PALABRA NO TEMPO (1963)
Miña nai
¡Canta morte eu vivín
polo alento ó revés do meu sentir!
Erguinme e fun cara arriba, non atopei que decir.
Ceguiña corrín cara abaixo.
¡Atopeiche, miña nai!
¡Atopeiche!
Na escaleiriña de pedra,
no recendo do pinar,
no banco de San Martín, co rosariño na man.
Á dereita, no Convento, ¡atopeiche!
E logo, pasando a Ponte, camiño da Pedra Chan.
¡Atopeiche, miña nai!
¡Atopeiche!
Volvo de novo en mín,
volvo de novo a olvidar!
Arrecendo a túa chambra, que onte gardei sin lavar,
arrecendo a túa mantilla e volvo de novo a olvidar!
¡Atopeiche!
Pousa está a túa manciña na tixeira que eu colguei
como medalla –ouro vello!– na cadea do teu ser.
Son ser das túas penas,
de ledicias e amores,
son cadea enfurruxada,
vertida das túas veas.
Si ma puderas limpar
e que brilara en contento,
eu berraría de a feito:
De miña nai son cadea,
i ela en min é o tempo!
Señor,
ti que sabes canto hai,
Señor,
si onte i hoxe son de Vós
cal dos tempos é teu pan?
[O meu camiño hoxe]
O meu camiño hoxe
ten o mirar dun antonte.
Arrecenden os sendeiros
nas agras zoan as fontes.
Labrego afala ó seu gado.
Mide o tempo a súa ponte.
Aire quedo e tembrando.
Chove perto, chove lonxe.
[Sinto que me acaban]
Sinto que me acaban.
Sinto que me dan forza.
Son o humor da nada.
Son o que se lle antoxa.
[Son a chuvia, son a neve, son o vento da xeada]
1
Son a chuvia, son a neve, son o vento da xeada.
Son alba daquel vivir,
hoxe noite daquel sentir.
Miro, miro e non vexo.
Sinto, sinto e non teño.
Oio lonxe e non entendo.
Hoxe,
onte do meu contento!
2
Naturaleza soia, trai de ti unha compaña,
trai algo que sea novo da voz vella que me fala!
[No silencio está o mundo que o peito sinte del]
No silencio está o mundo que o peito sinte del.
As cousas todas calan,
escuitando del o certo mudo que a nós nos vén.
Elas teñen, elas gardan, elas din que de nós son.
E nós temos algo delas, sin saber si é o noso ou non.
[O mundo dos furados canta un cantar que eu aprendín]
1
O mundo dos furados canta un cantar que eu aprendín.
Eles saben o que cantan i eu non sei a quen llo oín.
2
Os paxariños hoxe cantan ben con outro són.
O día nace máis craro. ¿Será deles o hoxe ou non?
[Hoxe o silencio todo ten barullo de enxordar]
Hoxe o silencio todo ten barullo de enxordar.
Ergueume nas súas voces, en donde penso quedar.
Dindelas vexo todo, todo o meu bon ollar.
Aquí sinto o que non teño aló no fondo do meu chan.
O meu chan volveuse cume. Eu non sei como esto foi.
Sin obreiros nin ferraxe, baixa nebra está no sol.
[Mestas voces leva o día]
Mestas voces leva o día
pola calzada do sol.
Sae dela e queda nunha.
Anque un xordo pode oíla,
non se lle entende o seu són.
O río canta de vello.
Do vento é o mismo zoar.
Chove, chove. O sol quenta.
Somos algo do seu berce
¿ou Il é todo o que hai?
[Eu non sei si xa pasou]
1
Eu non sei si xa pasou
ou se inda ten que pasar,
ou si aquelo que eu sentín
non foi sentir, foi soñar.
Vivo no preto quedo
dun lonxano latexar.
2
O silencio das cousas, hoxe,
aboia, aboia en min.
Remos navegan terra ó lonxe,
volvendo as augas cara min.
[Oio algo alá mui lonxe e nada del sei decir]
Oio algo alá mui lonxe e nada del sei decir,
e sin esperar espero para ver si o vexo vir.
Penso si polo arrodeo ou si non sabe o camín
e sin esperar espero para ver o lonxe en min.
[Cousas, cousas fun lendo, cando as letras aprendía]
1
Cousas, cousas fun lendo, cando as letras aprendía.
Agora que sei leer non sei o que alí decía.
2
¡Meu tempo! –cramei chorando.
Bágoa a bágoa iba escribindo:
Tempo do Tempo énos o pouso desta luz por onde ando.
[Ando por un camiño que non vexo o seu sendeiro]
Ando por un camiño que non vexo o seu sendeiro.
Dou topadas que me firen buscando o meu verdadeiro.
[Tiven medo de bogar]
Tiven medo de bogar,
tiven medo da auga crara.
Anque fora cuns bos remos
anque fora na mar calma,
¡non bogaba!, ¡non bogaba!
O medo xa non sei del.
Xa secou aquel mar longo.
E sin saber donde veu,
si é doutro ou é meu,
navego nun mar de fondo.
VERBA QUE COMENZA (1990)
1
Aquí che deixo, meu peito canso, aquí
che deixo,
aquí che deixo neste branco papel trillado, neste
percuro das horas.
¿Quen eres –perguntaranche–, quen eres?
Son a néboa que anda soia, son o sol
que quenta as queixas, dos camiños
son o farto,
son o sono que rixe
mundo que verte tempo,
son o berro caladiño entre arranque-brío de sono morto.
Das cousas que non se atopan
tamén son,
ds ondas que soio van, van e van,
delas son,
de cando veñen e vein vindo
delas son. Son o ledo daquel sono –terra de sin pisadas,
soio remaxe das cousas–.
Papel branco,
trillado,
papel,
berra,
berra entre os fortes
desde onde as miñas verbas che magoan.
4
Encéndeseme o peito, brúa en alma soia
–verba que comenza–.
Ti que sabes de onde viñen,
ti que sabes ben quen son,
ti que ves por onde ando.
Ouh, raxa o tempo ca túa hora, raxa as cousas,
ti xa morta, viva ou non sei, ti...
Pro, ¿quen eres ti?
Si non peneiras o farelo, si non dás
formento á masa,
si non coce xa o teu forno,
¿que pan sacará o teu grau ben mundo?
Ti, hoxe miña, soio hoxe, mañán xa
non,
mañán serás nebra nubra como outra.
Hoxe dime,
dime das cousas, dime si o meu de ti alento
é alento ou bruma,
dime si respiro ou afogo,
dime daquela hora miña –día noso–.
Ouh Natureza pequeniña e longa, hoxe
téñote na man, cinguidiña ós meus dedos de
terra,
puño xusto da miña forza,
soio latido.
5
Era todo mar de fondo chegada de augas ó ceo
espaiada néboa –soio remo– segredo aquel
do home que na altura quebraba.
Quebraba as augas.
Buscaba lúa.
Cramaba terra
crama
crama e cruza o mar hasta o fondo.
Aquel home-tres cabezas cruza i
atopa.
Atopa a terra, anque cansa, co seu
día de sol e noite de
lúa.
Atopa home –mundo que el deixara–.
Atopa tódalas cousas.
Tres cabezas vólvense ás augas.
Na terra achégase á súa con medras.
Eramos xa trocados –enanos– peladiños vellos.
Eran campos-teitos verdes na sequía.
Eran arbres fartos morta-longa vida nova,
cando se oen berros,
berros coxos de bríos:
–¡Por riba de nós queda o mar!
10
Linme hoxe toda por dentro.
¡Linme!
¡Como me está chegando!
¡Como me apaña!
Eu non sei,
non sei si me chega ou vou por ela.
Non o sei.
¿Ouh, pra que me trouxeches si hoxe me levas?
Hoxe,
hoxe, día de todos en un.
Infindá do tempo. ¡Hoxe!
Hoxe de quen todos somos na marea sin ondas,
sin velas,
sin barcos en coor vello.
Hoxe, ¿de quen?
Hoxe: dirán uns.
Hoxe: dirán outros mentras...
mentras reparan no que non hai.
En hoxe todos,
todos damos do fin o paso del.
¡Meu amigo, onte!
Ti vas quedando,
quedas pregón que enmarca nas áas do tempo a voz
que ti mismo diches sinxela e pulida, aquela.
Ti quedas como queda o aire
entre as cousas que son
como que da loita,
como queda a terra,
como queda a Forza
aquela en que ti vas hasta a derradeira,
derradeira,
vas calado.
Calas mentras contas as presadas que de nós van
caendo,
vas na verba,
verba que rixe,
verba enteira que é.
Vas e dis anque calas e non cingues
xeito novo.
Pro si:
de nós levas.
15
¿Quen manda na hora de hoxe?
¿Quen manda?
¿Quen manda que non a atende?
Vou buscando,
busco mañá e no atopo, busco día
e non o vexo.
Todo cala afeito.
Non atopo a pousa tarde nin sei do seu
barullo.
Quen me fala non o entendo.
Señor,
¿dime quen me levou?
Quen me levou que me volva,
que me volva enteira de
Ti.
Herbiñas de prados frescos,
terras,
mares, mareas e cumes,
riachos de entre canellos, buscade de vós
o meu, meu soio.
¡Xa vexo!
Vou vendo.
Vexo día ca súa salve.
Atopei mañá –miña hora–.
Vai medindo o tempo as prantas.
¡Xa me din en verba aberta!
¡Xa me escoitan!
¡Xa en rendixa da noite se atui!
¡Xa son!
25
Son a suma total
daquel que foi medindo
a pegada aquela que non digo,
pegada que soia se puxo o seu nome.
Son resta da esperanza –diferencia quedou–.
Multiplicada xa nacín,
¿pra que dividirme agora?
San, enteira voume indo,
san, enteira vou quedando,
o paso xa me cederon,
inda que o camiño se vira,
vaise virando en duro,
as pegadas ben se ven
vense volcar nas penas,
liman os picos dos montes,
raxan a cume i o mar,
raxan as alturas todas,
raxan a néboa,
raxan o sol,
ráxanse todas nunha,
esta cínguese
vaise cinguindo.
¡Terra, alma dona!
Pegada que soia
se puxo o seu nome.
28
Está caendo a folla i en min nace primaveira.
¿Quen entenderá este mar vello?
¿Como digo onte sendo hoxe?
¡Como farto a miña verba do nacer que xa pasou!
¡Como reino nas migallas onde medrei un bon día!
¿Como piso forte sendo branda?
¿Como digo si si o non está escoitando?
¿Quen entenderá este mar vello?
Medro, medro e non sei onde parar.
Presa xa e ceguiña no cume
lévame,
lévame ó chan a verba.
Queda hoxe o chan soio
muxindo a pegada do tempo.
Mesturadas terras peneiran, peneiran fariña,
fariña que non fai masa.
Rebélanse as ondas ós mares,
os ríos afogan a pradeira seca,
os camiños non se atopan.
¿Quen entenderá este mar vello?
É outono i en min nace primaveira.
¿Quen o entenderá?
WORD IN TIME (1963)
My Mother
How much death I have lived
by the breath in reverse of my feeling!
I arose and went upstairs, couldn’t find what to say.
Blindly ran down again.
I found you, mother!
I found you!
On the stone steps,
in the pinewood’s aroma,
on the bench of St Martin’s, holding a rosary.
On the right, in the Convent, I found you!
And then, crossing the Bridge, in the direction of Pedra Chan.
I found you, mother!
I found you!
I go back inside myself,
I go back to forgetting!
I smell your blouse, which I put away yesterday without washing,
I smell your shawl and go back to forgetting!
I found you!
At rest is your hand on the scissors I hung
like a medal – old gold! – on the chain of your being.
I am creature of your sorrows,
of joys and loves,
I am a rusty chain
pouring out of your veins.
If you could clean it for me
and it could shine in contentment,
I would shout repeatedly:
Of my mother I am a chain,
and she in me is time!
Lord,
you who know all there is,
Lord,
if yesterday and today are Thine,
which time is your bread?
[My road today]
My road today
has the look of a day before yesterday.
The paths are fragrant
fountains hum in the open fields.
Farmer goads his cattle.
Measures time his bridge.
Air still and trembling.
It rains near, it rains afar.
[I feel they’re running out]
I feel they’re running out.
I feel they give me strength.
I am the humour of nothing.
I am what takes its fancy.
[I am the rain, I am the snow, I am the wind of frost]
1
I am the rain, I am the snow, I am the wind of frost.
I am dawn of that living,
today night of that feeling.
I look, look and don’t see.
I feel, feel and don’t have.
I hear afar and don’t understand.
Today,
yesterday of my contentment!
2
Nature alone, bring of you a company,
bring something new of the old voice that talks to me!
[In the silence is the world which the chest feels of it]
In the silence is the world which the chest feels of it.
The things all go quiet,
listening of it to the certain mute that comes towards us.
They have, they keep, they say they are of us.
And we have something of them, without knowing whether it is ours or not.
[The world of holes sings a song I have learnt]
1
The world of holes sings a song I have learnt.
They know what they sing and I don’t know who I heard it from.
2
The birds today sing well with another sound.
The day is born more clearly. Will today be theirs or not?
[Today the silence all has a deafening noise]
Today the silence all has a deafening noise.
It lifted me in its voices, where I plan to remain.
From them I see everything, all my good looking.
Here I feel what I don’t have over there in the depth of my ground.
My ground has turned into a peak. I don’t know how this happened.
Without workers or iron fittings, low cloud is in the sun.
[Thick voices the day carries]
Thick voices the day carries
along the pavement of the sun.
It leaves it and stays in one.
Though a deaf person can hear it,
its sound is beyond comprehension.
The river sings of old.
Of wind is the same humming.
It rains, it rains. The sun warms.
Are we something of its cradle
or is It all there is?
[I don’t know if it happened already]
1
I don’t know if it happened already
or has yet to happen,
or if that thing I felt
wasn’t feeling, but dreaming.
I live in the near still
of a distant beating.
2
The silence of things, today,
floats, floats in me.
Oars sail land afar,
turning the waters back to me.
[I hear something there very far and don’t know what to say about it]
I hear something there very far and don’t know what to say about it,
and without waiting I wait to see if I see it coming.
I wonder whether the long way round or it doesn’t know the way
and without waiting I wait to see the far in me.
[Things, things I would read, when learning my letters]
1
Things, things I would read, when learning my letters.
Now I know how to read I don’t know what it was saying.
2
My time! I exclaimed, crying.
Tear by tear I would write:
Time of Time is for us the lees of this light where I am walking.
[I walk along a road whose path I cannot see]
I walk along a road whose path I cannot see.
I keep stumbling hurting myself as I seek my true.
[I was afraid of rowing]
I was afraid of rowing,
I was afraid of clear water.
Even if it was with good oars
even if it was on a calm sea,
I would not row! I would not row!
My fear has gone now.
That long sea has dried.
And without knowing where it came from,
whether it was someone else or me,
I sail on a groundswell.
VERB THAT BEGINS (1990)
1
Here I leave you, my weary chest, here
I leave you,
here I leave you on this white, mashed paper, in this
search for hours.
Who are you, they will ask you, who are you?
I am the mist that wanders lonely, I am the sun
that warms laments, of roads
I am the fill,
I am the sleep that directs
world that spills time,
I am the muffled shout between outburst-zeal of dead sleep.
Of things that are not found
I am as well,
of waves that only go, go and go,
of them I am,
of when they come and come coming
of them I am. I am the happy of that sleep – land of without footprints,
only canopy of things.
White, mashed
paper,
paper,
shout,
shout among the mighty
from where my speech can hurt you.
4
My chest is set alight, roars in soul alone
– verb that begins.
You who know where I have come from,
you who know well who I am,
you who see where I am walking.
Oh, slash time with your hour, slash things,
you already dead, alive or I don’t know, you…
But, who are you?
If you don’t sift the bran, if you don’t give
leaven to the mass,
if your oven no longer cooks,
what bread will your fine-ground grain produce?
You, today mine, only today, tomorrow
not,
tomorrow you will be cloudy cloud like another.
Today tell me,
tell me of things, tell me if my of you breath
is breath or fogginess,
tell me if I breathe or sink,
tell me of that hour of mine – day of ours.
Oh little, long Nature, today
I have you in my hand, stuck to my earthen
fingers,
just fist of my strength,
lonely beat.
5
It was all groundswell arrival of waters in the sky
scattered mist – only oar – a secret that
of the man who broke on high.
Broke the waters.
Sought moon.
Cried land
cries
cries and crosses the sea to the bottom.
That man-three heads crosses and
finds.
Finds the land, though weary, with its
day of sun and night of
moon.
Finds man – world he had left.
Finds everything.
Three heads turn back to the waters.
On land he approaches his with increase.
We were changed already – dwarves – old baldies.
They were green fields-roofs in the drought.
They were surfeit trees dead-long new life,
when shouts are heard,
shouts that limp with verve:
On top of us is still the sea!
10
I read myself today all inside.
I read myself!
How it is reaching me!
How it collects me!
I do not know,
I do not know if it reaches me or I go after it.
I do not know.
Oh, for what did you bring me if today you are taking me?
Today,
today, day of all in one.
Infinity of time. Today!
Today of whom we are all in the tide without waves,
without sails,
without boats in old colour.
Today, of whom?
Today: will say some.
Today: will say others while…
while they notice what there isn’t.
In today all,
we all take of the end its step.
My friend, yesterday!
You are remaining,
you remain proclamation which frames in the wings of time the voice
you yourself gave simple and polished, it was.
You remain as the air remains
among things that are
as struggle remains,
as land remains,
as Strength remains
the one in which you go to the last,
last,
you go silently.
You are silent as you count the handfuls falling
off us,
you are in the verb,
verb that directs,
whole verb that is.
You go and say though you are silent and do not embrace
new manner.
But yes:
from us you take.
15
Who commands the hour of today?
Who commands?
Who commands but doesn’t heed it?
I am searching,
I search for tomorrow and do not find it, I search for day
and do not see it.
Everything is silent all the time.
I do not find the restful afternoon or know of its
din.
I cannot understand the one who talks to me.
Lord,
tell me who took me?
Who took me that I may come back,
that I may come back whole from
You.
Little blades in fresh meadows,
lands,
seas, tides and peaks,
rivulets between channels, seek from yourselves
my, my alone.
I see already!
I start to see.
I see day with its salve.
I found tomorrow – my hour.
Time is measuring the plants.
They say to me in open verb!
They listen to me!
In crack of night it is blocked!
I am already!
25
I am the sum total
of the one who measured
that trace I do not say,
trace that alone gave itself a name.
I am subtraction of hope – difference remained.
Multiplied I was born,
why divide myself now?
Hale, whole I am leaving,
hale, whole I am staying,
they already gave way,
though the road twists and turns,
turns into a hard one,
the traces can clearly be seen
be seen turning somersaults on the rocks,
they file down the mountain peaks,
slash summit and sea,
slash all the heights,
slash the mist,
slash the sun,
all are slashed in one,
which girds
girds itself.
Land, soul mistress!
Trace that alone
gave itself a name.
28
The leaf is falling and in me is born spring.
Who will understand this old sea?
How do I say yesterday being today?
How do I fill my verb with the birth that happened already!
How do I rule in the crumbs where I grew one fine day!
How do I step strong being soft?
How do I say yes if the no is listening?
Who will understand this old sea?
I grow, grow and do not know where to stop.
Captive already and blind on the summit
I am taken,
I am taken to the ground by the verb.
The ground alone is left today
milking the trace of time.
Mingled lands sift, sift flour,
flour that doesn’t make mass.
The waves rebel against the seas,
the rivers drown the dry pasture,
the roads cannot be found.
Who will understand this old sea?
It’s autumn and in me is born spring.
Who will understand it?
