April Poems

I Am Portuguese Here

I am a Portuguese
here
in land and hunger cut
done from clay and coal
torn by the northern wind
death certain lover
in the silence of the aggression.

I am a Portuguese
here
born from this side
on this side of life
from the suffering side
of the repeated misery
of the barefoot foot
of the wind.

I was born
from this side of the city
in this edge
in the middle of the storm
during the kingdom of fear.
Always betting on travel
when the results were bitter
and the moonlight sour.

I am a Portuguese
here
in the lying theater
but at last true
in the easy feint
in the pleasure
in the painful smile
in a sailor swaying.

I was born
from this side of the gentleness
of heart torn to pieces
I am a son of the adventure
of the anecdote
of the chance
champion of the impromptu,
I bring the hand dirty with blood
soaking the land I tread.

I am a Portuguese
here
in the brilliantine in which I wrap up,
of the top of my corner
the conversation and the storm
I am a son of the reel
of the immense gesture
in the strings of the disentangle.

I was born
here
in April
when I forgot all the longing
and began to invent
in each gesture
the freedom.

I was born
here
near the sea
of a singing hurted throat.
I am unfinished
party
almost absent
I am the fight
the ancient struggle
renewed
still urgent.

I am a Portuguese
here
the Portuguese without master
but with way.
I am a Portuguese
here
and I inhale April
flying
inside the chest.


I am Portuguese here

(José Fanha)
translation HSSoares

Venham Mais Cinco - José Afonso