Translation: Three Poems by Heyk Pimenta

Heyk Pimenta. Photo: Marianna Teixeira

Heyk Pimenta. Photo: Marianna Teixeira

Heyk Pimenta is 29 years old today, 31 January. He’s a mineiro from Manhuaçu (Minas Gerais) and lives in Rio de Janeiro with Marianna and their son Zoé. He’s taken part in the exhibitions S.O.S. Poesia at the MAR–Museu de Arte do Rio, Rio de Janeiro and Poesia Agora (Poetry Now) at the Museum of the Portuguese Language, São Paulo. He’s published three books: Sopro sopro (Breath Breath, 2010, Edições Maloqueiristas), Poemas (Poems, 2014, Cozinha Experimental) and A serpentina nunca se desenrola até o fim (The Streamer Never Unwinds All the Way, 2015, 7Letras), where these poems are from. He and an all-star team run the Experimental Poetry Workshop (Oficina Experimental de Poesia) that takes place in Méier, bairro of the north zone of Rio. The poem “density 45” also from his most recent book was translated by Wagner Miranda and you can read it here: https://brincandodedeus.wordpress.com/2014/02/16/44-density-45-by-heyk-pimenta/. The Portuguese originals of these poems are at the bottom of the page and to read more of Heyk in Portuguese, check out his blog: http://heykpimenta.blogspot.com/.


wagons

 

II – the iron loaded with the iron that they are

standing guard on the outside
the railway line
sad useless
holds up
dozens of wagons
owned by MRS
engineless
but loaded up
with peaks of overburden
of iron ore in natura
rusting
and rusting
while it turns red
and bronze and dissolves
over time
even each wagon
each sleeper
rusts and narrows the gauge

and the letters MRS
white once
contrast less and less
becoming part
of the fatigue
of the forgetting
of the wagons of ore
growing old
wasting away

these old folks are now aimless
without memories
with their tiny eyes shrinking
becoming terrapins
turning invisible
while things rust
lose their importance
for them
because for the turtle’s
tiny weak eyes
the shades of rust aren’t important
like old people
the wagons can’t be told apart
and the burnt-out initials MRS
are so distant
say nothing
have nothing to suggest a name
nothing to distinguish them at all

the old if they stop caring
stop having a past
wait for the dew to erode them
to fall on the iron loaded
with the iron that they are
or were
before becoming overburden
where wild squash grows
and birds sharpen their beaks

 


waking up covered in dust

on the floor
in the room

cockroaches the cheap leaves of an aloe
try to make it on their own
to live in the cracks
in the wood

and to seed
the house

tries to hide under the debris
the leaks

the deep veins where we can see
the deep dreams

we had together


now i wonder how we can get through this

 

we have cat’s eyes marianna
and we walk we move
inside the mouths of animals
that we give one another

but it’s you who eat, penetrate and keep
what’s left over of me in a rucksack for later

little one i am your horse with a needle through each eye
the fucked-up flower good for nothing but worms and onion skins

now i’m back from the street i couldn’t wangle anything
i’ve spent our money and scattered
our plans

tomorrow will be no better the alarm clock
will point at our underwear hanging over the door

and will say i know, there’s no way out kids


vagões

II – o ferro carregando o ferro que são

fazendo guarda do lado de fora
a linha férrea
sustenta triste
inútil
dezenas de vagões
da MRS
sem locomotiva
mas carregados
com monturos em riste
de minério in natura
enferrujando
e enferrujando
enquanto se torna vermelho
e bronze e se dissolve
paulatino
também cada vagão
cada dormente
enferruja e diminui a largura da bitola

e as letras MRS
em branco um dia
diminuem em contraste
sendo parte do cansaço
do esquecimento
dos vagões de minério
que envelhecem
como definham

os velhos que já não têm motivos
sem lembranças
com os olhinhos diminuindo
virando tartaruguinhas
tornando-se invisíveis
enquanto as coisas enferrujam
ficam sem importância
para eles
pois aos olhinhos tartaruga
fraquitos
tanto faz as matizes da ferrugem
como os velhos
os vagões não se distinguem
e apagadas as iniciais MRS
são já distantes
dizem nada
não remetem ao seu nome
nem são distintivo de nada

os velhos se se desimportam
deixam de ter passado
esperam a erosão do orvalho
sobre o ferro carregando
ferro que são
ou eram
até virarem só monturos
onde nascem abobreiras
e passarinhos afiam seus bicos


acordar coberto de poeira

no chão
do quarto

baratas as folhas da suculenta
tentam se virar para morar
nas frestas na madeira

e brotar
a casa

tenta se esconder sob o entulho
os vazamentos

os veios fundos por onde enxergamos
os sonhos fundos

que tivemos juntos


penso agora em como vamos nos virar

nossos olhos são de gato marianna
e andamos mexemos
por dentro das bocas de bicho
que nos demos

mas é você quem me come e guarda
meus restos na mochila pra depois

sou seu cavalo de olhos furados pequena
a flor fodida onde põe minhocas e cascas de cebola

agora volto sem nada da rua nenhum golpe brotou
gastei nosso dinheiro e espalhei
nossos planos

amanhã não vai ser melhor o despertador
mostrará nossas cuecas penduradas na porta

e dirá eu sei, mas não resta saída crianças


Poems by Heyk Pimenta, translated by Rob Packer. Originally published in A serpentina nunca se desenrola até o final by 7Letras (2015, Rio de Janeiro).

serpentina_capa

 

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