A bit of an abandoned project, I had hopes of transforming a portuguese poem I had into an English form without translation. Due to structure constrains, I wasn’t able to fully converse it, it was supposed to have eight more stanzas (to match the portuguese version with 20 stanzas).
Turns out the English language is generally more laconic, and you can convey more using less, in turn breaking the general spine of the poem. This is what was left, hopefully someone can look at it and see something worthwhile.
I haven’t been publishing much lately. Besides being generally busy, my poetic production lately has seemed a bit twisted. As I struggle inside, usually, so does my poetry, and it warps more and more the worse I get.
Regardless, I created this blog for exactly this purpose, to “document” how my work seems to change, evolve, sometimes for the worst. Here is a composition that shows it pretty well:
A bit messy and all-over-the-place, this one is another experimental work. I’m trying this “therapeutic poetry” thing, hence why I haven’t published, I’ve been doing it mostly in Portuguese. This one, however, I liked. It’s not great but I hope you gather something from it.
A very alien poem to me, mostly because I don’t understand it, nor do I get why I wrote it.
Took me five hours to translate this poem, I’m exhausted, why do I use so many ancient words in portuguese. And it isn’t even that complex really.
This one is very special.
A little while back, I talked about my Caliath volumes and how the first four were disowned. For good reason, they contain all my poems from the peak of my depression from 15 to 17 years of age, meaning they have incredibly saddening and dark poetics that I don’t like getting back to. Recently, I decided to uncover them and attempt to read some. I didn’t get very far, but I decided to translate one of the poems from that time into English.
Disclaimer: This one, Name of War (Nome de Guerra in Portuguese), is not at all inspired by the racial induced of 1675 in New England, rather by a book of portuguese authorship, by José Almada Negreiros, which I was reading at the time. Despite being sad, I hope you enjoy it.
Don’t love this one, but I’m having a dry spell, so I will post some “unreleased” poems. These aren’t as serious.
Another mental health poem, I translated this one from Portuguese. I’m not one for experimental poetry, but this one was fun to make.