Monotony

One monotonous day follows another
identically monotonous. The same things
will happen to us again and again,
the same moments come and go.

A month passes by, brings another month.
Easy to guess what lies ahead:
all of yesterday's boredom.
And tomorrow ends up no longer like tomorrow.


Constantine P. Cavafy

*Constantine P. Cavafy, also known as Konstantin or Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis, or Kavaphes (Greek Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης) (April 29, 1863 – April 29, 1933) was a renowned Greek poet who lived in Alexandria and worked as a journalist and civil servant. In his poetry he examined critically some aspects of Christianity, patriotism, and homosexuality, though he was not always comfortable with his role as a nonconformist. He published 154 poems; dozens more remained incomplete or in sketch form. His most important poetry was written after his fortieth birthday.

José Saramago

"I don't think we did go blind, I think we are blind, Blind but seeing, Blind people who can see, but do not see."

(Jose Saramago)
(1922-2010)

The Sorrow of Love

The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

William Butler Yeats
(1892)

'The Sorrow of Love'


The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;

Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.


William Butler Yeats
(Revised text of 1925)

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) was born in Dublin. His father was a lawyer and a well-known portrait painter. Yeats was educated in London and in Dublin, but he spent his summers in the west of Ireland in the family's summer house at Connaught. The young Yeats was very much part of the fin de siècle in London; at the same time he was active in societies that attempted an Irish literary revival. His first volume of verse appeared in 1887, but in his earlier period his dramatic production outweighed his poetry both in bulk and in import. Together with Lady Gregory he founded the Irish Theatre, which was to become the Abbey Theatre, and served as its chief playwright until the movement was joined by John Synge. His plays usually treat Irish legends; they also reflect his fascination with mysticism and spiritualism. The Countess Cathleen (1892), The Land of Heart's Desire (1894), Cathleen ni Houlihan (1902), The King's Threshold (1904), and Deirdre (1907) are among the best known.

Yeats is one of the few writers whose greatest works were written after the award of the Nobel Prize. Whereas he received the Prize chiefly for his dramatic works, his significance today rests on his lyric achievement. His poetry, especially the volumes The Wild Swans at Coole (1919), Michael Robartes and the Dancer (1921), The Tower (1928), The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1933), and Last Poems and Plays (1940), made him one of the outstanding and most influential twentieth-century poets writing in English. His recurrent themes are the contrast of art and life, masks, cyclical theories of life (the symbol of the winding stairs), and the ideal of beauty and ceremony contrasting with the hubbub of modern life.

"Nightbound"

"I sip the nights,
I'm the restless longings
of past sheperds & ancient bards

(an elated sleepless zombie
eternally wandering , am I? )

the spell of sleeping waves,
the tranquility seas, the mystery capes,
the arboreal secretive design,

I'm Orion's hunter and magi,
the nocturnal, inebriating wine,

I'm the one who drinks and weeps
amber beads at night,
some Gods' wink -
Hush! - but a dream ? -
I'm the moons’ transfigured light ...."


(F. Campanella)


"Nightbound"

Eu sorvo as noites
Eu sou inquietas saudades
De esquecidos pastores
E bardos primordiais

(um extático zumbi
Eternamente vagando, seria eu?)

a magia de ondas adormecidas,
os mares de tranqüilidade
os cabos misteriosos
o desenho incógnito das árvores

eu sou de Orion o caçador
E os magos , o vinho noturno
Inebriado

o que bebe e lacrimeja
gotas de âmbar à noite,

algum piscar dos deuses

- Silêncio! – apenas um sonho? –

eu sou da lua a luz transfigurada.


Fernando Campanella

Sonnet VIII

How many masks wear we, and undermasks,
Upon our countenance of soul, and when,
If for self-sport the soul itself unmasks,
Knows it the last mask off and the face plain?
The true mask feels no inside to the mask
But looks out of the mask by co-masked eyes.
Whatever conciousness begins the task
The task's accepted use to sleepness ties.
Like a child frighted by its mirrored faces,
Our souls, that children are, being thought-losing,
Foist otherness upon their seen grimaces
And get a whole world on their forgot causing;
And, when a thought would unmask our soul's masking,
Itself goes not unmasked to the unmasking.

Fernando Pessoa
In "35 Sonnets-(1.918)

"OISEAUX DE PASSAGE"

Les rêves, les grands rêves que moi toujours adore,
Les rêves couleur rose, les rêves éclatants;
Ainsi que les colombes un autre ciel cherchants
J’ai vu les ailes ouvertes, si belles que l’aurore.

Autour de la nature, autour de la profonde
Et merveilleuse mère des fleurs, des harmonies,
Les rêves éblouissants, remplis d’amour et vie,
Trouvaient de l’espoir le plus doré des mondes.

Hélas!... -- mais maintenant, par des chagrins, secrets,
L’amour, les étoiles et tout ce qu’il nous est
Chéri -- le beau soleil, la lune et les nuages;

Tout fut plongé d'abord’ plongé dans le mystère,
Avec de mon coeur la douce lumière,
Les rêves de mon âme -- uns* oiseaux de passage!...

Cruz e Souza
in "Derradeiro"

'MASCARADA'

Você me conhece?

(Frase dos mascarados de antigamente)


- Você me conhece?
- Não conheço não.
- Ah, como fui bela!
Tive grandes olhos,
que a paixão dos homens
(estranha paixão!)
Fazia maiores...
Fazia infinitos.
Diz: não me conheces?
- Não conheço não.


- Se eu falava, um mundo
Irreal se abria
à tua visão!
Tu não me escutavas:
Perdido ficavas
Na noite sem fundo
Do que eu te dizia...
Era a minha fala
Canto e persuasão...
Pois não me conheces?
- Não conheço não.
- Choraste em meus braços
- Não me lembro não.


- Por mim quantas vezes
O sono perdeste
E ciúmes atrozes
Te despedaçaram!


Por mim quantas vezes
Quase tu mataste,
Quase te mataste,
Quase te mataram!
Agora me fitas
E não me conheces?


- Não conheço não.
Conheço que a vida
É sonho, ilusão.
Conheço que a vida,
A vida é traição.


Manuel Bandeira

Manuel Carneiro de Sousa Bandeira Filho
Nasceu em Recife, 19 de abril de 1886,
faleceu no Rio de Janeiro, 13 de outubro de 1968.
Poeta, crítico literário e de arte, professor de literatura e tradutor brasileiro.

INTENTIONS

Have pity on the eyes morose
Wherein the soul its hope reveals;
On fated things that ne'er unclose,
And all who wait what night conceals.


Ripples that rock the spirit's lake!
Lilies that sway beneath the tide
To threads the eternal rhythms shake!
O powers that close to vision hide!


Behold, O Lord, unwonted flowers
Among the water-lilies white!
Dim hands of Thine angelic powers
Trouble the waters of my sight:


At mystic signs the buds unroll,
Shed on the waters from the skies,
And as the swans take flight my soul
Spreads the white pinions of its eyes.

*Maurice Maeterlinck
*Maurice Maeterlinck was a Belgian playwright, poet and essayist who became involved with Symbolism, a French literary movement which uses symbols to represent ideas and emotions.
He was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1911.

Maurice Polydore Marie Bernard, Count Maeterlinck, was born in Ghent, Belgium on August 29, 1862. He studied law at the University of Ghent where he was profoundly influenced by Symbolism. His early works were not in plays but poetry. He published his first poem, The Rushes, when he was a 21-year-old university student.

His experimental work, although different in style prepared the way for playwrights Eugène Ionesco and Harold Pinter.
He died at the age of 86, on May 6, 1949.

“When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.” - Maurice Maeterlinck -

‘AQUARIUM’

Ow my desires no more, alas,
Summon my soul to my eyelids' brink,
For with its prayers that ebb and pass
It too must sink,

To lie in the depth of my closéd eyes;
Only the flowers of its weary breath
Like icy blooms to the surface rise,
Lilies of death.

Its lips are sealed, in the depths of woe,
And a world away, in the far-off gloom,
They sing of azure stems that grow
A mystic bloom.

But lo, its fingers--I have grown
Pallid beholding them, I who perceive
Them traces the marks its poor unblown
Lost lilies leave.

And I know it must die, for its hour is o'er;
Folding its impotent hands at last,
Hands too weary to pluck any more
The flowers of the past!

Maurice Maeterlinck
This English translation of 'Aquarium' is reprinted from Poems by Maurice Maeterlinck. Trans. Bernard Miall. New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1915

Bouquet

Gather quickly
Out of darkness
All the songs you know
And throw them at the sun
Before they melt
Like snow


Langston Hughes
(1902 - 1967 / Missouri/US)

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.


*Theodore Roethke

*Theodore Roethke was born in Saginaw, Michigan, in 1908. As a child, he spent much time in the greenhouse owned by his father and uncle. His impressions of the natural world contained there would later profoundly influence the subjects and imagery of his verse. Roethke graduated magna cum laude from the University of Michigan in 1929. He later took a few graduate classes at Michigan and Harvard, but was unhappy in school. His first book, Open House (1941), took ten years to write and was critically acclaimed upon its publication. He went on to publish sparingly but his reputation grew with each new collection, including The Waking which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1954.Theodore Roethke died in Bainbridge Island in 1963, Washington.

In Youth

The stream is a glittering beautiful sight,
the trees full of twittering creatures.
I'm lying here lazy, an idle child
in the lap of my mother, Dame Nature.
From earth to heaven all there is
is a singing beauty and shining bliss.
I think there's a message for me from above
of wonderful days to enthral.
My blood is uneasy, I think I'm in love.
With whom? — Alas, I'm in love with it all!
I wish that heaven and earth, every part
in the shape of a girl, lay close to my heart!


*Gustaf Fröding
Translated by Henrik Aspán
In collaboration with Martin Allwood

*Born in August 22, 1860 - February 8, 1911) was a Swedish poet and writer, born in Alster outside Karlstad in Värmland. The family moved to Kristinehamn in the year 1867. He later studied at Uppsala University and worked as a journalist in Karlstad.
His poetry combines formal virtuosity with a sympathy for the ordinary, the neglected and the down-trodden. It is highly musical and lends itself to musical setting; as songs it has developed in to the much wider world of popular music and frequently been re-recorded by Swedish singers like Olle Adolphson and Monica Zetterlund.

La tristesse

L'âme triste est pareille
Au doux ciel de la nuit,
Quand l'astre qui sommeille
De la voûte vermeille
A fait tomber le bruit ;

Plus pure et plus sonore,
On y voit sur ses pas
Mille étoiles éclore,
Qu'à l'éclatante aurore
On n'y soupçonnait pas !

Des îles de lumière
Plus brillante qu'ici,
Et des mondes derrière,
Et des flots de poussière
Qui sont mondes aussi !

On entend dans l'espace
Les choeurs mystérieux
Ou du ciel qui rend grâce,
Ou de l'ange qui passe,
Ou de l'homme pieux !

Et pures étincelles
De nos âmes de feu,
Les prières mortelles
Sur leurs brûlantes ailes
Nous soulèvent un peu !

Tristesse qui m'inonde,
Coule donc de mes yeux,
Coule comme cette onde
Où la terre féconde
Voit un présent des cieux !

Et n'accuse point l'heure
Qui te ramène à Dieu !
Soit qu'il naisse ou qu'il meure,
Il faut que l'homme pleure
Ou l'exil, ou l'adieu !


Alphonse de LAMARTINE
(France)

'Le papillon'

Naître avec le printemps, mourir avec les roses,
Sur l'aile du zéphyr nager dans un ciel pur,
Balancé sur le sein des fleurs à peine écloses,
S'enivrer de parfums, de lumière et d'azur,
Secouant, jeune encor, la poudre de ses ailes,
S'envoler comme un souffle aux voûtes éternelles,
Voilà du papillon le destin enchanté!
Il ressemble au désir, qui jamais ne se pose,
Et sans se satisfaire, effleurant toute chose,
Retourne enfin au ciel chercher la volupté!


Alphonse de Lamartine
(Mâcon, 21 de outubro de 1790 - Paris, 28 de fevereiro de 1869)

Alone And Repentant

A friend I possess, whose whispers just said,
"God's peace!" to my night-watching mind.
When daylight is gone and darkness brings dread,
He ever the way can find.

He utters no word to smite and to score;
He, too, has known sin and its grief.
He heals with his look the place that is sore,
And stays till I have relief.

He takes for his own the deed that is such
That sorrows of heart increase.
He cleanses the wound with so gentle a touch,
The pain must give way to peace.

He followed each hope the heights that would scale
Reproached not a hapless descent.
He stands here just now, so mild, but so pale; --
In time he shall know what it meant.

Bjornstjerne Bjornson

*Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832-1910) was the son of a Norwegian pastor. At school in Christiania (Oslo) Ibsen was one of his fellow students. Bjørnson participated early in the movement for a national Norwegian theatre and wrote some poetic plays which he did not publish. While a student, he became a literary critic for the Morgenbladet in 1854 and contributed criticism as well as stories to various other newspapers. In 1857 he succeeded in starting a literary career when he wrote the historical play Mellem slagene (Between the Battles) and became stage director at the Norwegian Theatre in Bergen.