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To wake, To live

How to wake up without hurt?
Restart without horror?
My sleep carried me
to that kingdom where life is inexistent
and I remain inert without passion.

How to repeat, day after day,
the incomplete fable,
to bear the likeness of all rough things
of tomorrow with the harsh things today?

How to protect myself from wounds
that tear in me the events,
any event
that resembles the earth and its purple
madness?
And the one more wound inflicted by myself
every single hour - torturer
of the innocent that I am not?

No one answers, life is cruel.

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Comments

1 - 5 of 5

  • Peteskid
    July 1

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    And the roles we play in a society can be so different from that we might wish, captives to some great extent of the structures of things...I would not have war or ignorance of needy poor, yet i do just that, and deprive someone of food when i pay western prices for gasoline, there is much madness out there and much more lost opportunity, and we become inured to it all...a wonderful thoughtful poem here, full of subtlety and pointed use of words; broad and incisive ideas, a difficult translation to English done so remarkably well...PK


  • July 1
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    From guest peteskid (contact)
    And the roles we play in a society can be so different from that we might wish, captives to some great extent of the strucutures of things..I would not have war or ignirance of needy poor, yet i do just that, and deprive someone of food when i pay western prices for gasoline, there is much madness out there and much nmore lost opportunity, and we become inured to it all...a wonderful thoughtful poem here; full of subtlety and pointed use of words; a difficult translation to English done well...PK


  • rufina caraid Moderators member
    July 1
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    My first thought was Guilt was causing the hurt but after reading it again i feel the character has led a life of sadness and being hurt. Sleeping, he can get away from the physical sense and memories. He admits he's not an innocent- perhaps this is the guilt theory. I do know that this man intrigues me. Von


  • Yemassee Moderators member
    June 23

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    Exceptional

    Another questioning poem by Drummond de Andrade.

    "And the one more wound inflicted by myself
    every single hour - torturer"

    Anyone have any idea what that might mean, what that wound might be? What is the self-inflicted wound? Thinking? Living?


    • MariGoes Moderators member
      June 23
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      I think the wound he talks about is his own inertia.
      The question above the one you mentioned "How to protect myself from wounds
      that tear in me the events"... it does lead me to think that the writer allows life's events pass by without reacting to them.
      Drummond was a poet who wanted to do so much, to add his contribution to the Brazilian society, and he died with the idea that he didn't accomplish much. He died with the wrong idea.


      • Yemassee Moderators member
        June 23
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        Ah thank you, that reply was fast. Ah yes, I'd read that about Drummond. It's an interesting companion to his "Shoulders" poem.

        What he did do still resonates today, just look at us, still reading and interpreting his work.

        Thanks!

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