Ποιήματα της Isilda Nunes Πορτογαλία Επιμέλεια-Μετάφραση: Εύα Πετροπουλου Λιανού
Isilda Nunes is a Portuguese award-winning writer and artist. Recently she won among other recognitions, the Intercontinental World Poetry Prize “Kairat Dusseinov Parman”, the World Prize “Cesar Vallejo 2020” for Literary Excellence, the “Grito de Mujer Lisbon 2021 Award”, the “Aguila de Oro” for Literary and Artistic Excellence, “Escudo del Plata, “Especial Lusofonia”, “Latinoamericano à la Difusion Educativa, Literária e Cultural 2021 Award” and “I Premi Lido Dell’Anima Mihai Eminescu 2022”.
She has poems translated into English, Spanish, Hindi, Serbian, Polish, Bengali and Mandarin and edited in India, Bangladesh, Poland, Serbia, Brazil, Peru, Croatia, Greece, Republic of Seychelles, United States, Turkey, New Zealand and China. She is co-author of about fifty national and international anthologies and solo books of poetry and prose, such as novels, short stories and manuals.
She has organized and participated in various national and foreign festivals and events.
She is:
• World Executive President Collegiate of the Hispanoworld Writers Union (UHE), an organization with more than 125000 members and delegations in around 150 countries, on all continents.
• UHE World Ambassador
• President and Founder of the UHE-Portugal delegation
• Honorary Ambassador of the “World Poets Federation” (WPF)
• Member of “World Nations Writers Union” (WNWU)
• Member of the Organizing Committee of “World Festival of Poetry” (WFP) in Portugal
• Delegate of the Minho region of the Solidarity Project “Being Woman”
• Secretary of the Supervisory Board of GRETP (Recreational and Ethnographic Group “As Tricanas Poveiras)
• Member of the Patripove Advisory Board
She is an Honorary Member of:
• CEMD (Circle of Mozambican Writers in the Diaspora)
• UHE-MOZAMBIQUE (Unión Hispanomundial de Escritores, Mozambique)
• MIL- MOÇAMBIQUE (Portuguese International Movement)
• ALDCI (Lusophone Association for Development, Culture and Integration) -NGOD
• MLA Mor Lírio (International Culture) in the “Lírio Azul” Movement
Summon up the gods!
In incongruous morosity, blaspheme the stars.
The cosmos in disarray exudes words
that vogue in the subjective interjections of nothingness.
In the interstices of dreams
Desires pulse in bulimic catharsis
And in alchemical childbirth the poem is born.
THE LAST TRAIN
Of us, only the pain remains,
which gnaws at my soul.
Where does the scent of jasmine hover?
Where does the announced spring live?
Today, the corpse of me
survives in the disarray of emotions.
Translucent dust
volutes in the dug cracks,
on the lacerated face
on the tortured body.
At the hands of pseudo-love,
the sacred feminine outraged.
The scourged flesh.
The inert soul, in the induced shortcut.
At the curve of the road,
the last train
appeals to detachment.
And you?
Coldly you crush the cigarette.
O ÚLTIMO TREM
De nós, somente resta a dor,
que me fustiga sofregamente a alma.
Onde paira o aroma de jasmim?
Onde vive a primavera anunciada?
Hoje, o cadáver de mim,
sobrevive no desalinho das emoções.
Poeira translúcida
voluteia nas fendas cavadas,
na face lacerada,
no corpo torturado.
Às mãos do pseudoamor,
o sagrado feminino ultrajado.
A carne flagelada.
A alma inerte, no atalho induzido.
Na curva da estrada,
o último trem
apela ao desapego.
E tu?
Friamente esmagas o cigarro.
Urge to be reborn a New Man!
Urge to be reborn a New Man!
In the light of widespread alienation,
Gaia agonizes
in the cruel passivity
of consent blindness.
Where does the embrace hover?
Where does humanity reside?
Green dreams are aborted
on the red runways of power,
Waste is defecated
in the sacred waters of the Ganges,
boys play at shooting
In the slums of Brazil,
the spectre of hunger
murders Ethiopia,
violence roams
in Afghanistan.
And Gaia, Mother Earth, agonises in all of us!
In the eloquent oratory
of announced diplomacy,
Aphrodite struts
in magnificent halls,
Zeus sows blessings
in exchange for laurels and fame,
pseudo-gods wander
in luxurious yachts,
while Hades undaunted
outlines the next blow.
And Gaia, the Mother-Earth, agonises in all of us!
And on the impregnable path
of camouflaged corruption,
a thread of voice, a whisper,
in the veins of the New Man,
appeals to the dawn.
Where does the embrace hover?
Where does humanity reside?
Isilda Nunes
THE SWAN SUCCUMBS ON THE STAGE
The shore overflows the silence of the season of uncertainty.
There is no more Persephone’s abduction or Psyche’s enchantment.
There are no birds to draw the sky,
nor torches to light the night.
There is no passion, no whisper or ardour.
Your hand, barren of us, beckons fate.
Desire knitted in silken sheets,
fades in the farewell suspended from your lips.
The crows augur frost
in the line of time.
I saw no more the saltpans of your eyes,
nor the sea of your lap.
The sonata in Adagio Sostenutto
agonises in pas de deux.
In lapidated absence,
the vacant gaze
dictates the verdict.
The swan succumbs on the stage.
The roses withered
The roses withered in the dryness of your gaze!
I no longer dream of them, my dear! I no longer cry for them!
Our bodies, which were once just one,
Today are wrecked in the solitude of the words unsaid.
I get involved in a feeling of longing and lethargy,
Fixing the old clock still, at a time that was once ours…
At a time when we loved each other like the sea and the sky.
And I petrify myself on that horizon,
Where my body made anchorage as a boat.
Reality deranges me!
Maddened by the echo of your tread on bare walls,
That implicit farewell in the disquiet of your hands
And in the sagging of your will!
The slow arrival of winter disturbs me!
The roses you gave me have already withered!
The wet kisses of the older days, are now sinfully dried!
All embrace has expired!
And the grooves on my face exude tired memories,
Loose pieces of a plot that is no longer ours.
The mouth dried up in the refusal of the farewell,
In this delayed death, suspended in the solitude of unsaid words!
I no longer dream of them, dear! I no longer cry!
The roses withered in the dryness of your gaze!
As rosas murcharam na secura do teu olhar!
Já não as sonho, amor! Já não as choro!
Nossos corpos que outrora foram um só,
Hoje naufragam na solidão das palavras por dizer.
Envolvo-me num sentir, entremeado de saudade e letargia,
Fixando o velho relógio parado, num tempo que já foi nosso…
Num tempo em que nos amávamos como mar e céu.
E petrifico-me nesse horizonte,
onde meu corpo feito barco fez ancoradouro.
A realidade enlouquece-me!
Enlouquece-me o eco dos teus passos nas paredes nuas,
esse adeus implícito no nervosismo das tuas mãos
e na flacidez do teu querer!
Perturba-me a lenta chegada do inverno!
As rosas que me deste já murcharam!
Os beijos molhados de outrora, hoje pecam de aridez!
Esgotaram-se os afagos!
E os sulcos do meu rosto transpiram gastas memórias,
retalhos soltos de uma história que nossa, já não é.
A boca secou na recusa da despedida,
nessa morte adiada, suspensa na solidão das palavras por dizer!
Já não sonho amor! Já não choro!
As rosas murcharam na secura do teu olhar!
