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Abstract

Untitled Eduardo Pitta (bio) Translated by António Ladeira (bio) I He still remembers his days as a boy.When everything was in sideview. It couldn't have beenany other way: sideview and greenstoneas in the portraits of the Old Empire. Many would later welcome the rites of the primitiveestigma. In the parks, by the half-shade of lawns,a legend survived that burn. Someresist. The vertigo of a narrow affection paralyzes them. On the verge of knowledge, tremblingfrom joy, they find that whichhad been forgotten. The head between the legsis not always distinguishable from a whisper of blades. The music of such design strikesall the syllables of the nameless chant. Sometimesfor a fistful of tears, greater error.Iniquity remains, of course, unpunished. [End Page 82] II He would take shelter in the ruinsof the old house, where he failed to findany of the old footprints,blended in the shadeof the stone, in the reflection of the lake, inthe pavement of the vigil. He did not find one of them—lost between Carthage and the Palestineaway from the absinthe, the foxhunting days, the readings of some Arcadian,pedantic and apostolic. He was alone. It was the timeof the mob. Behind him were the unfinished chapelsand the calm majesty of the elms.He loved them both in the interval betweenone and the other, always in the imminence of a savingshipwreck. III Year after year life alwayspassed him by. Never exactly there.Perhaps he had met too many people, from some of them he had learned the littlehe was worth.He managed to escape the rituals of memory.With method and enough astutenesshe persevered. He was [End Page 83] in the South Seaswhen he realized that all was nothing.And nothing he did. IV That world is over,only the echo of a few voicessurvived it.The man who wanders from cityto cityknows the voracity of mirrorsthe acid twinkle of limethe repeated miscalculation of tides. And he knows, he always knew,that his home is there no longer.Neither his home nor the memoryothers wanted him to have. Swept by a relentless windhis gaze hesitates, harassedamongst ruinsand the swindled solitude. [End Page 84] Eduardo Pitta Eduardo Pitta, Portuguese poet, was born in Moçambique. He is a poet, fictionist, essayist, critic, and blogger. He has published eight poetry books, four essays, two books of fiction, and one diary. He is a literary critic of the journal Público in Lisboa and author of the blog Da Literatura. António Ladeira António Ladeira grew up in southern Portugal and earned his PhD from the University of California at Santa Barbara. He was hired at Yale University as Camões Professor of Portuguese. He published three books of poetry in Portugal: As Sombras do Silêncio / The Shadows of Silence (Derrane Publications), Todas as Línguas São Estrangeiras / All Languages Are Foreign Languages (O Contador de Histórias), A Minha Cor Favorita è a Neve / Snow Is My Favorite Color (Escritor). He now teaches at Texas Tech in Lubbock. Copyright © 2009 University of Nebraska Press