There was a moment
When you let
Settle on my sleeve
(More a movement
Of fatigue, I believe,
Than any thought)
Your hand. And drew it
Away. Did I
Feel it, or not?
Don’t know. But remember
And still feel
A kind of memory,
Firm, corporeal,
At the place where you laid
The hand, which offered
Meaning – a kind of,
Uncomprehended –
But so softly…
All nothing, I know.
There are, though,
On a road of the kind
Life is, things – plenty –
Uncomprehended.
Do I know whether,
As I felt your hand
Settle into place
Upon my sleeve
And a little, a little,
In my heart,
There was not a new
Rhythm in space?
As though you,
Without meaning to,
Had touched me
Inside, to say
A kind of mystery,
Sudden, ethereal,
And not known
That it had been.
So the breeze
In the boughs says
Without knowing
An imprecise
Joyful thing.
From ‘Fernando Pessoa: Selected Poems’. English translation by Jonathan Griffin.
Image credit: Bamboo Tree in the Wind, by Shi Yali.
Comments
1 comment
Submitted by B. Julyan on Tue, 02/14/2012 - 20:20.
Heavy sigh. If I get my wish, one day I'll write like that.
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