Biography.
Myriam Fraga was born I 1937, in Bahia, Brazil. Her poetry has appeared first in many of the Brazilian periodicals and reviews. She has published many books of poetry, of which the most important are: Sesmaria, O Rison a Pele, As Purificações and A Lenda do Pásaro que Roubou o Fogo. She writes a week column on cultural events fro A TARDE, the most important daily of he Northern Brazil, and is member of the Academy of Letters of Bahia.
Minogram
Don't lookIn the concave mirror
Of virtue.
Forget the labyrinth.
Don't think,
Devour.
Traslated by Richard O´Connell
The last thread of the web.
In the palace
Deserted
A dog is barking.
The humming of arrows
Brings back the past.
I see in my mind
The bow curving
Back on itself,
The arm that distends it.
In silence I find
The peace I have lacked
(In the marble hall
The suitors lie groaning).
The circle is complete,
The waiting ended.
When Ulysses arrives
The soup will be cold.
Penelope
Today I undidThe last thread of the web.
In the palace
Deserted
A dog is barking.
The humming of arrows
Brings back the past.
I see in my mind
The bow curving
Back on itself,
The arm that distends it.
In silence I find
The peace I have lacked
(In the marble hall
The suitors lie groaning).
The circle is complete,
The waiting ended.
When Ulysses arrives
The soup will be cold.
Traslated by Richard O´Connell
With pins
And he still said NO
And they questioned him.
They cut off his fínger-tips
And dropped him
Into the deepest pit
And he still said no, he said no, he said no
And his hair grew like flames.
Inquisition
They stitched his mouthWith pins
And he still said NO
And they questioned him.
They cut off his fínger-tips
And dropped him
Into the deepest pit
And he still said no, he said no, he said no
And his hair grew like flames.
Traslated by Richard O´Connell
(That I resist)
Of lisped words,
Of obeisance,
Of traceable faces
Of other faces
And of hard sentences.
This is a falsehood-world
(They do not fool me)
Of gray spirals,
Of frazzled dreams.
Where hope becomes useless
And time is nothing.
Now-world.
The demon with its filters
The wild dog.
Its pack of hounds.
Sowing this lead,
This menace.
Hard is the watchful eye
In each face.
In the devastated mouth
Hunger grazes
And the hand rehearses the gesture
And disguises itself.
Translated by Rosaliene Bacchus
Perspective
This is a limit-world(That I resist)
Of lisped words,
Of obeisance,
Of traceable faces
Of other faces
And of hard sentences.
This is a falsehood-world
(They do not fool me)
Of gray spirals,
Of frazzled dreams.
Where hope becomes useless
And time is nothing.
Now-world.
The demon with its filters
The wild dog.
Its pack of hounds.
Sowing this lead,
This menace.
Hard is the watchful eye
In each face.
In the devastated mouth
Hunger grazes
And the hand rehearses the gesture
And disguises itself.
Translated by Rosaliene Bacchus
