Where pain meets language, and language becomes a vigil of light
Onde a dor encontra a palavra, e a palavra acende uma vigília.
“I Died at the Bataclan in Paris,” in commemoration of November 13, 2015
By Laureano Soares — Montréal, Québec, Canada
Translated from Portuguese by Katharine F. Baker and Emanuel Melo
For a brief moment, I felt the pain
my twitching eyes closed,
My hands and my fingers clenched
life poured out of me, I fell to the floor.
I could no longer hear screams or moans;
my body was covered with a sheet
and never again shall I see sunlight,
I didn’t have the fragile good luck of the wounded.
I’ll never set foot on the road
that I saw in the distance with tenderness,
it was all over. A sordid and sad end.
I was one of those chosen from among the masses
a victim of wars, of ideals,
I was another Abel in Cain’s clutches.
Faleci no Ba-Ta-Clan em Paris — A 13 de novembro 2015
De Laureano Soares — Montréal, Québec, Canadá
Durante um breve instante a dor senti,
meus olhos convulsivos se fecharam,
minhas mâos e meus dedos se crisparam
a vida me fugiu, no châo caì.
Nâo pude ouvir mais gritos nem gemidos;
meu corpo foi coberto co’um lençol
e nunca mais verei a luz do sol,
nâo tive a fràgil sorte dos feridos.
Jamais darei um passo no caminho
que almejava dando meu carinho,
tudo acabou. Sòrdico e triste fim.
Fui um dos escolhidos entre os mais
vitima das guerras, dos ideais,
fui outro Abel nas garras de Caim.
We thank translators and writers Katharine F. Baker and Emanuel Melo for sharing this wonderful poem, which they translated from the poet Laureano Soares. Sometimes things happen, and there isn’t a real explanation; such is poetry. For the last two weeks, Filamentos has had this title and some thoughts on this segment that we wanted to begin. My friend Katharine Baker’s e-mail today gave us the poem we needed to start this new segment.
Filamentos (artes e letras) 