Nuno Júdice

This "fado" way of thinking of the portuguese people also has some good things. After reading a lot more poetry of portuguese authors, I found out some beautiful poems. I chose to post one by Nuno Júdice today. He is a contemporary poet, from whom many poems can be found on the web. The one that I chose is not one of the most widely found. I read it in a book and it immediately attracted my attention:

Presente

Queria neste poema a cor dos teus olhos
e queria em cada verso o som da tua voz:
depois, queria que o poema tivesse a forma
do teu corpo, e que ao contar cada sílaba
os meus dedos encontrassem os teus,
fazendo a soma que acaba no amor.

Queria juntar as palavras como os corpos
se juntam, e obedecer à única sintaxe
que dá um sentido à vida; depois,
repetiria todas as palavras que juntei
até perderem o sentido, nesse confuso
murmúrio em que termina o amor.

E queria que a cor dos teus olhos e o som
da tua voz saíssem dos meus versos,
dando-me a forma do teu corpo; depois,
dir-te-ia que já não é preciso contar
as sílabas, nem repetir as palavras do poema,
para saber o que significa o amor.

Então dar-te-ia o poema de onde saíste,
como a caixa vazia da memória, e levar-te-ia
pela mão, contando os passos do amor.

Nuno Júdice

Present

I would like in this poem the colour of your eyes
and I would like in every verse the sound of your voice:
then, I would like that the poem would have the shape
of your body, and that while counting every syllable
my fingers would find yours
Making the addiction that ends up in love.

I would like to put words together like bodies
get together, and obey the only syntax
that gives life a meaning; then,
I would repeat all the words that I’ve put together
until they loose their meaning, in that confusing
murmur that ends up in love.

And I would like the colour of your eyes and the sound
of your voice to come out from my verses
giving me the shape of your body; then,
I would tell you that there’s no need to count
the syllables anymore, or repeat the words of the poem,
To know what love means.

Then, I would give you the poem where you came from,
like the empty box of memory, and I would take you
By my hand, counting the steps of love.

Nuno Júdice