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02. 04. 1922
Born in Matosinhos. He was connected to the reviews Távola Redonda, Árvore, Notícias do Bloqueio and Limiar among others. Translator and poet. |
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| The theme changes, where the sea begins. Is adventure the sea or that form which forms after, which will live in the memory of days? I remember an island the sea took me and opened to me various gates of wisdom. The ocean began before, finished after, there it only flowed on, rocking me in nights of furled sails, of easy pineapples of high masts touched by longing bright as the moonshine's traces. Later, I realised I was out of work because there were no Indias or from princesses the reward of a smile. But fights existed for others, torpedoes and canons weren't far away. That war I only pretended to be part of. Sailboat anchored I would think the island, green as a slogan, there I didn't get sick as, at sea, happened to me on the ships of Insulana. Sailor I was not. The ancient world could be lived in books, offset reproductions multiplied the atlas, some poets would bathe their poems in Greece. I, was there, stopped in time, where the sea began and ended, waiting for the clock of sleep in the main square to strike the return. My home was in the orient, there the sea would finish for me, and only when from the beach I could see it, imagination could whisper to me that it started by my feet and from the voyage would be excluded. A face without secrets that black tides sicken, and waves to me when the plane descends and scatters a sea of clouds that disband and begin again. Onde o Mar Acaba |
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