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Este texto discute a complexidade da tradução de poesia portuguesa, utilizando o caso de nemesio como exemplo. O autor aborda a intima ligação entre a linguagem e a expressão poética, além da dificuldade de alcançar a versão definitiva. O texto também explora as tonalidades e formas variadas presentes na poesia de nemesio.
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Statennent by the Translator
My criteria for the selection of Vitorino Nemesio’s poetry' for translation fol-
oeuvre; (^) 4) its intertextual or^ generational^ place^ in^ Portuguese^ letters;^ 4) chronological variety; and (^) 5) the balance of poem lengths,^ forms,^ and^ the- matics. Methods are always impositions, however; I confess my^ personal
represented. Some poems are simply prohibitive for a translation project (e.g., “Cantigas A Ilha Terceira.. from Festa Redondo), in part because their portnguesidade ^ tied so intimately to the mode of expression; their poetry lies
“Casa Do^ Ser”^ (from^ O Verbo^ E^ A^ Morte),^ a^ major^ poem^ that^ might^ have^ been
is spontaneous, and it is my belief that even when translation is of^ the^ so- called overt VMVty, in which a work calls attention to its own status as a^ trans-
This holds especially for Nemesios poetry—poetry of dynamic, tidal, trans-
palette of Nemesio’s tonalities—oceanic ode, moody threnody, metapoetic
tory, the mythic and the local. When he Is at his most vigorous is when^ he ©^ Portuguese University^ Literary of Massachusetts^ &^ Cultural^ StudiesDartmouth.^1 1 (2007):^ 353-419.
354 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 1
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felt that we are witnessing a strong poet’s command not just of language but of its ties to emotion, its hypnotic potential, a phenomenon common to all sacred texts, he they prohmely sacred—poetry—or religious. A translator of Nemesio is an actor “playing” Nemesio; the actor exists for the authorizing presence behind his performance. Some in the audience will
logically—as it manifests itself (^) to the (^) senses or the intellect. It is always, though, one of many possible readings. This is the melancholy truth of the craft and, too, the law of its perpetual existence: the definitive version is always out of reach, as it is, perhaps, for poets themselves: In Nemesio’s
reconcile thingio word, even to finally inhabit language, to resolve his existence
(“This well-worked skeleton I leave behind in lines: / My civil death will be
Adamic “I Name the World,” to the^ later^ poem,^ “Requiescat”^ (1971) (“My pay is a trifling coin, / Fruit of my labors, and I pay for the bread owed to me, / I buy the silence that is my due / For having kept my word,^ / Toiled^ in words, / And through them earned the right to an effortless earth”).
^
mission^ (Lisbon: (^) toEd. reproduce^ Comunicagao, the poems.^ 1983).^ We^ gratefully^ acknowledge^ the^ publishers^ for^ granting^ per-
merecido a terra leve.”
356 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 11
O Canario^ de Giro Se deixo entrar este canario de oiro Que me espreita e debica
Debil passarinho loiro! Eli, professor, como um menino de escola!)... Pois sim: Canta. Fica. E entao, para que tudo em mim (^) se honre (^) e execute (Voz, penas e dejectos Do canario),
Ah, (^) que o canario (^) e o meu sangue talvez! Mas entao isto que e? Que violino engoli? Que frauta rude aveludou a minha noite? Em que prato de cobre bateti o no do a^oite? Tao exacto, meu Deus, so vibrado por ti. Musical, todo fogo, em mim me vou e expando; Cada lagrima cai de mim como harmonia: De quatro em quatro, vao a minha dor jogando
Que Poetas serias sao estas coisinhas^ de soar,
Soldados Escolhendo velhos, na morte uma farda e um^ lugar! Somos Desenvolvidos aqueles imbecisnos espelhos, Ai, Da nossala espelhosonde um paralelos de nos^ e sozinho^ a^ cantar!
If Who 1 let spies^ in^ this on^ goldenme and^ canary pecks (I who am^ hones,^ cage, Feeble little^ yellow^ bird! 1, a prof-essor, like^ a schoolboy!)... So be it: He sings.^ He^ stays. And so, so that everything in me is honored and carried^ out
Of the canary), I give him perches, my affections. My hard veins for bars:
He would preen and fight. Ah, perchance the canary is my blood! But then, what is this? What violin have I swallowed? What crude flute has velveted my night? On what copper plate did the whip’s tip strike? So true^ to the mark,^ my God, if only sounded by Thee.
Each teardrop falls from me like harmony: In 4/4 time my pain is shedding These vain tears in the meadow grass of day. How serious these tuneful things are.
We are those idiots
Of the sitting room where one of us sits singing all alone!
POEMS
We have^ gone^ up^ in^ smoke,^ yellowed, From so^ much^ reading^ and^ raving. We were useless,^ poets.
Which are neither orange nor egg:
Are not salt and new growth. What eagle brought down from the sky my iron diapason? What falcon brought lorth my flesh in his beak? What hand, in error, woman. Rent my heart that I devote to you? Who was that from whom I drew this hardy blood. This trickle of music?
Who (^) was that woman in white
And the pure womb whence I emerged And the eyes set high and far apart?
And the lion-hearted angel, pure (^) light, the other fellow.
What kingfisher (^) coated his breast with platinum And left (^) him wounded?
What (^) pillar of salt did she who took the false guise of Mary turn into. She (^) who promised me my heart’s desire?
POEMS
360 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 11
Anjos de materia nenhuma e de toda a arrogancia, Miilheres e homens de qiie sou a iiltima viagem Comec^ada no mar que me salgou a infancia!
Vazio de mim, no mar,
Ilha!
Estrelas nitidas e diversas,
Onde? quando? ja? outra vez? ou ainda nao?
E ele,^ e ele o que tern tudo escondido, Ele o que A desviou e A violou no vento, Ele o que fez de mim o menino perdido E me deu a navalha com que me fiz violento! Ele leva para o alto as cordeiras e come-as,
Ele pede-nos as coisas emprestadas e some-as, Ele gasta-nos a voz, os olhos e os ouvidos.
362 PORTUGUESE LITERARY^ & CULTURAL STUDIES 11
Desenri<;a-los do meu desgosto.
Esquema de bocejos e de esgares,
Tempo que levas meu Pai morto, Com catorze cavalos, todos de musculo solar, E, para o ano, quinze! e crescendo! e ele absorto! E os cavalos cada vez mais empinados! Morto... Com que jarrete ou asa o hei-de eu alcangar? (O Bicho Harmonioso 136-39)
Untangle them from my grieving!
Footprint of the vanished.
Time who carries off my dead Father,
And by year’s end, fifteen! And counting! and he enraptured! And the horses ever haughtier! Dead... With what hamstring or wing shall I ever reach him?
POEMS
The Living Dream Into the gathering silence oi the night,
(Not even memory taints it,
Perhaps, in its^ depths!
The hand of my sleep—breaks out.
And from unfinished experiences. And from visions that in the light of day destroy all evidence.
It feels in Her hands the faint dampness^ of^ Her^ blood.
But that gives me the awaited sign from afar: Here I am. And now, my Father, because you yourself have come —When I know that you are more impossible^ than^ She,
—
To appear to me too. To assure me that the nightmare is only a nightmare because it weighs me down And it makes my temples pound because I stung you with words?
And from which I later made, as if from castanets, A random noise to rouse and revive the roads: The limpets, shells and roads of our Island, my Father?
And that (^) Her hair has the hint and the smell and the farawayness Of (^) the winds whipping off the sea, beating against our window panes on [winter nights?
POEMS
366 PORTUGUESE^ LITERARY^ & CULTURAL^ STUDIES^11
E que os seus olhos sao como as po(;as azuis dos baldios E como as estrelas que la se reflectem e que os novilhos, ao
E que na sua boca ha uma violenta humidade De que os filhos antigamente nao podiam falar a seus pais, Mas que agora vemos ambos corajosamente hiimida
.AJt! Estas coisas vem com certeza guiadas
(O Bicho^ Harmonioso^ 160-61)
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Ode Ao Mar
Mens irmaos homens desertaram Com os docLimentos em regra Nos barcos qLie me roLibaram. Sim, porqLie eLi era o rei da ilha em questao. Ai nascera. La, Lima vaga dera Uma pancada rara
Nao sei com que for^a oli vara:
Direita ao meu coragao, Que ainda hoje a reprodLiz. Minha Mae deu-me de mamar, Santo nome de Jesus!
u
Com sua ampla coragem Em minha Mae, cara a cara) Como urn bichinho do mar, Uma coisinha de nada Que a vaga arrancou, cobriu
Nas praias (^) me criei Dos peixes (^) e das lotas, Comendo Ensinado o podre e o fresco, das gaivotas, Que sao o meu parentesco.
Ode To The Sea
My fellow men deserted
On the ships they stole from me.
(My godmother wave), I do not know under what power or on whose authority: I know that the blow was coming Right for (^) my heart.
My mother suckled me. Holy name of Jesus!
I caught a sea creature
Shook (^) my Mother, face to face) On the sharpened tip of a stick, A trifling little thing The wave plucked up, engulfed And rendered up, a wave out on the sea. On the beaches I was raised
The disciple of gulls. Who are kin to me.
POEMS
There—seashells,^ sounds,^ nudity^ and^ plunges.
And I —dirty, dirty, every day! Clear, blue with a blue-eyed blue. Or green like a discontented mouth. The sea filled me with love: 1 would^ descend^ right^ into^ it,^ and^ it^ would^ rise^ in^ me
—
And 1 laid^ hold^ of^ its^ rose.
Due (^) to doubts that surfaced. Ah, faithful underlings in attendance.
Mermaids making off with my veins for hair. And the coral baobab, from Orestes’ far-flung kingdom. Drawn by the Six Tritons of the Sandbank!
Briny (^) imperial expanse to which I am heir,
Only to wind up glistening on my left nipple!
all this you hurled at me And when I was a child you grew in me, you took hold of me. Making my heart race,
POEMS
372 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 11
Agua siibita, rente e transparence nexo
Qiie, vendo-me de papo ao ar, sobrio em minha colunas, Vinham picar-me o sexo! (Oferendas leais, men mar, delicadas como estas,
—
Brtitalidades flutiiantes, Utilidades manifestas
—
De tetas antigas e funestas De certas sereias honestas: E nos impuros, e nos impuros! Mar, amplo como o Aro de ti mesmo, Estirado como aquele qiie da com a mica no chao, Alto como o respingo inviolavel,
Como terra de pao! Mestre de angustia, mar! como Lima pedra no peito (E so agua!); Mestre de coragem—diante^ a terra,^ ali^ direito! (E tudo isto, com agua!); Mestre de limpeza—o sujo de todos os vestigios Que vai, com o peito exposto e de cristal cortado, Desafiando os prestigios
E atirando as vezes por desprezo a terra um afogado! E depois—mar parado, neutro, fosco... Uma tenaz qualquer, de pedra—e eis a bacia;
Ali e pobre: ate se via