Estiletes (fratura 1)
Tornaram-se estiletes –
no que eram brotos de chuva.
Agora, brotam
em qualquer parte,
em plena luz do dia.
Como um chão de navalhas.
Daggers (Fractures 1)
They have turned to daggers—
what once were sprigs sprouting in rain.
Now, they burst forth
wherever,
in plain light of day.
A field of razor blades for grain.
Ordem da horda 1
Eram três meninos
de chocolate, três fiapos –
desses que nascem
à granel;
três salteadores, canibais
do asfalto – desses
que já nascem com validade
vencida.
Eram três rebentos transgênicos
com chip anti-remorso;
três exus cobrando despacho!
E como num relâmpago
(ou num xeque-mate
no fim da partida),
até hoje o gringo
ainda não sabe
se perdeu a câmera
ou perdeu a vida.
The Way of the Horde 1
They were three chocolate
boys, three loose threads–
the kind that are delivered
in bulk;
three muggers, asphalt
cannibals —the kind
that are born with a shelf-life
already expired.
They were three transgenic sprouts
with a chip for no-regrets;
three exu spirits demanding offerings!
And as if in a lightning flash,
(or an endgame
checkmate),
till today the gringo
still has no idea
if he lost his camera
or his life.
Ordem da horda 2
Quando ela colheu seu olhar
ambivalente – e a faca! –
na viela escura,
onde as dálias
não pediram para nascer,
houve um sismo
de cristal partido.
E o the end
enlaçando os tablóides de sangue.
The Way of the Horde 2
When she noticed his ambiguous
gaze—and the knife!—
in the dark alley
where dahlias
had not asked to be born,
there was a spasm
of broken crystal.
And the end
wrapped the tabloids in blood.
Vulto 1
Sozinho com os vampiros
e a madrugada,
ainda guardo
estas flores de pedra (a noite
é voraz, mas a casa
está fresca
para os colibris).
Rompendo as esquinas
e a largura das horas,
sou pouco mais
que um vulto
entre os bichos.
A cidade é um ganido
em meus ossos; a cidade
que me vende em retalhos. A mim
com meus redobrados voos.
O tempo que me resgata
é surdo e não dói
na carne.
O que dói é a vontade
aprendendo a sonhar.
Shade 1
Alone with vampires
and the dawn,
I still hold on
to these flowers of stone (the night
is ravenous, but the house
stays fresh
for the hummingbirds).
Breaking across corners
and the breadth of the hours,
I am little more
than a shade
amongst the beasts.
The city is a yelping
in my bones; the city
that sells me piece by piece. To me,
with my recurring stubborn flights.
Time that ransoms me
is deaf; there is no throbbing
in my flesh.
What throbs is my desire
learning to dream.
Vulto 2
É como se me evaporasse
a tarde entre os dedos – sua
combustão. Enquanto
aguardo a brisa cair
em meu prato.
Como se houvesse um recato
atravessando as vidas: o leite
no peito das mães;
a floração
antes da espiga.
Estou à bordo
das coisas que gritam
sem palavras; da tempestade
sobre a nudez.
À mostra estão as marcas
dos pregos
onde a alma se pendura.
Como se o coração
– em partituras –
jorrasse pelas cicatrizes.
Shade 2
It is as if the afternoon were to evaporate
between my fingers—its
combustion. While
I wait for the breeze to drop
upon my plate.
As if there were a reticence
crossing through life: milk
at the breast of mothers;
the flowering
before the blade of grain.
I am on board
things that cry out
without words; the storm
breaking over nakedness.
What can be seen are the marks
of the nails
where the soul hangs.
As if the heart
–in a melodic score–
were gushing from its scars.
vulto 3
Ó transparência que me acolhe
ao híbrido das ruas, à carne
das coisas vivas:
conjugado à noite
entre cães e luas;
desvertebrado aos milhares
como se da aurora
que rumino,
fosse a possessão
dos répteis nas marquises.
Onde quer que eu vá –
arrastando as patas
sobre o litoral dos mortos –,
seguem-me essas germinações
de estrelas;
esse areal
à deriva.
Trata-se do que nos outros
estou e sangro –, sem que saibam
de que açougue
berram meus vocábulos.
Shade 3
Oh, transparency that welcomes me
to hybrid streets, to the flesh
of living things:
joining the night
with its dogs and moons;
stripped of my vertebrae by the thousands,
as if the dawn
I ruminate
were the possession
of reptiles on the marquees.
Wherever I go—
dragging my paws
along the borders of the dead—,
the germination of stars
follows me;
that stretch of
aimless drifting sand.
It is as if I am in others
and I am bleeding—without them knowing
from what slaughterhouse
my words are bellowing.
Alexis Levitin has published forty-seven books in translation, mostly poetry from Portugal, Brazil, and Ecuador. In addition to five books by Salgado Maranhão, his work includes Clarice Lispector’s Soulstorm, Eugénio de Andrade’s Forbidden Words (both from New Directions), and Astrid Cabral’s Cage. He has served as a Fulbright Lecturer at the Universities of Oporto and Coimbra, Portugal, The Catholic University in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and the Federal University of Santa Catarina, in Brazil and has held translation residencies at the Banff Center, Canada, The European Translators Collegium in Straelen, Germany (twice), and the Rockefeller Foundation Study Center in Bellagio, Italy.
Salgado Maranhão has won all of Brazil's major poetry awards, has toured the United States five times, presenting his work at over one hundred universities. In addition to fourteen books of poetry, he has written song lyrics and made recordings with some of Brazil’s leading jazz and pop musicians. Four collections of his work have appeared in English: Blood of the Sun (Milkweed Editions, 2012), Tiger Fur (White Pine Press, 2015), Palavora (Dialogos Books, 2019) and Mapping the Tribe (Spuyten Duyvil, 2020). These six poems are drawn from Consecration of the Wolves, coming out from Bitter Oleander Press in 2021.