Thanks to a newly found blog, this is the second Portuguese author that I have discovered.
Ruy Belo
Na Colina do Instante
Há um cheiro de absinto quando os capricórnios
da casca apodrecida dos carvalhos velhos
iniciam seu voo pelo mês de junho
Colhemos avelãs ao longo do jardim
onde as tílias ao vento espalham o aroma
A frescura da fruta vence o sol rasante
Somos quem fomos caminhamos tão de leve
temos tamanha dignidade de crianças
que nem a morte aqui de nós se lembraria
nem mesmo a monstruosa flor de outros destinos
nem qualquer outra das repúblicas do ódio
encresparia o calmo mar do fim da tarde
É à celebração sagrada do acaso
à festa da essência mineral do mundo
que o sol procede no segredo deste templo
A tarde é tudo e tudo são caminhos
Somos eleitos cúmplices da hora
Aqui não chega o desatino do verão
esqueço a aversão dos meus antepassados
e levanto-me sobre a derradeira luz
Por instantes sou eu ninguém morreu aqui
ó minha vida esse processo que perdi
© 1973, Ruy Belo
From: Todos os Poemas
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim, Lisbon, 2000
ISBN: 972-37-0617-2
ON THE HILL OF THIS MOMENT
A hint of absinthe fills the air when the beetles
emerging from the rotten bark of the old oaks
begin their flight in the month of june
Picking hazelnuts we walk through the garden
where the lindens’ aroma wafts in the breeze
The coolness of the fruit defeats the declining sun
We are who we used to be walking so softly
with so much childlike dignity
that here not even death would remember us
nor would the monstrous flower of other destinies
or any other of the republics of hatred
stir up the calm sea of this late afternoon
It is to the sacred celebration of chance
to the feast of the world’s mineral essence
that the sun is proceeding in this temple’s inner sanctum
The afternoon is everything and everything is pathways
We are the chosen assistants to this hour
Here summer’s insanity doesn’t arrive
and I quit loathing my ancestors
and I rise as the last light flickers
For a moment I am I and here no one died
O my life that process I left behind
© Translation: 2005, Richard Zenith
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
I have been back East for almost two weeks and my suitcase remains in the foyer! No. I have not had a chance to unpack. Tons of mail. Besides the mail which should have been my priority but turned out not to be, I have been a slave to the backyard. The "stranger", John, has showed up just about everyday to help. Even yesterday with the snow flying. He granted my mother's wish and buried the fig trees. They are small; not like the ones we had when Pai was alive but a tremendous chore nevertheless. John dug the holes. I tied the branches with rope and helped him place them into the ground. Afterwards, I helped to shovel the dirt on top of them. Just the exercise I need for my back!
I promised my neurosurgeon I would have surgery in the fall; the spring was too busy a time. I have not gone back since. Would not be surprised if he refuses to see me again. It makes no sense to have spinal surgery again when I know I cannot change my lifestyle! Not until my mother sells the "quinta". That will not happen until her death because selling it, would mean her death. She forgets my age; in her mind I am still young and strong. I want to fool myself but the body protests!
In the evenings I have been up to my elbows making "marmelada". Quince marmalade and jam. I still have three quince trees to be picked, the branches weighed down with so many quince. I have three 5 gallon buckets waiting but I will pass tonight. I don't think I can see another pot of "merda melada" as I liked to call it when I was a child. Only behind my parents' back or there would have been serious consequences. My, how times have changed!
The next hurdle will be what to do with all the marmelada? I managed to give most of the grapes and apples away. I have even offered to give lessons on how to make the marmelada, but why bother? They know that they will be having all they want any day now.
And the beat goes on!
I promised my neurosurgeon I would have surgery in the fall; the spring was too busy a time. I have not gone back since. Would not be surprised if he refuses to see me again. It makes no sense to have spinal surgery again when I know I cannot change my lifestyle! Not until my mother sells the "quinta". That will not happen until her death because selling it, would mean her death. She forgets my age; in her mind I am still young and strong. I want to fool myself but the body protests!
In the evenings I have been up to my elbows making "marmelada". Quince marmalade and jam. I still have three quince trees to be picked, the branches weighed down with so many quince. I have three 5 gallon buckets waiting but I will pass tonight. I don't think I can see another pot of "merda melada" as I liked to call it when I was a child. Only behind my parents' back or there would have been serious consequences. My, how times have changed!
The next hurdle will be what to do with all the marmelada? I managed to give most of the grapes and apples away. I have even offered to give lessons on how to make the marmelada, but why bother? They know that they will be having all they want any day now.
And the beat goes on!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Two weeks ago, I rushed from the car into the house to avoid the 100F. Today, I rushed from the car into the house to avoid the 34F and the frigid mixture of rain and snow flurries.
Of all the glorious fall days we have had, my mother chose today to go for a ride in the country. It made sense to her. When the weather is great, I cannot tear her from her beloved garden. What could she possibly do with this miserable weather? Off we went towards Marcellus and Skaneateles. Witnessed the spectacular dance of the brilliant leaves being whipped by the wind and the snow. As we moved towards Skaneateles, the snow became quite dense and it actually started to cover the fields.
The water on the lake was choppy and turbulent. I like it that way. Normally only ripples are seen as a result of the sailboats, but when it is whipped by this strong wind I find it more comforting than its usual stillness.
The roads were not icy because the ground is not yet cold enough. Tomorrow will be a different story.
We are expected to get 4-8" of snow overnight.
Life in Central New York returns to normal. Shovels, scrapers, scarves, gloves, face masks.....Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
Of all the glorious fall days we have had, my mother chose today to go for a ride in the country. It made sense to her. When the weather is great, I cannot tear her from her beloved garden. What could she possibly do with this miserable weather? Off we went towards Marcellus and Skaneateles. Witnessed the spectacular dance of the brilliant leaves being whipped by the wind and the snow. As we moved towards Skaneateles, the snow became quite dense and it actually started to cover the fields.
The water on the lake was choppy and turbulent. I like it that way. Normally only ripples are seen as a result of the sailboats, but when it is whipped by this strong wind I find it more comforting than its usual stillness.
The roads were not icy because the ground is not yet cold enough. Tomorrow will be a different story.
We are expected to get 4-8" of snow overnight.
Life in Central New York returns to normal. Shovels, scrapers, scarves, gloves, face masks.....Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Five years ago today, my siblings and I, along with our children carried my father's mortal remains to a crematorium.
The skies wept openly along with us as we carried him down the front stairs of his beloved house. The aroma of the last grapes that he always left unpicked by the door kissed him as he descended. I felt the need to grab some and place them with him. Nothing else made sense.
We made a short stop at the funeral home to place him into a coffin. A simple box as he had wished. We gathered around him and gave him our last farewells. My husband sang a hunting Ukranian melody that is part of their funeral ritual. I had to go and hold up my brother with the help of the funeral director. T's heart is as gentle as they come....
We headed for the crematorium. My father's remains were lovingly taken out of the hearse and placed into the opening. When we were emotionally ready, my sister, brother and I pressed the button to start the cremation process. When we were able to comfort each other and the children to the point that they could move on to their cars, my brother and I stood guard at the door of the crematorium.
The heavens cried with us during the four hour process.
Two cemetery workers came. They gave us my father's ashes. My brother and I held them closely to our hearts in a hug.
He got behind the wheel. The tears were still streaming and now he could not blame the rain. I held my father's ashes in my arms. They were still warm when I handed them over to my mother who was inconsolable.
No one, other than his family got to touch my father after he died. He was not out of our sight for a moment. I feel so honored to have had the privilege to fulfill his wishes. And so grateful that the "officials" understood and allowed us to bend a few rules.
The skies wept openly along with us as we carried him down the front stairs of his beloved house. The aroma of the last grapes that he always left unpicked by the door kissed him as he descended. I felt the need to grab some and place them with him. Nothing else made sense.
We made a short stop at the funeral home to place him into a coffin. A simple box as he had wished. We gathered around him and gave him our last farewells. My husband sang a hunting Ukranian melody that is part of their funeral ritual. I had to go and hold up my brother with the help of the funeral director. T's heart is as gentle as they come....
We headed for the crematorium. My father's remains were lovingly taken out of the hearse and placed into the opening. When we were emotionally ready, my sister, brother and I pressed the button to start the cremation process. When we were able to comfort each other and the children to the point that they could move on to their cars, my brother and I stood guard at the door of the crematorium.
The heavens cried with us during the four hour process.
Two cemetery workers came. They gave us my father's ashes. My brother and I held them closely to our hearts in a hug.
He got behind the wheel. The tears were still streaming and now he could not blame the rain. I held my father's ashes in my arms. They were still warm when I handed them over to my mother who was inconsolable.
No one, other than his family got to touch my father after he died. He was not out of our sight for a moment. I feel so honored to have had the privilege to fulfill his wishes. And so grateful that the "officials" understood and allowed us to bend a few rules.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Visits from strangers
Back east! My body shivers underneath turtleneck sweaters and barely feels the heat that is constantly being pumped into the room by the furnace. Quite a shock to the body to go from 100F to 40F. The soreness in my throat threatens to take me down, but I am fighting it. Tomorrow there will be flurries. Snow! With it, the splendor of the foliage will soon disappear. I am glad that at least I got to see it even though it is already past peak.
I had missed the trees and the fields in these parts. Bizarre! I spent forty years hating this place; I thought it was dull and tacky and now, for reasons I cannot explain, I am so much at peace in this hick town.
Mountains of mail awaited me. I have managed to make several piles in order of priority.
I was sidetracked today when a "stranger" who had been speaking to my mother about helping out in the gardens actually showed up and wanted to help. I have become somewhat cynical these past couple of years as a result of "strangers" who start out with so much interest in the property and it usually turns out they "want" something.
I don't mind people wanting something. I mind them not being honest.
Today's stranger helped. He really helped trimming back the raspberry bushes, the leaves of the plants that have wilted by the severe frost. He really touched my heart and brought tears to my eyes when he told me that the garden has been calling him for the past two years. He told me that he felt something that he could not explain while there. He told me that he could feel the soul of the yard.
It made sense to me. I know whose soul he felt. It is true that my father still lives here amongst the beautiful plants and the vineyard. All planted with his sweat and love....
Did you send the "stranger" along PAI? Did you send him because you want to restore my faith in mankind?
I have tried really hard not to show how much I miss you. I have! But the truth is that it feels like a million years since I held you in my arms and felt your last breath leave your body....
I miss you. Thanks for the visit through the stranger.
I had missed the trees and the fields in these parts. Bizarre! I spent forty years hating this place; I thought it was dull and tacky and now, for reasons I cannot explain, I am so much at peace in this hick town.
Mountains of mail awaited me. I have managed to make several piles in order of priority.
I was sidetracked today when a "stranger" who had been speaking to my mother about helping out in the gardens actually showed up and wanted to help. I have become somewhat cynical these past couple of years as a result of "strangers" who start out with so much interest in the property and it usually turns out they "want" something.
I don't mind people wanting something. I mind them not being honest.
Today's stranger helped. He really helped trimming back the raspberry bushes, the leaves of the plants that have wilted by the severe frost. He really touched my heart and brought tears to my eyes when he told me that the garden has been calling him for the past two years. He told me that he felt something that he could not explain while there. He told me that he could feel the soul of the yard.
It made sense to me. I know whose soul he felt. It is true that my father still lives here amongst the beautiful plants and the vineyard. All planted with his sweat and love....
Did you send the "stranger" along PAI? Did you send him because you want to restore my faith in mankind?
I have tried really hard not to show how much I miss you. I have! But the truth is that it feels like a million years since I held you in my arms and felt your last breath leave your body....
I miss you. Thanks for the visit through the stranger.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Mt. Lemon, Tucson, Arizona
I go back home in a week. Back East where the fireplace has been lit and our constant companion from October through April is the furnace!
My child (woman) approaches me and tells me I have been here for a long time, but she hardly has had time to cuddle...is it possible she turned 27 a week ago? Try as I may, there are still brief images now and then of the little girl that could not fall asleep without twirling my hair.
Time....it slips through our fingers.
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