Стихотворения Марсии Теофило из разных книг

The night of harmony

In the forest exist
more eyes than leaves
more hearts than stones
it’s the night of harmony
just one night – one night a year
and you never know which one it will be
the hearts of all the animals
light up bright
the bodies disappear
and as many lights wander in the woods
as stars in the sky
it’s the night of harmony
they don’t devour each other
nor do they know each other
the jaguar and the tapir meet
the crocodile and the pirarucu
the toucan and the anaconda
the butterfly and the iguana
the falcon king and the macaque
it’s the night of harmony
just for one night
in the forest exist
more eyes than leaves
more hearts than stones.

 

“Catuetê Curupira”

Yesterday for the first time appeared
the first lines on the face of the earth
contorted in the viscera
the ships the waters
multiply without end
Catueté Curupira
the forests are calling you
to punish those who land
and fell the animals and frighten the trees
making them feel isolated

 

in the middle of the woods
the famished trees
the dazzled trees
in the middle of the woods
in the middle of cement the trees implore you
tamacueré yndayara Catueté Curupira

many trees found famished
dying
recounting dark and fantastic tales
of destroyed cities are the sole testimonies
alive or half-alive of what remains of mankind
tim tim he taya boya
shadows in rigid curves
the branches dry at the extremities
stretch out to pick the most tender men
devouring them

Man frightened continues
killing the green
riding motorcycles
that emanate a loud groan
before starting up
and make the animals run away
The green continues to grow under the dust
on trees covered with nails and lime
the green is reborn in Spring
insistent in its final cry.
Face without colour and without blood
the rivers rot
the old people witness frightened
the conveniences and the will of the young
the world shows its wounds through a device
which repeats images of destruction.

Catueté Curupira
the forests are calling you.

“Amazon Forest”

Ocean of trees
the earth created the forest
green for six million kilometres
the feather mimics the leaf
force of natural elements
carillon, hammer,
whistle,
trill of birds
arara araponga parrot
royal seagull
two wings
two meters of winged branches

“The Fest of the new moon”

Don’t you hear the music that expands up high?
Everyone is singing and dancing without stopping
They are invoking the new moon.
Four days of dance with the body painted in red vermilion.
For the moon’s feast.
the dancers go to the house of the Masks,
dress up as animals and as trunks of tree.
Then, in the village squares,
Everyone sings and recount hatreds and loves.

Márcia Theóphilo – 1984

“Butterfly Kites”

Ubirajara left the village,
the desire he felt for Yací
was slaying him:
hammered in the sky two butterfly kites.
The forest was leaving his life through the river.
The river skims over the surface, the river is not water,
the river is a serpent, it is the sea,
reflecting that which it touches,
changing color, the river is not. It is all it touches.
It is born with life: I want to live.
The bed is made of images: triangles and squares.
And my story with you is over,
I shake the wings that still envelope our embraces
to know how your caresses feel when the jaguar nears.
The passion persists dragging signals of lust
an unhealthy lust multiplied by cold thoughts.
The consumed voice in the penumbra,
crystal turbulence
insentient the silent contact of your skin.
Flying, head held high, in the vastness of the forest.
Between the trees, in the water’s course from the marshes
to the still planes
the roar of the “Pororoca” could be heard,
meeting between the river and the sea.
The sea is a great lake, an immense lake.

 

English version by Hania Kochansky 

Poem “From Amazonia to New York”

I

Tree from you I have taken the wild pain
those cries, in the air in the river
Animals flee from the shelter of your branches
deafening noises of monkeys and araras
the upright trunk, falls as it blackens.
The sloth moves slowly, quietly
the ariranha and the tamanduá
ears pricked at each sound
trees tell their stories
life when it is submerged
underwater among the fish
feeding off fruit
already at sunset noises get louder
stunned birds cry out
in the trees
the jaburus the macucus the inhambu.
in the underbrush the wind is still
long ago in a time of vibrant,
pubescent colours, water-swollen
today is yellow, green at the beginning.
bones, pieces of wood, thousands of insects
They light a blinding fire
who can pull out this headless arrow?
where can that evil be deposed?
everywhere on earth
noises interfere, memories of the dead
the sky that accompanies us today
has no stars.
will the face of pain disappear?
vibrations make air fertile
thunder booms and lightning flashes
Everything blazes: Shower of blossoms
mangabas, cajú waves of breeze
the giant trees in the forest know
a tongue of fire that destroys them
before by the great river cobras would appear,
boicininga, jiboias, alligators,
the jaguar, the yellow-brown lynx,
the branches crowded with parrots
iguana, irara, an the sloth
jabutí, the bog turtle
the caititú, the chestnut-haired boar
the shrieks of the crying monkeys
the voices of thousands of birds.
the outline of memory takes shape: it is waves
the wood lives along with the fire.
everything is flying: bird-leaves
leaf-butterflies colour-light
on the tree-tops
the black eyes, the power of condor
tanato, the small gull
a bird-nest his house
that fluttering among the boughs
it is his wings
nothing hinders. The forest keeps falling
the cries the wars, the dead
A ravine, a smoke halo
nothing breathes
precious bird, alive and singing
turn on a world of visions with your song
rare fruits do not open to ripen
the soul of the forest takes hold of the universe
trees show their entrails
the body, the sprouts covered with green grains
the roots, the oblong leaves
with nervatures and veins
and the little animals, the humming-bird’s dance
zechirino, cross the country of the shadows
the wind among the leaves starts making itself heard
it confounds itself with other echoes
capeba who’s born from the waters
feels its leaves licked by the fire
it buckles, all swollen and wounded
it breathes: life is still here
still for a while, keep on
breathing, do not stop
breathe, breathe, keep going
still here the origin of life

II

Metallic trees full of gold and silver
they touch the clouds, and your dreams.
A metallic bird crosses the sky
flying flying, goes on goes on, where where?
the metallic bird becomes an arrow
breaks down the crystal trees
the face of pain hurls its cry
running down the walls.
I want to remember various stories
memories of unburied dead
Names are born, offerings to those who left
and the heart of the giant tree
crumbles and reassembles, endless matter
A cloud of dust waves
inside the body of the wind
its voice is piercing.
The greediness of the fire
pierces through the roots of the sun
suffocating black clouds
red-hot clouds over the world
a roar of engines, saws, axes
Music and forlorn imaginary circles
clouds and yellow dust moving
From the broken tree-trunks metal fragments burst out
asbestos threads, blood runnels, souls.

From the Hudson Bay dolphins
call for light and harmony
the beginning of a new way of thinking
an army of ants in a row
is carrying off its leaves like souls.

“Wind”

 

Wind keeps
devouring the night
it’s there, real and changing
and holds inside the music of the branches

Wind arrives
sounds explode
leafing through its body
it waves the branches
the body of wind wraps and bends
it lays the loved body down
its leaves both abstract and concrete
Sinuous falls of wind
pour into the wood
I’m dancing, are you?
It’s reverberating, dancing, whistling and singing
it’s among the trees
born like a fruit
born like a child
its laughter has the rhythm
of water on stone
sweet at first, almost monotone
then stronger, full of resonance
Something vague
smoke and similar flavours

Poem “Holocaust of the trees”

 

Kupahúba has her roots
She doesn’t go to meet the wind
it’s the wind that embraces her
bringing the scent of bacába,
the fleshy fruit,
of mangaba, the aromatic pulp,
of pitanga, of murex shells..
In the orange-red sky
silence darkens the light
Kupahúba sees a river stretch out
gushing out from the house of the sun.
Wind brings a shining light
and black, red-hot smoke
forces itself among the trees
leaves burn moving
in the turmoil of the forest
between chaos and smoke
All is fire… trees fall…
all is ash:
In this frantic rhythm even the sky shall fall.
The massacre doesn’t stop:
Kupahúba waits for the fire, still,
bound to her roots.
She feels the fire running through her branches
her green body shakes and feels pain
she who soothes pain feels
fire howling through her trunk
burning her roots
and the dead ground of the wasted forest,
ruins…
The holocaust of a mass of trees.
The wind doesn’t bring familiar tunes
green and blue disturbances
come back come back, ancient rhythms

English version by Riccardo Duranti