Francisca Pascoaes

Province
Noblesse Oblige




I warn the most susceptible
that the poem is not
pity the reader,
nor does the poet
who decrees it harvest


In the province I was happy,
Not now, adult,
Never now, mature
But when I was a child,
Innocent, belligerent, petiz

I idealized the place,
the treetops, the sheep,
the flowers and perfumes,
the bees,
I idealized the rivers
and the sources,
The meadows and the bridges

To the people, create them
rawauthentic and accented,
with jargon and prominence
of singing words
and sunburnt silhouettes
whole, romantic,
brutish and naked.


And I saw them weeding
Harvesting, Caring
I found them singing
Smiling and being
But I was the romantic one
And the night covers me
Forgive me and hide
My disappointment
of these people


Ignorance is ghastly
Haunting, chilling
and envious
Ah, I miss the city
Of the invisible neighbors
Of the conversations in the
Public Gardens
of other people's animals!
of shopping malls
from the local bars and
of daily tourists

Closing windows and shutters
Still I see stars
This is the whole province
that I needfar from ruin,
Of the cruel and the wormwood
(which here is called bagasse
and rhymes with candy)

The village slumbers,
The Alcoholic Population
Dreams of overthrowing those who
Arrives and it's different

I see them chewing the cud,
between teeth
In the church, in the churchyards
They are masked herds
of humanity
Real people? No.

Maybe there is,
Maybe far away from me
Closed at home
In the whisper and in the silence
In the dust of the earth and hoe

Longing for the sea and the mountains
I want to stay away from hypocrites
that could be simple,
Could be real
but they chose to be serpents
Crawling with legs
and arms and tongues
Students of cruelty!


And they go to the churches,
to Seventh-day Masses
without remembering the dead
no sensitivity,
The Absurdity of Sangria
and repeat the individual verses
From the parish priest
who sells the masses
By the half dozen


God is not in the mosques
Of entrenched people
No ounce of love
with laughter of fallacies


They don't even know what they're repeating
pretend to be touched by the
glory of the Lord
He who doesn't like lukewarm
And not even murmurers
They are intrepid, nuns
of the seamstress tongue!


And they do not know the Bible,
they repeat in a jargon.
the name of Christ
Like that's the name they give
to malice, but with veneration
They don't know the book of psalms
nor who Nebuchadnezzar was
But they go vain and simulated
Ahead eat the host
And they notice who's
Who's going, who's gone!
From God's Law
resemble the cow and the ox


To the Holy Book,
maybe you know the cover,
Maybe just the cover
Broncos, greasy,
nail polish lovers
and foolishness
Cold sacristy kites
That not even with correction
would become apprentices


And they still use God's name
as ephemeral and death throes
if they knew Him, they would know
that He is not pleased
Of shallow people
People who don't know
What is Tolerance and Love


Ah, the village is just the place
the abode, where I embrace the
Starry Night
Serious guys?
Only the ones that are gone
no wisdom at all!
Where are the righteous, Father?
What about the wise men?


And in this litany of atrocities
and a few protected pinguços
in his innocent holiness
a bovine people who
chooses to be superficial
On this path of the 21st century
in the absence of truths,
Being Spiritual
is considered a heretic,
Pelintra demon, plague and evil.


And so the secular country
Sponsors ignorance
only promotes the harvest
and the grape, the baptismal elixir


And now, to rhyme
with the campfire
Where they want to burn me
Come from there this healer
vomit foam and skull
And make the cauldron grow
That my thinking
They don't shut up


I'm more Joan of Arc
I come from books and toga and,
With me I bring a basket of stele
while the old women are booing
I'm preparing my grand finale


And I still make the sword easy for you
with which they can cut me
This unequal perspective of mine
This head that is not secular

In this experimental country of
decree me there for judgment,
Outsider, foreigner
of a huge, shapeless family
An example of envy and quarrel
Diarrhea without sacramento
and retreat before I shut up!
Noblesse Oblige