Fernando Pessoa ( ) Portugal

All letters of love are
ridiculous,
they would not be love letters if they were not
ridiculous.

During my days I too wrote love leters,
like others,
ridiculous.

Love letters, if there is love,
have to be
ridiculous.

But at the end
only those creatures that never wrote
love letters,
are really
ridiculous.

I wish I were in the times
of writing those letter of love,
not knowing they were
ridicolous.

But truly today
my memories
of those letters
are the ones that are really
ridiculous.

(All the strange words,
the strange thoughts
are naturally
ridiculous)

--------------------------------------------------------------------

After A Holiday

They go past somewhere
With their empty songs,
Their short dreams remain unfulfilled,
And to you they look like jokers--
The poor fools!

In the shadows of the full moon
They gather together and disperse,
They know not each another
And hardly lift their faces--
The faithful servants lost,
Their tall-stories died!

Abandoned, they sang
Again and again
Till they became hoarse,
Their hour - near.
Eternity is not in their pursuit,
Nor is it in ours.

An original rendering of Fernanado Pessoa's poem from the Russian version in West European Poetry, XX Century. Belles-Letters, Moscow 1977

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