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Paris, Inverno 1994


JTParreira
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JTParreira

This is the poem in Portuguese:

 

Paris nessa noite tinha a luz

distribuída pelas gotas da chuva.

 

Sartre e Beauvoir não estavam lá.

 

No Café de Flore, três ou quatro

colheres de açúcar afogavam

o amargo do café. Beberam-no

primeiro os meus olhos

como um ritual, os lábios

depois, na minha língua

mais tarde escreveria

um poema previsível.

 

Outras vezes, Paris era um bocado

de ar azulado.

J.T.Parreira

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goldenlangur

Hi JT,

 

Not that I know anything about Portuguese but as I read it I like the way the lines echo each other. To cite a few (perhaps wrongly heard!) examples:

 

 

The "luz, chu, chuva, estavam la, quatro, Beberam-no, olhos,os labios" -forgive my inability to accent the words.

 

 

The sounds in your language are beautiful!

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Frank E Gibbard

I was intrigued to find someone posting in a foreign language. Credit is due to GoldenL for tackling an appreciation without the benefit of translation. I got an online version which follows:

A puzzling text maybe not helped by auto-translation but intriguing if the poet could add some background. Frank

 

Paris in this night had the light distributed for the drops of rain. Sartre and Beauvoir were not there. In the Coffee of Flore, three or four spoons of sugar drowned the bitter taste of the coffee. They had drunk it first my eyes as a ritual, the lips later, in my language later would write a previsible poem. Other times, Paris was a bluish air bit.

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Aleksandra

Wonderful voice and poetical sound of your language. I loved how it flows. I can understand something from the Portuguese version, but not much. I used translator online but as I knew it, there is no good translation , because it poetry can't be literary translated, for that we need experts for poetry translations.

But anyway, the poem sounds lovely. Thank you Joao for posting poem on own language. Maybe all of us should post some poem on our own language, and that we can do in some special topic for us icon_smile.gif .I think you gave me a good idea

 

Thank you

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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