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Lux Tremula — Poetry by Lydia Duprat Posts

Wayfarer 

I know a name, a supple leaf all vein
and sap, a sacred map that is your face,
a chart to port. I know a place by which
to berth by night, to anchor by. The way
a zealous tree will spread its roots about
the earth, so too I grasp, so that I might
enfold your sea. Or so I try, albeit in vain.
And when the light of day returns—
when the light of day returns, I drift
away and let you go, for, see? I know
your name, I know your face; I have a map.

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Julaftonsmorgon 

Vi gick ut på ängen,
i världen bara vi,
luften pärlande som förflyktigat vin.
Vi, i dimman suddiga,
vålnader på drift i den klängande tystnaden.
Längst bort granarnas höga palissad,
och bakom pålverket,
mellan de vässade topparna,
himlen vit.

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The Hidden Side of Me 

Under lock and key,
In a murky chamber and away from prying eyes:
That which ought not be acknowledged,
That which ought not be avowed,
That which might or might not exist—a country, a continent,
The hidden side of me.
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hopp 

liten.
hård gnistrande sten i min hand
som förklarar hela min värld
ofantlig.
förblindande rymd
ett skrin för mitt trilskna hjärta
silvrig dager, juvel
pärla av dagg
som släcker ogräsets törst efter värdighet

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Love Just Is 

Let’s just be.
Let’s just love, without asking why,
Without asking if and when and how.
We needn’t understand, explain or justify.
Just be you, and I will love you
Like I love you now. And if I be me,
Either you will love me, or I.
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A Última que Morre

Vai passar, essa dor.
Vai passar, porque tudo passa. Passa
o amor, passa a alegria e passa a desgraça.
Mas quando é que passa a esperança, meu deus?,
quando é que passa a esperança, que me atravanca e embaraça?
Quando é que passa essa mania de se dar murro em ponta de faca?
Por que é que passa tudo exceto a renitente velhaca?

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