florbela Espanca

Torre de Névoa

(de Livro de Mágoas: 1919)

Subi ao alto, à minha Torre esguia,
Feita de fumo, névoas e luar,
E pus-me, comovida, a conversar
Com os poetas mortos, todo o dia.

Contei-lhes os meus sonhos, a alegria
Dos versos que são meus, do meu sonhar,
E todos os poetas, a chorar,
Responderam-me então: “Que fantasia,

Criança doida e crente! Nós também
Tivemos ilusões, como ninguém,
E tudo nos fugiu, tudo morreu!...”

Calaram-se os poetas, tristemente...
E é desde então que eu choro amargamente
Na minha Torre esguia junto ao Céu!...

Florbela Espanca
(1894-1930)

Tower of Mist

(from The Book of Sorrows: 1919)

I climbed up high, to my slender tower,
Made of smoke, mists and moonlight,
And, moved, I set about conversing
With the dead poets all day long.

I told them my dreams, the joy
Of the verses that are mine, of my dreaming,
And all poets, crying,
Answered me then, “What fantasy,

Crazy and believing child! We too
Had illusions, like nobody,
And everything fled us, everything died!...”

The poets became silent, sadly…
And it is since then that I cry bitterly
In my slender tower close to Heaven!...

Literal translation by
Edith LaGraziana 2015

No comments:

Post a Comment

Comments are published after approval. Links expressly allowed - unless off-topic.