Three Poems by Patrícia Lavelle
Art by Pinyu Hwang
Translator's Note
In “Sappho’s Reflection”, we wanted to make it clear that the incomplete tag question “your loved one?” refers to the lyric I’s enquiry to his/her beloved one about his/her thoughts. Hence, we included a dash before “my precarious image”. The poet plays with words in this poem by breaking them, so as to express the lyric’s I heartbreak. In order to emphasise how difficult a feeling is, Brazilians speak slower and stress a syllable of a given word. That is why, the poet separated the word “apenas”. In English, this word translates as “just”, a one-syllable word. Thus, we broke up “the time yet to come” (“porvir”) into two lines to convey that something could still happen in future.
Três Poemas
By Patrícia Lavelle
Reflexo de Safo
Nas ruínas desse
eu
que do teu fragmento
faz
um todo
leio ainda o ciúme
que me quebra
agora
em mil pedaços
E em retrovisor introspectivo
vejo
o olhar amado
em outros olhos
seu desejo
em outro corpo
e a dor arcaica
sem pudor
es
tilhaça
-me a miragem
precária
sua amada?
contemplo em teus olhos
o casal enamorado
e já não estou presente
sou a
penas
porvir
Filomela (I)
A-melódica, música
que me falta
e faz
aquém e além da língua o corte:
canto que ecoa mudo
fluxo e fio.
Minha voz é essa falta
que trans
borda:
imagens costuradas
na pele fina
do pensamento
Filomela (II)
Com o fio da navalha
na urdidura do silêncio
o que tramo é quase
um grito
quase um canto
Three Poems
Translated from Portuguese by Alice B. Osti Magalhães, Jenny Marshall Rodge
Sappho’s Reflection
In the ruins of this
self
that from a fragment of you
makes
a whole
I still read the jealousy
that breaks me
now
into a thousand pieces
In an introspective rearview mirror
I see
the beloved look
in someone else’s eyes
your desire
in someone else’s body
and the ancient pain
without shame
sha
tters
my precarious
mirage –
your loved one?
I watch the couple in love
in your eyes
and I am no longer there
I’m just
the time
to come
Philomela (I)
A-melodic –
that music I miss
makes
the cut above and below the tongue:
a song that echoes silently.
The flow and spin.
My voice is this longing
that over
flows:
images sewn
on the fine skin
of thought
Philomela (II)
With the razor’s edge
on the warp of silence
what I weave is almost
a scream
almost a song
