Today being Remembrance Day1, I feel like sharing the most well-known Portuguese poem reflecting on the horror of War. This poem was originally published by Fernando Pessoa2 in 1926, supposedly3 inspired by a picture of a dead soldier the great poet saw while dining at an inn. With the onset of the Portuguese Colonial War, in 1961, this already iconic poem was prohibited by the censorship of the time and ended up becoming a sort of anti-war anthem. It is available on multiple sources online, if you want to read or listen to the original (in Portuguese). Without futher ado, what follows is a humble translation by yours truly.
On the abandoned plain Where the breeze’s warmth pools, By bullets pierced and slain - Two, which both sides do stain -, He lies dead and he cools. His clothes a bloody mess. With outstretched arms he lies, Niveous, and blond, and bloodless. His languid eyes stare, spiritless And blind, the lost skies. So young! how young, she wept! (And how old is he now?) Only child, mother’s joy, She gave the name he kept: «His mother’s little boy». From his pocket did fall A cigarette case, token Of his mother. Withal The case is good and all. He is the one who’s broken. By the other pouch does fade A light handkerchief’s slim Whiteness, on the floor laid… Present of the old maid Whose arms once cradled him. At home, a prayer is said: «May he soon home be led!» (The empire’s woven ploy!) Now he rots and lies dead, His mother’s little boy. by Fernando Pessoa, translated by José Vieira
Footnotes
1. In Portugal, we don’t actually celebrate Remembrance Day. Instead, we celebrate St Martin’s Day, which I may mention in upcoming posts.
2. Pessoa is one of the most remarkable literary geniuses of the 20th century, and is generally seen as vying with Camões for the title of Greatest Portuguese Poet ever. I will rot in the lowest pits of hell if I fail to dedicate a post to him in the (hopefully near) future.
3. If you can read Portuguese, I’ve taken this information from RTP.
Aetherial Porosity 