TÓDALAS MEDIANOITES EVERY MIDNIGHT
Ramiro Fonte tr. Richard Bramah, Helen Buffery, Benigno Fernández Salgado & John Rutherford
- (from Galician)
Tódalas medianoites, meu amor,
Escribo nunha folla as débedas co mundo,
Fago reconto lúcido das horas
Que non me foron gratas nin cumpridas;
Dígome para min:
Quen amou tanto, incluso ata a tristeza,
Debe permanecer no tempo cun sorriso.

Quizais volvo de lonxe;
De moi grises cidades derrotadas
Que tiveron o nome dos meus soños,
Dalgún porto que amei por solitario
Ou do encontro furtivo cunha rosa
Que abrollou en pasadas primaveras.
E aínda estou a deberme
Á cinza terrenal daquela flor.
Cumpro a avenza que fixen cos rapaces antigos
Que choraron por estas mesmas lúas
Sen saber que era aquilo que envexaban da noite.

E regneso tal vez
Dalgún corpo que amei e boto en falta,
Da apreta misteriosa requerida
Por eses buscadores dun dourado mencer,
E cismo nun verán, na araxe do solpor
Que aínda segue a soñarme.

Tódalas medianoites, meu amor,
Xógome as causas limpas, a tenrura;
A incerta consonancia das palabras
E perdo moitas veces,
E a nada dou alcance senón a enseres murchos,
A días fenecidos, a anelas sen resposta,
Ó retrato perplexo dun tempo miserable.

E escribo nunha folla:
Media vida vivín polos teus ollos,
E as demais xa as perdín en tantos versos.

(from Adeus Norte,1991)
Every midnight, my love,
I write on a page my debts to the world,
I make a clear account of the hours
That were neither pleasant nor fulfilled;
I say to myself:
He who has loved so much, even loved sadness,
Must remain in time with a smile.

Maybe I return from far away;
From grey defeated cities
Which bore the name of my dreams,
From some port which I loved for its solitude
Or from the furtive meeting with a rose
Which bloomed in past springtimes.
And I still owe myself
The earthly ash of that flower.
I keep the contract made with youths of former times
Who wept for these same moons
Not knowing why they felt such envy for the night.

And I return perhaps
From some body which once I loved and now I miss,
From the mysterious embrace sought
By those explorers for a golden dawn,
And I daydream of a summer, of the sunset breeze
Which still bewitches me.

Every midnight, my love,
I gamble with pure causes and with tenderness;
The uncertain consonance of words
And often I lose,
And all I gain is obsolete utensils,
Bygone days, desires without answer,
The confused portrait of a wretched time.

And I write on a page:
Half a life I lived for your eyes,
The others I have lost in so many verses.

(from Goodbye North, 1991)

Copyright © Ramiro Fonte 1991; Trans. Copyright © Richard Bramah, Helen Buffery,
Benigno Fernández Salgado & John Rutherford 1992 - publ. in 'Planet' by Berw Cyf.


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