Isilda Nunes (Portugal)

 
Isilda Nunes (Portugal)
 
Isilda Nunes is a Portuguese award-winning writer and artist. Recently she won among other recognitions, the Intercontinental World Poetry Prize “Kairat Dusseinov Parman”, the World Prize “Cesar Vallejo 2020” for Literary Excellence, the “Grito de Mujer Lisbon 2021 Award”, the “Aguila de Oro” for Literary and Artistic Excellence, “Escudo del Plata, “Especial Lusofonia”, “Latinoamericano à la Difusion Educativa, Literária e Cultural 2021 Award” and “I Premi Lido Dell’Anima Mihai Eminescu 2022”
She has poems translated into English, Spanish, Hindi, Serbian, Polish, Bengali and Mandarin and edited in India, Bangladesh, Poland, Serbia, Brazil, Peru, Croatia, Greece, Republic of Seychelles, United States, Turkey, New Zealand and China. She is co-author of about fifty national and international anthologies and solo books of poetry and prose, such as novels, short stories and manuals.
She has organized and participated in various national and foreign festivals and events.
 
She is:
• World Executive President Collegiate of the Hispanoworld Writers Union (UHE), an organization with more than 125000 members and delegations in around 150 countries, on all continents.
• UHE World Ambassador
• President and Founder of the UHE-Portugal delegation
• Honorary Ambassador of the “World Poets Federation” (WPF)
• Member of “World Nations Writers Union” (WNWU)
• Member of the Organizing Committee of “World Festival of Poetry” (WFP) in Portugal
• Delegate of the Minho region of the Solidarity Project “Being Woman”
• Secretary of the Supervisory Board of GRETP (Recreational and Ethnographic Group “As Tricanas Poveiras)
• Member of the Patripove Advisory Board
She is an Honorary Member of:
• CEMD (Circle of Mozambican Writers in the Diaspora)
• UHE-MOZAMBIQUE (Unión Hispanomundial de Escritores, Mozambique)
• MIL- MOÇAMBIQUE (Portuguese International Movement)
• ALDCI (Lusophone Association for Development, Culture and Integration) -NGOD
• MLA Mor Lírio (International Culture) in the “Lírio Azul” Movement
 
 
MOTHER, I DON’T WANT TO BE BORN!
 
Mother, I don’t want to be born!
Mother, you know, I’ve got your anguish on my inked skin
my body carved by the pain that is in you whipping
and my soul battered by the wind they imposed upon you.
Mother, you know, I drank all the tears that from your eyes didn’t flow
your sobs,
your mourning,
your outcry,
your fear
and that hunger for love, for real.
I hid within your bowels when those big hands violated your dignity.
Mother, they humiliated you. They humiliated me, too!
Mother, I’m so afraid of the world you live in
Mother, I don’t want to be part of that world.
You know, Mother… I’m a wee girl.
 
 
MÃE, NÃO QUERO NASCER
 
Mãe, não quero nascer!
Sabes mãe tenho a pele tatuada pela tua angústia
o corpo cinzelado pela dor que te chicoteia
e a alma fustigada pelas ventanias que te impuseram.
Sabes mãe, bebi todas as lágrimas que não brotaram dos teus olhos
os teus soluços
o teu pranto,
o teu clamor,
o teu medo
e a tua fome de amor.
Escondi-me nas tuas entranhas quando aquelas mãos grandes violaram a tua integridade.
Mãe humilharam-te. Humilharam-me!
Mãe tenho medo de viver no teu mundo
Mãe não quero nascer.
Sabes mãe… eu sou uma menina.
 
 
OF YOU NOTHING REMAINS
 
Of you, nothing remains except the silence
perched in the farewell antechamber.
Inert, glacial, incisive
hovers in the penumbra
of sunset.
 
Anemic chalice spilled
on the yellowish towel,
of desuded repast.
The imminent almost, prophesied
in the evocative amnesia of us,
echoes insistent,
annoying,
purging spectres
in the saline footsteps of the fatum.
 
What has become of us?
Where have we forgotten?
From me,
in alienation,
I know myself lost.
Of you,
I glimpse nothing
than silence.
Cold, cutting, implosive,
perched in the farewell antechamber.
 
 
DE TI NADA MAIS SOBRA
 
De ti nada mais sobra que o silêncio
pousado na antecâmara do adeus.
Inerte, glacial, incisivo
paira na penumbra
de final de tarde.
 
Cálice anémico derramado
na toalha amarelecida,
de desudado repasto.
O iminente quase, profetizado
na amnésia evocativa de nós,
ecoa insistente,
incomodativo,
purgando espectros
nas pegadas salinadas do fatum.
 
Que foi feito de nós?
Onde nos esquecemos?
De mim,
na alienação,
sei-me perdida.
De ti,
nada vislumbro
que o silêncio.
Gélido, cortante, implosivo,
pousado na antecâmara do adeus.
 
 
THE LAST TRAIN
 
Of us, only the pain remains,
which gnaws at my soul.
Where does the scent of jasmine hover?
Where does the announced spring live?
Today, the corpse of me
survives in the disarray of emotions.
Translucent dust
volutes in the dug cracks,
on the lacerated face
on the tortured body.
At the hands of pseudo-love,
the sacred feminine outraged.
The scourged flesh.
The inert soul, in the induced shortcut.
At the curve of the road,
the last train
appeals to detachment.
And you?
Coldly you crush the cigarette.
 
 
O ÚLTIMO TREM
 
De nós, somente resta a dor,
que me fustiga sofregamente a alma.
Onde paira o aroma de jasmim?
Onde vive a primavera anunciada?
Hoje, o cadáver de mim,
sobrevive no desalinho das emoções.
Poeira translúcida
voluteia nas fendas cavadas,
na face lacerada,
no corpo torturado.
Às mãos do pseudoamor,
o sagrado feminino ultrajado.
A carne flagelada.
A alma inerte, no atalho induzido.
Na curva da estrada,
o último trem
apela ao desapego.
E tu?
Friamente esmagas o cigarro.
 
 
THE SWAN SUCCUMBS ON THE STAGE
 
The shore overflows the silence of the season of uncertainty.
There is no more Persephone’s abduction or Psyche’s enchantment.
There are no birds to draw the sky,
nor torches to light the night.
There is no passion, no whisper or ardour.
 
Your hand, barren of us, beckons fate.
Desire knitted in silken sheets,
fades in the farewell suspended from your lips.
The crows augur frost
in the line of time.
 
I saw no more the saltpans of your eyes,
nor the sea of your lap.
 
The sonata in Adagio Sostenutto
agonises in pas de deux.
In lapidated absence,
the vacant gaze
dictates the verdict.
The swan succumbs on the stage.
 
 
O CISNE SUCUMBE NO PALCO
 
A margem transborda o silêncio da estação da incerteza.
Já não há rapto da Perséfone nem encanto da Psique.
Não há aves para desenhar o céu,
nem tochas para acender a noite.
Não há paixão, nem sussurro nem ardor.
 
A tua mão, árida de nós, acena o destino,
O desejo tricotado em lençóis de seda
esbate-se no adeus suspenso dos teus lábios.
Os corvos auguram geada,
na linha do tempo.
 
Não vi mais as salinas de teus olhos,
nem o mar do teu regaço.
 
A sonata em “Adagio sostenutto”,
agoniza em “pas de deux”.
Na ausência lapidada,
o olhar vago,
dita o veredito.
O cisne sucumbe no palco.
 
 
Urge to be reborn a New Man!
 
Urge to be reborn a New Man!
In the light of widespread alienation,
Gaia agonizes
in the cruel passivity
of consent blindness.
Where does the embrace hover?
Where does humanity reside?
 
Green dreams are aborted
on the red runways of power,
Waste is defecated
in the sacred waters of the Ganges,
boys play at shooting
In the slums of Brazil,
the spectre of hunger
murders Ethiopia,
violence roams
in Afghanistan.
 
And Gaia, Mother Earth, agonises in all of us!
 
In the eloquent oratory
of announced diplomacy,
Aphrodite struts
in magnificent halls,
Zeus sows blessings
in exchange for laurels and fame,
pseudo-gods wander
in luxurious yachts,
while Hades undaunted
outlines the next blow.
 
And Gaia, the Mother-Earth, agonises in all of us!
 
And on the impregnable path
of camouflaged corruption,
a thread of voice, a whisper,
in the veins of the New Man,
appeals to the dawn.
 
Where does the embrace hover?
Where does humanity reside?
 
 
Urge renascer o Homem Novo!
 
À luz da alienação generalizada,
Gaia agoniza
na cruel passividade
da cegueira consentida.
-Onde paira o abraço?
-Onde reside a humanidade?
 
Abortam-se sonhos verdes
nas passarelas rubras do poder,
defeca-se dejetos
nas águas sagradas do Ganges,
meninos jogam às balas
nas favelas do Brasil,
o espetro da fome
assassina a Etiópia,
a violência vagueia
no desamor do Afeganistão.
 
E Gaia, a Mãe-Terra,
agoniza em todos nós!
 
Na eloquente oratória
da diplomacia anunciada
Afrodite pavoneia-se
em imponentes salões,
Zeus semeia benesses
em troca de louros e fama,
pseudodeuses vagueiam
em luxuosos iates,
enquanto Hades impávido
delineia o próximo golpe.
 
E Gaia, a Mãe-Terra,
agoniza em todos nós!
 
E na senda expugnável
de corrupção camuflada,
um fio de voz, um sussurro,
nas veias do Homem Novo,
apela ao amanhecer.
 
-Onde paira o abraço?
-Onde reside a humanidade?
 
 

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