Only at
dusk do eyes really begin to see.
The colours of flowers become lucid and bright
before night extinguishes them: carnations, yellow roses,
meadow-vetch and buttercups.
The wind has died down, and the sky
- the faded, nearly invisible
background of all our comings and goings -
is suddenly here, just above the treetops and pylons,
shining through foliage and above the roof of the house
in all its depth and blueness. Behind the outhouse
Venus appear; to the right of the pole of the well - Jupiter,
once two gods, now two stars.
The colours of flowers become lucid and bright
before night extinguishes them: carnations, yellow roses,
meadow-vetch and buttercups.
The wind has died down, and the sky
- the faded, nearly invisible
background of all our comings and goings -
is suddenly here, just above the treetops and pylons,
shining through foliage and above the roof of the house
in all its depth and blueness. Behind the outhouse
Venus appear; to the right of the pole of the well - Jupiter,
once two gods, now two stars.
................................................................................................
There
is no God,
there is no director,
there is no conductor.
The world makes itself happen,
the play plays itself,
there is no director,
there is no conductor.
The world makes itself happen,
the play plays itself,
the
orchestra plays itself.
And if the violin drops from somebody´s hand
and their heart stops beating
the man and his death never meet:
there´s nothing behind the glass;
the other side is nothing, is just a mirror
where my own fear regards me
with big eyes.
And behind this fear,
if only you look carefully enough,
there are grass and sunflowers
turning slowly by themselves towards the sun
without a God, a director, a conductor.
And if the violin drops from somebody´s hand
and their heart stops beating
the man and his death never meet:
there´s nothing behind the glass;
the other side is nothing, is just a mirror
where my own fear regards me
with big eyes.
And behind this fear,
if only you look carefully enough,
there are grass and sunflowers
turning slowly by themselves towards the sun
without a God, a director, a conductor.
Jaan Kaplinski, Selected Poems, Bloodaxe Books, 2011.
Só quando anoitece os olhos realmente
começam a ver.
As cores das flores tornam-se lúcidas e
brilhantes
antes que a noite as extinga: cravos,
rosas amarelas,
ervilhas-do-prado e botões-de-ouro.
O vento esmoreceu, e o céu
- o desbotado, quase invisível
fundo das nossas idas e vindas -
de repente está aqui, mesmo sobre a copa
das árvores e dos postes,
brilhando através da folhagem e sobre o
telhado da casa
em toda a sua profundidade e melancolia.
Por trás do anexo
Vénus aparece; à direita do esteio do
poço - Júpiter,
outrora dois deuses, agora duas estrelas.
................................................................................................
Não há um Deus,
não há um encenador,
não há um maestro.
O mundo acontece por si mesmo,
a peça encena-se a si mesma,
a orquestra toca por si mesma.
E se o violino cai da mão de alguém
e o seu coração pára de bater
o homem e a sua morte nunca se
encontram:
nada há por trás do vidro,
o outro lado é nada, é apenas um espelho
onde o meu próprio medo olha para mim
com olhos grandes.
E por trás desse medo,
se olhares com o cuidado suficiente,
há relva e girassóis
que giram lentamente sobre si mesmos em
direção ao sol
sem um Deus, um encenador, um maestro.
Tradução: Sandra Costa [2012]
