Τη μέρα που γιόρταζαν τα γενέθλιά μου...

Μιας και είχα γενέθλια την προηγούμενη βδομάδα....
Κρίμα που δε μπόρεσα να βρω μια μετάφραση της προκοπής στα ελληνικά...
Επίσης ελπίζω τα πράγματα να στρώσουν γιατί οι φετινές γιορτές μοιάζουν σκηνοθετημένες απ΄τον Tim Burton το ελάχιστο.
Με τη διαφορά ότι αυτή τη φορά δε μ΄αρέσει η σκηνοθεσία...
Πραγματικά, και μη χειρότερα.

"Birthday"

Back when people celebrated my birthday,
I was happy and no one was dead.
In the ancient house, even my birthday was an ancient tradition many centuries old,
And everyone's joy, and mine, was as sure as a religion.


Back when my birthday was celebrated,
I was healthy not to understand anything,
To be intelligent only in the family circle,
And not to share other people's hopes for me.
When I started having hopes, I no longer knew how to have them.
When I started to look at life, I had lost the meaning of life.


Yes, all that I supposedly was to myself,
What I was at heart and blood-wise.
What I was during semi-province evenings,
What I was as someone who was loved and a small boy,
What I was ? o God! What only now I know that I was...
It's so far away!...
(Not so much...)
The days when my birthday was celebrated!


What I am today is like the humidity in the corridor at the end of the house,
Like mould growing on walls...
What I am today (and the house of those who loved me trembles through my tears),
What I am today is the fact they have sold the house,
That they've all died,
That I have survived myself like a match gone cold...


When my birthday was celebrated...
Is like a beloved to me, like a person from those days!
A physical desire of the soul to find itself there again,
Through a metaphysical and carnal voyage,
With a duality between myself and I...
To eat the past like one starved eats bread, with no time for butter
Between one's teeth!


Once more I see everything with such clarity that I'm blinded to what's here now...
The table set with more places, better designs on the tableware, more glasses,
The sideboard with lots of things - sweets, fruits, the rest in the shadows under the dry-room -,
The old aunts, the different cousins, and it was all for my sake,
Back then, when my birthday was celebrated...


Stop, heart of mine!
Don't think! Leave the thinking in your head!
O my God, my God, my God!
Today I no longer have birthdays.
I last.
Days are added to me.
I'll be old when I am.
Nothing more.
Rage at not having brought the past with me, stolen in my pocket!...


The days when my birthday was celebrated!...


Álvaro de Campos,
aka Fernando Pessoa