I bought the ‘Ballad of the Sad Café' from her,
after having almost passed as a book
thief, touching books without looking
at them, while I circled from all
...
Lisbon is not Alexandria but then
Alexandria is only a metropolis
heightened and exalted in verse, its geometry,
its incisions of small despair.
...
In the improvised church hall,
disordered rows of chairs announced
a film on ‘the life of Christ'.
We were children, on holiday
...
En route, Hartford stiffens
and at the same time becomes lighter.
Fall ceases to be the fall.
The cockerels don't sing
...
This poem begins by comparing you
to the constellations,
with their magical names
and precise drawings,
...
We meet the family at funerals.
We're never as transparent
as when we mourn
and tell measured anecdotes
...
Pedro Mexia was born in Lisbon in 1972. He graduated in Law at Universidade Católica Portuguesa and attended the Master in Literature and American Culture at Universidade de Lisboa. He writes book reviews for the newspaper Diário de Notícias, the magazine LER.)
‘The Ballad Of The Sad Cafe'
I bought the ‘Ballad of the Sad Café' from her,
after having almost passed as a book
thief, touching books without looking
at them, while I circled from all
sides those eyes that could be spotted
from every place in that book fair, even
if there came any obstacle that colour
green would have come through, green that turned
everything green between me and her and
in the midst of that unanimous colour the girl
stood out even more. It doesn't matter much,
reader, if afterwards the story went further,
between man and woman not much else
happens: eyes that are suddenly
necessary and may take you for
a book thief or worse.
I've never read ‘The Ballad of the Sad Café'.
Translated by Ana Hudson