Poems From The Portuguese

WALLACE STEVENS ON HIS WAY TO THE OFFICE

WALLACE STEVENS ON HIS WAY TO THE OFFICE

En route, Hartford stiffens
and at the same time becomes lighter.
Fall ceases to be the fall.
The cockerels don’t sing.
This necessary world of objects
is transmuted in the gaze
of the weary man, weary but contented
with everything made in himself
by the imagining mind.
In Hartford, it’s always fall,
as it is in certain jails. Connecticut
and here’s the poem. As soon as he gets
to the office, Mrs Halliwell will write it down.

© Translated by Ana Hudson, 2011

WALLACE STEVENS A CAMINHO DO ESCRITÓRIO

No caminho, Hartford endurece
ao mesmo tempo que se torna leve.
O outono deixa de ser outono.
Os galos não cantam.
Esse necessário mundo dos objectos
transmuda-se perante o olhar
do homem cansado, cansado mas feliz
com tudo o que em si faz
o pensamento imaginante.
Em Hartford é sempre outono,
como em certas prisões. Connecticut
e surge o poema. Mrs. Halliwell tomará nota
mal chegue ao escritório.

in Menos por Menos – Poemas Escolhidos, 2011

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