The prompt for Day #16 is here. We were invited to find a poem in another language, not look at the translation, and “translate” it ourselves based on what the words look it. It was pretty much a rape-and-pillage scenario up in here. This feels almost disrespectful.
Here’s the original:
THIS WAY OUT
Mas há uma saída? Imagina na insónia as florestas que crescem a essas horas noutras regiões, os comboios que as atravessam para alcançar um destino no futuro dos outros.
Há uma saída? Imagina a noite cheia de cidades violentas, o retumbar das máquinas nos subterrâneos e a chuva a cair no plástico negro dos morangais, todo o sofrimento e incerteza do mundo.
E de manhã, repara, está bonito o tempo. Os amigos acordam no quarto ao lado, descem à cozinha para fazer o café. Mas há uma saída?
© 2005, Rui Pires Cabral From: Longe da Aldeia Publisher: Averno, Lisboa, 2005
And here’s my attempt to find meaning:
THIS WAY OUT
Have you said mass? Imagine now insomnia as loud flowers and essays of our hours, or combinations that travel to our cankerous destiny— no future for us two.
Have you said…? Imagine a dark night of violent cicadas; return the machines to belowground, carve a chair that’s not black plastic, mornings, everything is sauce and inserted into the world.
It’s man, repaired; it’s beautiful, or it’s time. Or it’s friends who accord no quarters or larder; go down to the cozy for father or coffee. Have you said mass?