This poem is from Brazilian poet, Adelia Prado (b. 1935). Here's the poem in Portugese first (sorry but without proper accents due to email contraints), and then as translated by Marcia Kirinus.


Sesta

O poeta tem um chapeu
um cinto de couro,
um camisa de malha.
O poeta e um homem comum.
Mas, quando diz:
a tarde nao podia tanger
com "os bandolins e suas doces nadegas,"
eu me prostro invocando:
me explica, o decifrador, o misteria da vida,
me ama, homem incomum.
No oeste de Minas tem um canavial,
onde as folhas se rocam asperas,
asperas as folhas da cana-doce rocam-se.
Como agulhas bicando em vidro liso.
O pio das andorinhas dentro da igreja deserta.
Os trinados e as folhas cortam,
entre as canas e doce, doce e fresco,
entre os bancos da igreja.
Repouso la e ca,
um poder em circulos me dilata,
eu danco na mao de Deus.
Na hora do encantamento,
o reverso do verso da sua luz:
"os bandolins e suas doces nadegas,"
um misterio santissimo e inteligivel.


Siesta

The poet wears a hat,
a leather belt
a knit shirt.
The poet is a common man.
But when he says:
the afternoon can't compare
with "your bandolin and your sweet ass,"
it makes me genuflect:
explain to me, decipher, the mystery of life,
love me, my uncommon man.
To the west, in Minas, there's a field of sugarcane;
there the leaves of the sugarcane scrape
like needles stippling smooth glass.
The chirping of the swallows in the deserted church.
The choir and the sharp leaves,
within the sugarcane it's sweet, fresh and sweet,
within the pews of the church.
Tranquility both here and there,
a power encircles me, and I swell,
I dance in the hand of God.
At the hour of enchantment,
the reversal of the verse illuminates:
"your bandolin and your sweet ass,"
a most holy and most common mystery.