July 2017 at Cine-Teatro Garrett, Povoa de Varzim; Clepsidra Ensemble, Afonso Fesch (violin), João Paiva (clarinet), Filipe Quaresma (violoncello), Miguel Borges Coelho (piano), António Saiote (conductor). (premiere)
THE FIRST MAN
Oh, how the world is big! And I alone! Great is the torture!
Nobody! My father is the Sky. My mother is the Mountain.
My hairs are shadowy pines
And the veins in by body, the blue Rivers.
We are the sweat that Summer asperses
We are, in January, the Moon’s holy-water!
I am the bullet, still in the Air, since the war
Against God, that the Earth fought in its beginning…
And I one of the apples, the first among others,
That a certain Virgin saw fall from an apple-tree!
THE APPLE TREE
So many are still to fall! Come and pick them,
Shake the apple-tree and stars will fall!
On the Sea, at night, we reflect, looking,
And so we give shape to the sea-stars…
I am a priest. My Holy Gospels are made of water:
Red lightning bolts, light up my altar!
We are (on the contrary, even though so is written)
The ignis fatuus from cove of Infinity.
I am the sea without squall, the place of final rest.
Here disembogues the river of Hope.
I am dead, brothers! but there stayed my robes,
In your world: I gave them to the cypresses.
Pointing towards the Heavens, like funereal fingers,
We were planted on the dust of quiet Cemeteries…
Basement, bunkbeds, all are full!…The Heavens engrossed!
Not even Josaphat can fit this wave of dead!
Centuries fall, one after the other, like blocks,
And we, as always, sleep, eternal sleepyheads!
António Nobre, in ‘Só’