A poet at the supermarket
At the supermarket, yes, we have one near Faro. I met a poet.
The mall is nicely built and has two bell towers.
From time to time, they chime to remind us why we are
Here, not sit on a bench in its courtyard looking up to
The sky is seeing mind-blowing cumulus configurations.
The poet I met had a white beard, wore an old black suit,
a tie with red wine spots on, a black beret that whiffed
Of garlic, I think. You could see that it wasn’t really there.
His eyes scanning the ground, he bent down, picking up.
Half-smoked butts of cigarettes. Ok, not so rich
So what? Haven’t you heard of a poor poet before?
They are not all idle sons of the rich, and with a university.
Degrees in literature. A notebook in the side pocket and
Two pencils in his breast pocket; so he was a poet, ok.
Oscar and I
Today, I drove to Faro, In the Algarve
I wanted to eat a tunny steak at a café
I used to go fifteen years ago
The place had gone upmarket, as had
prices
The server remembered me, but not
my wife and took an instant dislike to
the man said he was effeminate
Oscar Wilde entered, or someone who
looked like him
He was of the expansive sort, told jokes
and recited poems, the other guests
and my wife liked him
I decided to become gay for the day
and after a few glasses of wine, stood
up to read my poems
she tugged at my sleeve and told me to
shut up.
Oscar Wilde looked at me with deep
sympathy in his intelligent eyes
I had my moment to gain, if putative
fame, she had to spoil it all
My chance had gone
Pushing daisies
This Saturday has sadness in the summer clouds
feel I ought to go home, don’t know why?
A place I have not been to for fifty years
I dismissed the thought as sentimental trash
Is It!
When my dog died in an accident in Faro town
I drove through a rainy night to bury her
Where she was born
Felt it was my duty to her
Was it!
As a modern man, I know it doesn’t matter
Where we die, the soil is either dry or damp
If there is a longing to rest under turf known
Has it got a meaning, or is it soppiness?
Is it!
The body that died in a foreign land
Will not fertilize the soil of one’s homeland
Is it not irrelevant where the death occurred
In the enormity of forever?
Artists
Alfred, by chosen father, vehemently denies
the paternity and has had his statue erected in Faro.
At last, he was honoured for being glorious
bringing colour to an otherwise gloomy town.
Graffiti made by the like of Banksy charms
the rest is scribbling on a wall.
I know little about painters except for Caravaggio
he spoke the unvarnished truth about our life.
His critics like to point out that he was illegal too
what else to expect of the fearful.
Donna, donna, oh dolce donna
Il mio amore, la mia culla, il mio inizio
Nel mio quaderno quotidiano
Ogni giorno è il tuo giorno
Sei la mia anima, il mio pilastro
Ti amo ogni giorno
E ti amo, amore mio.
Donna, mia cara, mia bellezza
Mi stupisci tutto il giorno
Tu occupi il centro della mia vita
Sei la mia principessa, amica mia
Sei la mia regina, la mia invidia
Donna, donna, oh dolce donna
Il mio ossigeno, mia bella signora.
Donna, cuore della mia anima
La stella del mio cielo e della mia vita
Sei la bambola originale, la bella donna
Sei tu quello che si muove, che spinge e che rema
Oh! Sei una donna ben realizzata
Donna, donna, oh tenera donna
Sei il sole che illumina il mio palmo.
Donna, per me sei fondamentale
Mia piccola angela, mia santa, sei deliziosa
La vita non ha senso senza di te
Sei il mio tesoro, il mio faro, la mia speranza
Sei il mio cuore, il mio sogno, la mia anima
Donna, donna, o donna misteriosa!
Traduzione di " Happy Women’s Day"
Di Hébert Logerie
Copyright © Marzo 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tutti i diritti riservati
Hébert Logerie è autore di diversi libri di poesia.
Mujer, mujer, oh dulce mujer
Mi amor, mi cuna, mi comienzo
En mi cuaderno diario
Cada día es tu día
Tú eres mi alma, mi pilar
Te aprecio todos los días
Y te amo mucho, mucho mi amor.
Mujer, mi amor, mi belleza
Tú me sorprendes todo el día
Tú ocupas el centro de mi vida
Tú eres mi princesa, mi amiga
Tú eres mi reina, mi envidia
Mujer, mujer, oh dulce mujer
Mi oxígeno, mi bella dama.
Mujer, corazón de mi alma
La estrella de mi cielo y de mi vida
Tú eres la muñeca original, la mujer hermosa
Tú eres ella que se mueve, que empuja y que rema
¡Guau! Tú eres una mujer bien realizada
Mujer, dulce mujer, oh tierna mujer
Tú eres el sol que ilumina mi palma.
Mujer para mi, tú eres fundamental
Mi angelita, mi santa, tú eres muy especial
La vida no tiene sentido sin ti, sin tu sonrisa
Tú eres mi faro, mi amor, mi esperanza
Tú eres mi corazón, mi sueño, mi alma
¡Mujer, mujer, oh mujer misteriosa!
Traducción del poema de ‘Joyous Women’s Day’
Por Hébert Logerie
Copyright © marzo 2019, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados
Hébert Logerie es autor de varios libros de poesía.
A Friday of Gayness
Today, I drove to Faro town wanted a dinner of tunny steak
with onions at a café, I frequented fifteen years ago.
The place had gone upmarket so had the prices.
One waiter remembered me, but not my wife who took a dislike
of the poor man with failing eyesight, said he was effeminate.
The café used to have two parts one part was a wine bar
I mostly sat there when Oscar Wilde walked in if it was
not him in person was someone who looked like Oscar.
He remarked what he had observed this morning
at the railway station and could recite his poems beautifully.
I decided to become gay too to be frivolous and happy
But avoid the sex part, the thought of this made me shudder.
Alas, I had to drive my wife home.
I tried to translate some of Oscar´s remarks into Portuguese
she didn´t think it was clever or funny,
this, was my fault telling jokes is not my metier, so I was back
being my pedestrian self.
The grocery/ wineshop
Once when he lived in Faro (Portugal) and walking about
he came across a grocer shop that was new in 1950.
As window display a packet of washing powder, fossilized
the name of the powder was Blenda, of the same type
his mother had used and tinned sardines.
He entered and was gripped by the sadness of the shop.
It was bigger than he had thought, barrels of wine, and in
a dark corner, old men sat drinking in silence.
So, it was an unofficial wine shop, a hiding place
for the aged who had resigned to their fate of elderliness.
He had a glass of red wine served by a woman older than the shop.
The wine was surprisingly good. He had another drink
and joined the men in the corner.
The artists
Alfred, my chosen father, who denied
The paternity has his statue erected in Faro
At last, they honoured him for being glorious
Brought colour to an otherwise gloomy town.
Graffiti made by the likes of Banksy charms,
Most of the rest is scribbling on a wall.
I know little about a painter but Caravaggio
Spoke the unvarnished truth about our life.
His critics like to point out he was illegal too
What else to expect from a truth-teller.
En la tierra de dioses y monstruos
Yo era un angel
Viviendo en el jardin del mal
Pecados y maldiciónes cargo en esta vida
Brillando como un faro de fuego
Tienes esa medicina que necesito
Que va directo ala vena del corazón quiero más y más hasta que deje mi corazón de latir .....lentamente
, hazlo suavemente
Dios y yo no nos llevamos bien, así que ahora canto Nadie se llevará mi alma
Pero mándame hacia unas vacaciones
Motel, alcohol, drogas y estoy cantando
Una vez más por mis venas esto es el cielo, lo que realmente quiero
Es inocencia perdida
Inocencia perdida
En la tierra de dioses y monstruos
Yo era un ángel, buscando la fama
La vida imita al arte
Tienes esa medicina que necesito
Dope, dispara directamente al corazón por favor
hasta que mi corazón deje de latir una vez más una vez más ......
The occupiers
Faro is a beautiful coastal town with a marina
and wonderful blue waters, it is an old city with
historic buildings and an inner wall where
the army and rich merchants lived, but there is a problem
you can hear it like swarm bees long before you
see them; rats are building a city in the ancient
the sewer system and get sunlight through
the storm drains, not to forget they a have an army to,
vermin come ashore from long boats, established
a colony thrived and married into the local rats.
At night thousands of them come over ground
and clean the city of waste, the sanitation dep,
has little to do in a town with no litter, but how
long will it takes before the vermin are strong
and ready to expel the humans?
PS. This scribbling was never meant to have political
Connotation.
Mean Machine
The locomotive was an old mean machine
only used for carrying gods at local stations along
boring flatland. Once it had been a young and
the President of Portugal rode on it, not only him
but many other high up all the way to Lisbon.
And now? It wanted to go hiding somewhere dark,
but where does one conceal an iron horse?
The train passed near the parking lot in Faro
I was out with my dog, and there I could let her
run free. There was a hole in the fence were
the tracks. Naturally, she jumped through.
She saw the train that seemed to speed up
with murderous intent when she jumped clear it
was too late. I had her buried and the following
days were long and full of sadness.
She's far from Faro
and I s'pose Berlin.
There's something in her buildings -
they are rose in certain light.
She's far from London,
and I s'pose New York...
(Make that I know.)
There's something in her windows -
they are bright in light.
She's where I don't live,
but I may do one day...
That's if I don't go to
Faro, London, or New York.
Berlin's another matter.
Write it in the chalk!
5/13/2017
The two-timed
I know of a man who drove his wife to her lover in Faro
when it rained as she was afraid of the dark.
He waited in the car reading a paper when she came
out from the house of tryst she purred like a kitten,
he was happy too she would make him a good dinner
She died, the lover and the two timed stood by the grave
mourning her in their different ways and since they were
both alone, the lover moved in he does the cleaning and
lit the fire while the two- timed makes dinner and cakes.
Together they grew old and died in their sleep.
Bingo dice faro keno typical vino
recall of mind, yet but O' no
what have i done?!
Plucky feeling risk taker
tho' ne're been there ever
doth think economist specs ever wonder
how truth thou art has kinder
No they never , not of what i think
held by cruel little ring
yet they bolt all the thing
by one mysterious yet ming
politics it is; thou art has force
beyond mans cause
and so forth i am bound to live under that auth
there it be cause , surrounded by foes
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