FINAL ELEGY Poem by Teixeira de Pascoaes

I sculpted as best I could my sorrow:
A black marble block that weighs on me
And bathes me in an icy sweat.

I imposed beauty on that rough stone.
The bitter water of my tears
Softened its tragic rigidity.

And when I saw my anguish raised
Into a perfect statue in the blessed sun,
I touched it! It was frozen and inert!

I inwardly weep! I sob and shout!
In this book I'm pallor and grief.
The sorrow that lives in my troubled self
Is so much dead ash in my song.