Two Translated Marcos Konder Reis Poems

1 August 2018


A yellow, north-eastern afternoon,
the way we loved to remember the road
that passes forever to the east
of an astonished afternoon,

of a yellow afternoon buried, ripe
in a box of peaches,
a ripe window of flags
open to the sea, and cold;

jailed by the green of peaches
and crystallised sugar over the pulp
of greens taken from the farm house. September.
Ah, September, September,

that girl and your gardens above her curly,
chestnut hair, on a yellow afternoon
of steamships entering the inlet, of bells
ringing, which I remember from another time,

of the astonishment of other towers, of another astonished afternoon,
which you held through winter although it was October:
that boy traversing the pile of peaches
on a yellow afternoon,
as if he were held by a sword’s divisions
in the face of incredible language
and its bouquet of roses, its mist.


Uma tarde amarela noroeste
modo nosso de amar lembrando a estrada,
que passa sempre a leste
de urna tarde espantada,

de urna tarde amarela soterrada
numa caixa de pêssegos, madura,
uma janela madura de bandeiras abortas
para o mar, e frias;

encarcerada pelo verdoenga de pêssegos
e açúcar cristalizado sobre a polpa
dos verdes apanhados na chácara. Setembro.
Ah, setembro, setembro

essa menina e teus jardins sobre a cabeça
castanha e cacheada, numa tarde amarela
de vapores entrando a barra, de sinos
batendo, que reconheço de outra época,

do espanto de outras torres, de outra tarde espantada,
que amarravas no inverno embora outubro:
esse rapaz que atravessa o corporal de pêssegos
de urna tarde amarela,
como se fincasse a cisma de uma lança
no rosto da palavra genial
e seu ramo de rosas, sua neblina.

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