When I Lost You

(Al Perderte Yo a Ti, by Ernesto Cardenal)

(Translated by Luiz Carlos Monteiro Nogueira)

 

When I lost you, you and I have lost:

I did it because you were the one I loved most

And so did you, because I was the one who mostly loved you.

 

But between you and me, you are the biggest loser:

Since I will be able to love someone else as much as I loved you

But nobody will ever love you as much as I did. 

 

(M. de Valença, 16.5.2011)

 

 

A Thousand Words

What a confusion in my mind!

Words come, pass and go away,

running lightly and unknown over my soul.

There are many questions I want to make

but nobody is there to answer them.

So, how to ask, if nobody hears me,

and a thousand words must be said?

 

What a great and wonderful sun

is climbing the other side of the mountain!

I will wait for it, I must wait for it!

It brings the warmth that will touch my heart, tenderly,

making me happy, who knows?

The important thing is that it is coming,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

What a little tear nature is crying

through her eyes of leaves in the morning!

I shall cry too, I must cry too,

so that our tears will fall together

on the green grass of Life!

The important thing is that they will be together,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

What a beautiful smile on children's faces

when they show their mysterious treasure,

unknown to men that are blind in their hearts!

I must find this treasure, I must find it!

The important thing is that it exists,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

What a solitude I see around an old young man

walking in the forest of my life!

His arms are surrounding his own inexistence,

his lips are shut in a great silence.

Could he be afraid because of the War?

The important thing is that he is in the forest of my life,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

What a sadness an old young woman is feeling

as she crosses the Bridge!

Her eyes are dried because he has cried

because he has cried for a long, long time.

Could she have cried for her old young man?

The important thing is that there is a Bridge,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

What kind of War and what kind of Bridge

are there in the forests of their lives?

Where will he go after the War

and, after the Bridge, where will she go?

I think they will meet themselves.

The important thing is that the War and the Bridge have their ends,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

The Bridge is the way to the sun's house

where happiness is shining, warm and sweet!

It has one foot in one heart and the other in another heart.

I think that it is called Understanding.

The important thing is that I know its name,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

If you Man, if you Myself looked for it every moment,

if you could (and I know you can!) live it,

spreading Peace around you,

it would be possible to hear little birds singing

where, before, there was just silence,

the great silence of sad solitude.

The important thing, however, is that you can do it

but a thousand words must be said.

 

If you Man, if you Myself looked around you,

opening your eyes and your arms,

if you could (and I know you can!) open them,

you would see things you have never seen,

you would embrace bodies you never felt.

The important thing is that you would be seen and embraced

but a thousand words must be said.

 

If you Man, if you Myself could like people

that usually cannot be liked,

sharing out all love you have in you,

if you could (and I know you can!) love them,

you would be like a fountain surrounded by thirsty men,

you would be like a sun enlightening dark ways.

The important thing is that you can love them

but a thousand words must be said.

 

If you Man, if you Myself could understand the facts

that are rarely understood

and explain them to people that need Understanding,

if you could (and I know you can!) understand them,

ou would be a sweet voice in the bitter desert,

a happy sound in the sorrowful silence.

The important thing is that you can understand

but a thousand words must be said.

 

If you Man, if you Myself could feel the beauty

that exists in the ugliest things, giving the real value to them,

if you could (and I know you can!) feel it,

you would make yourself a Lighthouse of Justice,

you would make yourself a Seed of Friendship.

The important thing is that you can feel  Beauty,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

I you Man, if you Myself could give more and ask for less

than whatever you want to yourself,

thus becoming an example of kindness,

if you could (and I know you can!) do it,

nobody would have the right to say anymore

that all men are strangers to themselves.

The important thing is that you can give,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

If you Man, if you Myself could stop talking and begin to listen,

recognizing that only fools think they are full of wisdom,

if you could (and I know you can!) stop talking,

you would hear own voice,  your conscience,

you would know who you really are.

The important thing is that you can stop and begin,

but a thousand words must be said.

 

When I began writing  this poem, I was confused

because I was alone and nobody was hearing me.

Well, now I have discovered a very important thing:

that we can talk to ourselves and that this is very important;

I found out that we can not know anybody

if we have not met our own soul, first;

I realized that we can say many things

when we prepare ourselves to listen.

 

Now I can believe that someday,

 when Mankind tired of wars, look for Peace,

 thirsty of Love, renounce to hate,

hungry of Friendship, destroy indifference,

being afraid of solitude, promote Union,

recognizing its ignorance, find Wisdom,

we will have more equality and less poverty,

we will see more smiles and less sadness.

 

Men will be together, then!

Children will be seen playing without fear of tomorrow;

war will be just a lost memory and

the steel of guns will be used to make Bridges;

flowers will grow in every place

and birds will sing everywhere, every time!

There will not be tears on people's faces

and their skins will have no colors.

 

The rich will take the hand of his poor brother

and their souls will walk, side by side, all the way;

the powerful will get down from his high position

and the humble will talk to him, friendly;

the negro and the white will kiss each other

and their children will have the same rights;

there will be no borders between countries,

there will be no countries between people!

 

And then, when the Sun really rise for all Mankind

and the stars shine for every man,

when you, my dear Friend, become my Brother

and all blind men see the Truth in these words,

we will keep this poem in the Past,

because we will have time but just for Love

and Love we shall have but only to live!

Then, these thousand words will not be necessary, never more.

 

(Marquês de Valença, 7.10.1971)

 
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