I am a cowherd; I don’t deny it, my goods Are those you see over there, I live happily By guiding among the fresh flowering grasses The sweetest company of my herd of cattle;
And there’s where they hear me, the love-¬struck trunks of trees, Into which the ancients have been transformed; Each and ev’ry one of them feels their own ruin; In the way that I too feel all of my worries.
You, oh trunks of great trees, (I say to them) at one time Considered yourselves to be so firm and secure Within the arms of a beautiful companion;
Console yourselves in me, oh solid, sturdy trunks; Because I, at one time, also once witnessed joy; And today I do weep at the falsehoods of Love.
The motion of ropes in tugs European hour of a mists’ kaleidoscope fingers like submarines in the midst of seaweed it is not so far from Babylonia to Jerusalem City quay of Saint-Nazaire the moor and set sail of ships slow movement in motionless water indefinite horizon in Loire verandah between scaffolds and cranes unexpected ecstasy of embarkations Here I am only a foreigner and I bring the mark of casualty I am an outsider passer-by and as I arrived I should leave Here I am only a passenger and no matter how devoted I am I will remain an outsider No matter how much I want you I am farouche and this city is only in my route ditch wall bridge and sentinel as I arrived I should return Nobody will wave to me from any window when I leave platonic quay of myself metaphysical dimension of a dream metaphor quay of the passport body we are the ships in this night invisible quay of resurrection.
Eyes thus turned gazing, Head thus inclined Steps thus taken She comes to communicate with me. Oh! Companion, It cannot be or yes it will be, The moves are those of a Brazilian. Who could have told me, But it is true; That Lisbon produced A Pretty Brazilian Woman.