Painting by Lo Ch’ing, detail

TRUTH

The door of truth was open,
but let only half a person pass at a time.
Thus, it was not possible to attain the whole truth,
because the half person who entered
brought only the profile of half of the truth.

And the second half
also returned with half a profile.
And the two half-profiles did not match.

They smashed the door. They knocked the door down.
They arrived at a luminous place
where the truth radiated its flames.
It was divided into two halves,
different from one another.

Each quarreled which half was more beautiful.
None of the two was perfectly beautiful.
But one had to choose. Everyone opted
according to his whim, his illusion, his myopia.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Brasil, 1902–1987

Translation Germain Droogenbroodt – Stanley Barkan

From “Poesia completa”, Rio de Janeiro: Nova Aguilar, 2002.

ΑΛΗΘΕΙΑ

Η πόρτα της αλήθειας ήταν ανοιχτή

μα επέτρεπε κάθε φορά

μόνο μισό απ’ το κάθε άτομο να μπει

κι έτσι ήταν αδύνατο όλη η αλήθεια να βρεθεί

αφού το μισό του ανθρώπου που έμπαινε

πίσω γύριζε με τη μισή αλήθεια

και τα μισά δύο ατόμων ποτέ δεν ταίριαζαν.

Κάποια στιγμή την πόρτα έσπασαν

και μπαίνοντας έφτασαν σε τόπο λαμπερό

που η αλήθεια έλαμπε φωτιά

στα δύο χωρισμένη, ανόμοια μισά

που καυγάδιζαν ποιό απ’ τα δυο ήταν πιο όμορφο

και μήτε το ένα μήτε το άλλο ήταν τέλειο.

Κι όμως είχε ο καθένας να επιλέξει σύμφωνα

με το γούστο του, τη φαντασία του

τη μυωπία του.

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//Translated by Manolis Aligizakis

THE GATE

Excerpt XXI

The flower shop girl sprays the carnations. I’ve waited

all week long.

I communicate with the nails. I have no phone.

The hard of hearing man stoops close to my mouth, puts

his stethoscope on my chest, to listen to my voice;

I disguise it so he can’t listen to my silence deep inside;

I hold my breath; I breathe slowly to give rhythm to

my pulse; this is truly the rhythm; I walk along with

history; sometimes ahead of it; the world is good; I

don’t sleep for too long; I sit by the window after

midnight and I see the shadows of the vacant traffic

cop stands, the blood as it changes colour on

the sidewalk, especially to see the wild, hungry,

beautiful cats ripping the green bags outside the closed

apartment buildings with the glass doors, with

the moon divided into five pieces; one of these glass

pieces is stuck vertically deep into the brown floor

planks of the caretaker’s desk.

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/w454dzp?page=1&pageSize=10

Μαρία  Πανούτσου, Ποιήματα