Meeting Points

MACAO IN PORTUGUESE AND CHINESE POETRY
FIRST MEETING OF POETS OF MACAO*

Adé dos Santos Ferreira

    In Macanese dialect: 
    
    "CHURADELA DI CHACHA
    
    Chacha, co estunga frio, 
    Cucús na casa, cháli na riva di ombro, 
    Nom-têm fim di gurunhá. 
    Falá vai, falá vêm, ai qui saiám, 
    Old tánto ancuza assi bom
    Di nôsso Macau antigo
    Unga trás di ôtro, disparecê. 
    
    Pitisqueréra divera sabroso
    Qui gente na casa fazê, 
    Festa-festa qui têm su chiste, 
    Vida barato, sossegado, 
    Gente capaz tocá, cantá, 
    Tudo azinha aguá vai, 
    Já ficá somente na lembrançá. 
    
    "Unga póti di bom perada, 
    Unga pacóti di barba fino, 
    Únde têm?", Chacha priguntá.     
    "Cilicário, felêa, únde têm? 
    Cabelo di nóiva, genête, 
    Pudim de lête, batatada, 
    Dóci di camalénga, únde têm?"

    ("THE GRANDMOTHER'S LAMENT
    
    It is cold, and the grandmother,    
    At home, a shawl over her shoulders,    
    Grumbles incessantly. 
    Over and over she says that it's a pity 
    To see so many good things 
    From our Macau, from the past, 
    Disappear, one after the other. 
    
    Really savoury appetizers 
    That people made at home, 
    Festivities that were fun, 
    Reasonable prices, a tranquil life, 
    People who could play music and sing, 
    Everything was lost so quickly,    
    All that remains are memories. 
    
    "A jar of good perada, ° 
    A package of delicious barba,  ° 
    Where can one find that?", asks the grandmother. 
    "Cilicário, °   geleia, °   where has that gone? 
    Cabelo de noiva, ° genete, °   
    Milk pudding, batatada, °   
    Pumpkin jam, what's become of all that?"
    "Robuçado di ôvo, dóci di chacha,  
    Enténa-pôdre, obrêa, mamún, 
    Bicho-bicho, múchi-múchi. 
    Nata, fula-fula, bají, 
    Conquéra, ladú, sarasnsurábi, 
    Bôlo-mármre, bôlo minino, 
    Quim têm pa fazê?"
    
    "Vai únde achá chilicote 
    Chilicote-fólia, pastelinha, 
    Pám-rechiado, rolête-mínchi,  
    Bôlo di cambrám, bebinga-rabo, 
    Co um-cento más ancuza, 
    Tudo assi bom comê, 
    Fazê nôs bóca corê babo?"
    
    "Sã, nunca-sã saiám", 
    Chacha falá co voz di chôro, 
    "Olà vazio na casa
    Nôsso abolô di bólo co dóci, 
    Pramor di docéra capaz
    Co merendéro di agora
    Já lembrá ficá priguiçoso?"
    
    Quarentóra na tempo antigo
    Sã quelê bom diverti; 
    Pa tudo vánda olá bôbo
    Corê rua na trás di tuna, 
    Fazê chiste, sabroso pandegá, 
    Atai-atai olá bôbo ficá asnerám, 
    Bôbo pegá pau cutí ilôtro. 
    
    Casa di gente tai-pán. 
    Co tudo clube qui Macau têm, 
    Unga trás di ôtro dá baile
    Na semána di entrudo. 
    Quim cantá, quim pulá-dançá;  
    Cavá ravirá co treméndo cea,  
    Torná dançá atê pramicedo. 
    
    Lembrá entrudo, Chacha falá 
    "Comédia sã nádi faltá. 
    Acunga Chencho di minha pecado,  
    Juntá ráncho co amigo-amigo,  
    Subí palco, papiá chiste; 
    Nho-nhónha enroscá na cadéra 
    Ri qui xirí... mulká sobrado. "
    
    "Rebuçado de ovos,  °   calda de chacha,  °  
    Entena-podre, °   obreia, °   mamoon, °  
    Bicho-bicho, °   múchi-múchi, °  
    Pastéis de nata, °   fula-fula, °   bagi, °  
    Coconut cake, ladu, °   saransorável, °  
    Marble cake, bolo menino, °      
    Does anyone still know how to make them?"
    
    "Where can one find chilicote, °  
    Puff pastry, pastelinha, 
    Pão-recheado, °   croquettes, 
    Shrimp cakes, turnip spread, 
    And many other things, 
    All so delicious,    
    That they leave us wanting more."
    
    "Is it or is it not a pity?",    
    Asks the grandmother in a tearful voice, 
    "To see the ternos for cakes and pastries 
    Empty in our homes,    
    Because the excellent confectioners 
    And today's pastry makers 
    Have become lazy. 
    
    In the old days the carnival    
    Was endless fun; 
    There were costumed people everywhere    
    Following the musicians through the streets, 
    Joking around and playing.    
    The Chinese children would swear    
    And the costumed people would hit them with sticks. 
    
    One after the other there were balls 
    In the houses of the important people 
    And in all the clubs in Macau    
    The week of Carnival. 
    Some sang, others danced joyfully,    
    And after eating a sumptuous meal, 
    They danced until dawn. 
    
    Remembering the carnival, the grandmother says: 
    "There was no lack of fun, 
    Chencho, my partner in crime,    
    Accompanied by his buddies,    
    Would get up on stage to tell jokes. 
    The ladies, doubled over in their chairs,    
    Laughed until they wet their pants, and the floor."
    
    Masqui paga, na tempo antigo, 
    Sã ungu mán pequinino di pataca, 
    Vida barato fazê gente
    Vivo co más pôco consumiçám. 
    Sabe ficá dóna-di-casa, 
    Sapeca sã lôgo chegá
    Pa tudo laia di dispésa. 
    
    Casa pa lugá, cinco-sês pataca,  
    Cuzinhéra, unga-dôs pataca,     
    Lavadéra co apô cartá-águ 
    Nádi más qui unga pataca. 
    Dôs pataca têm luz pa lumiá, 
    Na pôço têm águ pa lavá
    Na horta rancá fruta comê. 
    
    Vai bazar comprá som
    Co sassénta avo na bolsa, 
    Vêm casa co brêdo, cambrám, 
    Vaca, áde salgado. 
    Si chapá más trinta avo, 
    Pôde comprá pôrco, lombo, 
    Co unga perna di galinha. 
    
    Pêsse co géma di ôvo di áde,  
    Tau-fu co fula-papaia, 
    Sã comida di gente pobre.  
    Onçôm na casa criá galinha,  
    Sã têm ôvo pa ravirá.  
    Comprá nhame co batata, 
    Nancassá gastá vinte avo. 
    
    Pensám di Chencho reformado 
    Sã sassénta pataca na-más; 
    Su filo Atútu ganhá novénta. 
    Chacha fazê bôlo vendê, 
    Maria costurá pa gente. 
    Pegá tudo sapeca chapá juntado,  
    Ilôtro vivo dizafogado. 
    
    Nom-têm fim di lamuriá, 
    Chacha falá agora têm sapeca, 
    Tamêm nom-têm ancuza bom. 
    Têm caréta, têm casarám, 
    Gente capaz, maquinéta novo, 
    Mâz nom-têm do-dol sabroso
    Pa nôs ruçá biscoito comê! 
    
    Despite the fact that in those days incomes,    
    Were but a few Patacas, 
    Things were moderately priced, so people    
    Had fewer worries.    
    A good housewife, 
    With all kinds of expenses,    
    Knew how to make ends meet. 
    
    A rented house, five or six Patacas; 
    A cook, one or two Patacas, 
    A washerwoman and a cleaning woman    
    Did not represent more than one Pataca. 
    With two Patacas one could buy electricity, 
    The well supplied water for bathing, 
    The orchard supplied fruit. 
    
    We went to the market for groceries    
    With sixty Avos in our wallet. 
    And returned with greens, shrimp,    
    Beef, salted duck.    
    With another thirty Avos,    
    We could buy pork, ribs 
    And a drumstick. 
    
    Fish and duck-egg yolks, 
    Soy and flowers from the papaya tree 
    Were poor people's food.    
    At home, we raised chickens    
    And had eggs to spare. 
    To buy yams and potatoes, 
    We didn't need to spend twenty Avos. 
    
    Chencho's retirement pension 
    Was a mere sixty Patacas. 
    His son Atútu earned ninety, 
    The grandmother made cakes for sale, 
    Maria earned a living with her sewing.    
    With all this money, 
    They lived comfortably. 
    
    In an endless lament, 
    The grandmother says that now there is no lack of money; 
    What we lack are good things. 
    There are houses and mansions,    
    Skilled people and modem appliances, 
    But there is no savoury do-dol, °  
    To eat with biscuits.")1

António M. Couto Viana

    "GRAVURA ANTIGA DE MACAU
    
    Nonha recebe com chá
    E sabr'oso surang-surave
    As amigas do bafá, 
    Chacha-chacha nos seus dós, 
    De jeito gentil e grave, 
    Que chegam de riquexós. 
    
    Nhonha veste um baju leve
    Moldando os limões do peito, 
    A mão do nhom, se atreve. 
    Não receia as pei-pá-chais: 
    No escurinho do leito, 
    Ambos são risos e ais. 
    
    Nhonha deixa o arrebique
    Com face de loiça fina. 
    Passo breve, tique-tique, 
    Vai á janela, abre as reixas. 
    E, entre a boa e a má sina, 
    Diz amores e escuta queixas. 
    
    Nhonha compõe a saraça, 
    Sentadinha na cadeira, 
    Toda atenta ao que se passa, 
    Alegre de malinguar, 
    Pés na frescura da esteira
    Que a bicha cansa a esfregar. 
    
    (Que saudade, esta Macau
    Que eu adivinho feliz, 
    Morando all no Lilau, 
    Com respeito, dengue e ardor; 
    Jardim de mulher-raiz
    Com chiste de mulher-flor."

    ("AN OLD PRINT OF MACAO
    
    Nhonha ° serves tea
    And delicious surang-surave °  
    To the friends who play bafá °   with her, 
    The old women with their black mantles, 
    With a genteel and grave manner, 
    Who arrive in rickshaws. 
    
    Nhonha puts on a light blouse 
    That reveals the curves of her breasts, 
    Which the hand of the nhom °   dares to touch. 
    She does not fear the pei-pá-chais:  °  
    In the darkness of the bedroom, 
    Both laugh and moan. 
    
    Nhonha leaves the dressing table 
    With a fine porcelain face. 
    A short step, tick-tick, 
    She goes to the window, opens the shutters. 
    And between the good and bad fortune, 
    Speaks of love and listens to complaints. 
    
    Nhonha fixes her sarong, 
    Sitting in her chair, 
    Attentive to what goes on, 
    Happy to be speaking ill of people, 
    Feet on the cool mat 
    That the bicha ° is tired of scrubbing. 
    
    (What longing, this Macao 
    That I presume happy 
    Living there in the Lilau, 
    With respect, affectation and ardour: 
    A garden of a root-woman 
    With the wit of a prostitute.")

Maria Ana Acciaioli Tamagnini

    "FOLHAS DE LÓTUS
    
    Sobre folhas de lótus escrevi
    As letras do teu nome, meu amor. 
    Naquelas folhas que a sorrir colhi
    Ao debruçar-me sobre o lago em flor. 
    
    Sobre folhas de lótus desenhei
    0 mais risonho trecho da cidade; 
    E esse leve desenho que tracei
    Dir-se-ía uma paisagem feita de jade. 
    
    O teu nome mais belo se fizera
    No relevo das letras bem gravadas, 
    A paisagem lembrava Primavera
    Sobre o verde das folhas espalmadas. 
    
    Apertei-as de encontro ao coração. 
    Senti meu peito como a flor a abrir... 
    E todo o Oriente feérico e pagão, 
    Sobre folhas de lótus vi surgir. 
    
    Ah! Se eu pudesse, como outrora, ao luar, 
    Por esses lagos nos jardins dispersos,  
    Ir as folhas de lótus apanhar
    Para sobre elas escrever meus versos, 
    
    Essas folhas de estranha singeleza 
    Dariam á poesia outro valor, 
    E eu realizava um sonho de beleza: 
    Um livro cheio de perfume e cor."

    ("LOTUS LEAVES
    
    On lotus leaves I wrote 
    The letters of your name, my love, 
    On those leaves I smilingly gathered 
    As I bent over the lake filled with flowers. 
    
    On lotus leaves I drew 
    The most pleasant setting in the city; 
    And that light drawing I made
    Was like a jade landscape. 
    
    Your name was all the more beautiful 
    In the carefully engraved letters.    
    The landscape evoked Spring    
    On the smooth green leaves. 
    
    I placed them against my heart. 
    I felt my bosom open like a flower... 
    And I saw the magical, pagan Orient, 
    Emerge on lotus leaves. 
    
    Ah! If only I could, as in the past, 
    Gather lotus leaves in the moonlight, 
    From the lakes in the gardens, 
    To write my verses on them, 
    
    Those strangely simple leaves 
    Would give the poetry greater significance, 
    And I would realize a dream of beauty: 
    A book full of fragrance and colour.")

Alberto Estima de Oliveira

    "ALTO CONTRASTE
    
    o início do diálogo
    será como o Outono
    igual ao tempo seco
    ameno, próprio para descer à rua 
    e estontear pelos locais 
    onde se movem 
    os restos do bazar
    
    conversa estranha por dentro do silêncio 
    de sons reconvertidos das vielas 
    pergunto-me ao chegar, se alguma vez cheguei 
    como seria a vida que se dizia calma 
    neste minúsculo resto do corpo da cidade
    
    vou desfiando o espaço que ainda sobra 
    num rosário de rostos e serviços 
    nas tendas e nas esquinas aninhados
    
    retenho os verdes expostos nas bancadas 
    separo vermelhos amarelos e outras cores 
    e vou pintando os muros desolados
    
    saúdo com sorrisos quem comigo cruza
    e me conhece. pergunto às sombras 
    de vultos imprecisos, coisas antigas 
    memórias das janelas
    
    dos nomes pouco ou nada me recordam 
    reais ou anónimos os vivos os transportam
    
    dos longos cabelos e das tranças 
    tenho uma vaga ideia a que acrescento
    os olhos submersos em destinos
    
    das mãos feitas de cera e madrugada 
    recolho a dádiva
    
    do corpo que não vejo mas pressinto 
    ocultam-se as colinas as encostas 
    vales e bosques da terra
    mãe chorada
    
    ("HIGH CONTRAST
    
    the beginning of the dialogue    
    will be like Autumn 
    like the dry season 
    pleasant, good for going out on the street 
    and wandering through the areas 
    where the leftovers from the Bazaar 
    are being moved
    
    a strange conversation within the silence 
    of the echoing sounds of the alleys 
    as I arrive I ask myself, if I've ever arrived 
    how life would be if it were calm 
    in this minuscule remnant of the body of the city
    
    I seek out the space that is left over 
    in a succession of faces and services 
    sheltered in the stalls and on street corners

    I retain the greens exposed on the benches 
    separate reds, yellows 
    and other colours and paint the desolate walls
    
    I greet those I meet and who know me    
    with a smile. I ask the shadows 
    of the indistinct figures, ancient things 
    memories of the windows
    
    I remember little or nothing of the names 
    real or anonymous the living carry them
    
    of the long hair and the braids 
    I have a vague idea to which I add    
    the eyes submerged in destinations
    
    I remember the offering    
    from the wax and dawn hands
    
    the hills and slopes 
    the valleys and the forests 
    of the longed-for mother land
    hide from the body I can feel but cannot see
    dos detritos imundos e dos restos esqueço-me não vejo 
    porque o céu sobre os telhados é azul e o sol e uma festa"
    the dirty debris and the leftovers I forget I do not see    
    because the sky above the roofs is blue and the sun is a feast")

António Correia

    "ORAÇÃO À SERENIDADE
    
    Vem, serenidade! 
    
    Traz um manto de luar,  
    Salpicado de estrelas
    e afaga meu coração,  
    que tem febre de vê-las, 
    mail perto da gente
    aflita, 
    sem lar
    e sem pão, 
    na cidade do homem-bicho,  
    bebendo angústias,  
    em farrapos de nuvens,  
    presos ao chão. 
    
    Vem, serenidade! 
    
    Limpa a minha mente
    de todo o capricho, 
    das coisas banais
    e da dor infinita
    da ansiedade;  
    fala-me de altas montanhas 
    e dos pastores de ovelhas 
    que por lá moram,  
    sem pressas nem medos,  
    não desejando mais 
    do que elas lhes dão 
    e os frutos silvestres,  
    uma flauta, um cajado,  
    um cabana e um cão. 
    
    Vem, serenidade! 
    
    Dá-me, sem sombras nenhumas,  
    a luz que me empreste 
    a visão e a sanha 
    de rasgar chuvas e brumas 
    com meus própios dedos. 

    ("PRAYER TO SERENITY
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Bring a mantle of moonlight, 
    sparkling with stars 
    and lighten my heart, 
    which aches to see them, 
    but near the distressed, 
    homeless
    people 
    in need of bread, in the city of the animal-man, 
    drinking anguish, 
    in rags of clouds, 
    stuck to the ground. 
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Clear my mind 
    of all caprice, 
    of trivial things 
    and the infinite pain 
    of anxiety; 
    speak to me of high mountains 
    and of the sheep herders 
    who live there, 
    with neither haste nor fear, 
    wanting nothing more 
    than what they give them 
    and the wild fruits, 
    a flute, a crook, 
    a hut and a dog. 
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Grant me, without shadows, 
    the light that will give me 
    the vision and rage 
    to tear rain and mist 
    with my own fingers. 
    Vem, serenidade! 

    Alerta-me os sentidos 
    com a brisa do bambual    
    e um som de asa,  
    a bater ao de leve,     
    nos meus ouvidos;  
    põe, dentro de mim,  
    uma ideia que me enleve 
    na imensidão do céu,  
    para que possa ser eu
    o destino final
    do ciciar da ternura. 

    Vem, serenidade! 

    Pinta, no meu olhar, 
    os sonhos da lonjura,  
    num dia sem névoa;  
    enche-o das cores das 
    manhãs floridas,  
    para que se diluam,  
    na harmonia do espaço,  
    onde flutua a quietude do tempo. 

    Vem, serenidade! 

    Liberta o meu espírito 
    para que ele não pense,  
    não se torture, nem se alegre,  
    mas veja, sem disfarce, 
    a natureza íntima
    de cada gesto e cada coisa. 

    Vem, serenidade! 

    Faz de mim espelho
    onde repouse 
    e se condense
    a límpida claridade 
    da tua face,  
    serenidade!"
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Awaken my senses 
    with the breeze of the bamboo grove 
    and the sound of wings, 
    flapping softly, 
    in my ears; 
    place, within me, 
    an idea that will transport me 
    to the vastness of the sky 
    so that I may be 
    the final destination 
    of the whisper of tenderness. 
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Paint, in my eyes, 
    dreams of great distances, 
    on a clear day; 
    fill them with the colours 
    of flower-filled mornings, 
    so that they may be diluted, 
    in the harmony of space, 
    where the quietude of time 
    drifts. 
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Free my spirit
    so that it will not think, 
    will not torture itself or be joyful, 
    but will clearly see 
    the intimate nature 
    of each gesture and each thing. 
    
    Come, serenity! 
    
    Make me a mirror 
    where the limpid clarity 
    of your face, 
    serenity, 
    will rest 
    and be condensed!")

Carlos Marreiros

    "ESPELHO DA MINHA AVÓ
    
    0 espelho biselado
    com moldura de pau preto
    e requinte ornamental chinês. 

    Baço pelo tempo
    passo a passo
    em água se tornara. 

    0 brilho há muito voara, 
    deixando cinzenta 
    a planície espelhada. 

    A minh'avó chinesa
    há muito que não me aparecera 
    no espelho de mandarim. 

    E como as últimas águas se foi 
    com os arrozais 
    para nunca mais."

    ("MY GRANDMOTHER'S MIRROR 

    The mirror with bevelled edges 
    a black wooden frame
    and quintessential Chinese decoration. 

    Tarnished with age, 
    little by little 
    it will turn into water. 

    The lustre disappeared long ago, 
    greying 
    the mirrored surface. 

    It has been quite a while 
    since my Chinese grandmother 
    appeared to me in the mandarin mirror. 

    And with the last waters 
    with the rice fields 
    she left forever.")

Fernanda Dias

    "0 PASSO DO VAGABUNDO

    0 Sol desamarrou as rendas do bambu
    no saibro meticuloso. 

    Os velhos limpos, jogam damas 
    debaixo das grandes ficus 
    e na orla dos relvados 
    raparigas cristãs lêem os livros pios. 

    Os donos dos pássaros cativos
    esperam plácidos, o fim dos recitais.  
    Penso nos seres do ar, em gaiolas ou não: 

    a menos que não tenha nome, 
    tudo o que tem nome em Macau tem dois nomes 
    e o Jardim de Camões também é o das pombas. 

    Múltiplo canto na manhã dormente:  
    urbanas aldeãs de chapéu de bambu 
    e avental de chita varrem as alamedas. 

    Apanho coisas caídas
    penas, folhas delidas, bagas
    por vezes inocentes por vezes tenebrosas 
    asas de borboletas e avos com verdete.  
    Coisas tão sem destino 
    e como eu ausentes;  
    e no entanto, aos céus gritando 
    uma presença frágil 
    quase a esvair-se de tão intensa e dura,  
    no eco das manhãs cristal da tarde. 

    E quando ridentes passam os namorados 
    cai sobre mim o Sol de Maio 
    em ardentes estilhaços."

    ("THE WANDERER'S STEP 

    The Sun untied the bamboo lace 
    in the meticulous gravel. 

    The clean old men play checkers 
    under the tall banyan trees 
    and on the edge of the lawn 
    Christian girls read religious books. 

    The owners of the caged birds 
    wait placidly for the end of the recitals. 
    I think about the creatures of the air, both in and out of cages: 

    unless it does not have a name, 
    everything that has a name in Macao has two names 
    and Camões'garden is also the garden of the pigeons. 

    Multiple song in the sleepy morning: 
    polite village women with bamboo hats 
    and calico aprons sweep the avenues. 

    I gather fallen objects 
    feathers, damaged leaves, rings 
    sometimes harmless, sometimes mysterious 
    butterfly wings and avos green with age. 
    Things without a destiny 
    and, like me, absent; 
    yet, crying to the heavens 
    a fragile presence 
    so intense and hard that it almost faints away, 
    in the echo of the mornings crystal of the evening. 

    And as the smiling lovers go by 
    the May Sun falls upon me 
    in silver fragments.")

Margarida Ribeiro

    "OPERÁRIA
    
    Parem e olhem para ela
    Que vos merece atenção
    Magra como uma gazela
    Negra que nem um tição, 
    Não é um "ele", é uma "ela"
    E anda na construção... 

    Nunca será capataz
    0 posto está-lhe vedado 
    Mas é sempre ela quem faz
    0 trabalho mais pesado.  
    Magra como uma gazela 
    Negra que nem um tição,  
    Não é um "ele", é uma "ela" 
    E anda na construção... 

    Tanto defaz um valado 
    Como chafurda na lama
    À noite o corpo cansado 
    Muitas vezes nem tem cama.  
    Magra como uma gazela
    Negra que nem um tição, 
    Não é um "ele", é uma "ela" 
    E anda na construção... 
    
    ("WORKER
    
    People stop and look at her 
    Why do you get attention? 
    Thin as a gazelle 
    Darker than coal. 
    It is not a "he", it is a "she"
    And she is a construction worker... 
    
    She will never be a foreman 
    A position not open to her 
    But she is always the one 
    Who does the heaviest work. 
    Thin as a gazelle 
    Darker than coal. 
    It is not a "he", it is a "she"    
    And she is a construction worker... 

    She breaks up dykes 
    And is covered in mud
    At night her body, tired
    Often goes without a bed. 
    Thin as a gazelle 
    Darker than coal. 
    It is not a "he", it is a "she"
    And she is a construction worker... 
    Tem precário vencimento 
    Que dor e tristeza encerra 
    Mas é o único sustento
    Da família lá na terra. 
    Ela é que os mantém a todos,  
    A todos sem excepção. 
    Não é um "ele", é uma "ela" 
    A font e do ganha-pão. 
    
    Sonha um dia descansar 
    Ser tai-tai, ou ser senhora,  
    Poder as unhas pintar 
    Mandar os calos embora.  
    Pensa que terão por ela 
    Respeito e muita atenção.  
    Magra que nem uma gazela 
    E branquinha como um pão. 
    
    Para mim e do coração
    Deixa que te diga agora, 
    Foram os calos da mão
    Que te fizeram SENHORA!"
    She makes a precarious living 
    That pain and sorrow enclose
    But she is the only means of support 
    Of the family back home 
    She is the one who supports them all, 
    All of them, without exception. 
    It is not a "he", it is a "she" 
    Their source of income. 
    
    She dreams of resting one day 
    Of being a tai-tai or a lady, 
    Of being able to polish her nails 
    And get rid of her callouses. 
    She thinks they will feel 
    Respect for her and pay her attention. 
    Thinner than a gazelle 
    And white as a loaf of bread. 
    
    For me and from the heart, 
    Let me tell you now, 
    The callouses on your hands
    Are what made you a LADY!")

João Azeredo

    "PÁTIO DA ETERNA UNIÃO
    
    Toponímica vontade
    à hora do sol já não ser
    
    talvez já só reste
    -- ou resto --
    quociente liso
    deixado no cinzento do pátio 
    pela divisão subitamente angular
    da parede pelo passo
    
    -- ou talvez não --
    
    e afinal passar
    União
    ainda molhada de nascer
    Eterna
    até amanhã à hora de outros sóis 
    que me não restam
    
    porque pelo meu dividendo
    já só eu me resto"

Jorge Arrimar

    "SILÊNCIO-SOM

    Silêncio
    no exílio do movimento 
    um canto 
    dois cantos 
    très cantos 
    quatro cantos
    do quadrado onde te 
    reconheço 
    buda de quatro faces 

    Som
    no auxílio das palavras 
    um canto
    dois cantos 
    três cantos 
    quatro cantos 
    do coro onde te 
    oiço 
    cânone a quatro vozes"

    ("COURTYARD OF ETERNAL UNION 

    Toponymic desire 
    at the hour when the sun is no longer

    maybe all that is left 
    -- or I am left -- 
    smooth quotient 
    left in the grey courtyard 
    by the suddenly angular division
    of the wall by the passage

    -- or maybe not--

    and finally I pass 
    Union 
    still wet from birth
    Eternal 
    until tomorrow at the hour of other suns 
    that I do not have left

    because by my dividend
    I am all that is left me")

    ("SILENCE-SOUND 

    Silence 
    in the exile of movement 
    a song 
    two songs 
    three songs 
    four songs 
    from the square where I 
    recognize you 
    Buddha with four faces

    Sound 
    in the assistance of words 
    a song 
    two songs
    three songs 
    four songs from the choir in which I 
    hear you 
    a canon for four voices")

Fernando Sales Lopes

    "PESSOA

    O que sentirias tu, ou vocês? 
    Por esta China misteriosa
    Envolta em fumos mensageiros
    E hexagramas com que adivinha
    A constante descoberta de si. 

    Que impenetrável monge serias tu?  
    Ou que usurários, servos, mandarins
    seria cada um de ti? Que visões terríveis te dariam
    Os Flora alquimista de Buda, Tao Confúcio? 

    Que Fung-soi vos libertaria
    Do mundo das idades sombrias
    E te revelaria o futuro
    0 saber. A verdade. O arquitecto
    Que longe nunca encontraram. "

Tereza Sena

    "SEM TÍTULO

    No Oriente não há crescentes 
    Há um rio recheado de pérolas 
    e luzes vermelhas
    candeias de Buda
    numa pirâmide de frutas 

    No Oriente não hás crescentes
    Há um ciclo lunar 
    quarto minguante, 
    lua nova e lua cheia 

    Há uma palmeira,  
    um telhado metálico
    e o som da água 

    No Oriente não há crescentes 
    Há fábricas de luz 
    um jardim 
    e as grades da minha janela 

    Crescentes no Oriente? 
    So uma vez por mês"

    "PERSON 

    What would you feel? 
    For this mysterious China 
    Enveloped in smoke that carries messages
    And hexagrams with which it predicts 
    The constant discovery of itself. 

    What impenetrable monk would you be? 
    Or what usurers, servants, mandarins 
    Would each one of you be? 
    What terrible visions would you have
    From Buddhist, Daoist and Confucian alchemical Flora

    What Feng-shui would liberate you 
    From the world of the dark ages 
    And reveal to you the future 
    Knowledge. Truth. The distant architect    
    Who has never been seen.")

    ("UNTITLED

    In the Orient there are no crescents 
    There is a river filled with pearls 
    and red lights 
    Buddhist lamps 
    on a pyramid of fruit

    In the Orient there are no crescents 
    There is a lunar cycle 
    waning moon, 
    new moon and full moon

    There is a palm tree 
    a metallic roof
    and the sound of water

    In the Orient there are no crescents 
    There are light factories a garden and the bars on my window
    Crescents in the Orient? 
    Only once a month.")

Josué da Silva

    "CAMÕES A ORIENTE TRISTE
    
    Foste vendaval, crista de onda verde 
    cuspindo sangrenta o desprezo pela vida, 
    quando entre ti, se interpunha a sede 
    de ires à lua, de espada à lida,  
    para dares à Grei a honra que precede
    o ser primeira e sempre decidida 

    a soltar nos mares o grito de bravura
    ao leme de todos os cabos da esperança,  
    que a terra era um sem pão de amargura,  
    um zé-ninguém da dor e sem herança 
    capaz, pr'a dar aos filhos um algo de ternura 
    mesmo conquistado na ponta duma lança 

    E serias tu, peão desavindo do poder 

    como cão atirado na lama do sistema,  
    quem na tua taura lira e em teu crer 
    em delírio, ofertava à Mãe suprema 
    a chama e a luz de se reconhecer 
    inteira, no canto universal do teu poema. 

    Por fim aqui me encontro Insigne Varão 
    nesta gruta tão triste e tão sombria,  
    tentando nela haurir toda a paixão 
    que obriga com que desta pedra fria,  
    se oiça o palpitar de um coração 
    que fez de Portugal, a alma da Poesia."

    ("CAMÕES WITH A SAD BEGINNING 

    You were devastative, crest of the green wave 
    bloodily spitting despair through life, 
    when the thirst to go to the moon, to take up the sword, 
    to give the Nation the honour that precedes 
    being first and always resolute, 
    came between you

    letting out at sea the cry of bravery 
    at the helm of all capes of good hope, 
    that the land was a bitter, hungry wretch 
    a miserable nobody without an inheritance 
    capable, to give his children a bit of tenderness 
    though conquered on the end of a spear. 

    And it would be you, foot soldier disagreeing with those in power 
    like a dog hurled into the mud of the system, 
    who in your?? lyre and in your belief 
    in delirium, offered the Supreme Mother 
    the flame and the light of knowing herself 
    whole, in the universal song of your poem. 

    At last I find myself here Illustrious Man 
    in this dark and lonely grotto, 
    trying to soak in all the passion in it 
    which makes one hear in this cold stone, 
    the beating of a heart 
    that made Portugal the soul of Poetry.")

Isaura Matos

    "MACAU
    
    "Princesa enfeitiçada 
    descoberta por uma Nau, 
    foi ela desencantada 
    e corn nome de MACAU,  
    pura sempre baptizada.  
    Moldada em porcelana 
    frágil, sempre menina,  
    no Rio das Pérolas se banha 
    deixou de ser pequenina. 
    Na águas seu corpo se espelha 
    movendo-se em harpas de jade.  
    Cabelos, fios de seda 
    brilhando como cetim,  
    mãos de rara beleza 
    lançam cheiros de jasmim.  
    Aveludados e negros seus olhos 
    dois traços bem desenhados
    na face cor de marfim,  
    escondendo seus escolhos. 
    Na dimensão dos seus braços,  
    abertos ao MUNDO inteiro,  
    acolhe-os em poucos espaços
    com seu AMOR verdadeiro.  
    Baloiça na aragem da sorte 
    que a põe a flutuar,  
    servindo-lhe também de suporte 
    para não se afogar. 
    Cidade do Nome de Deus, 
    que nesta viragem da História 
    não sejas atraiçoada,  
    são profundos votos meus.  
    Guardo na minha memória 
    a Princesa mais amada 
    ao partir digo ADEUS
    Vai comigo acorrentada."

    ("MACAO

    Enchanted princess 
    discovered by a sailing vessel, 
    disenchanted was she     
    and forever baptized 
    with the name MACAO. 
    Moulded out of porcelain 
    fragile, forever youthful, 
    she bathes in the Pearl River 
    and is no longer small. 
    Her body is reflected in the water 
    moving on jade harps. 
    Hair, strands of silk 
    shining like satin 
    hands of rare beauty 
    with the fragrance of jasmine. 
    Her velvety black eyes 
    two well-defined lines 
    on the ivory-coloured face, 
    concealing her dangers. 
    Within her arms, 
    open to the whole WORLD, 
    she welcomes people in little space 
    with her true LOVE.    
    She swings on the winds of fortune    
    that make her fluctuate,    
    but also support her 
    so that she will not drown. 
    City of the Name of God 
    may you not be betrayed 
    at this turning point in History,    
    that is my deepest wish.    
    I hold in my memory
    the most beloved Princess 
    and as I leave I do not say GOODBYE.    
    She remains attached to me.")

Pedro Ferreira

"TEMPLO

Até dói a arquitectura de Sim final

onde o suor plástico emudece o tempo

e a treva, admirada

de não haver ainda sol, vive o seu dias,

completo de revoluções e terraços puros.

Quando num ralenti ténue lá entramos,

velados de ocidente e tentando não parecer

um triste império sem fim, retardamos o olhar

buscando o socorro das estátuas

férteis das dinastias.

Mas de nada vale o ignorado ou o que foi se às mãos não vêm nunca as exactas palavras para o silêncio.

De nada vale o alfabeto das viagens, os rosários

tão pouco lembramos a memória dos infantes,

Deram-nos um ventre

e nós fizemos filhos de sorte,

somos brutos.

No centro há um adro aberto com poros dum corpo dourado

que respira a mãe, a cidade que para o fim se retoma e veste o rosto de bandeiras que as

crianças trazem pela mão.

Dor da despedida, derrota de conventos,

Cáfora, ao largo, o rio diz que sempre correu, e as memórias com ele,

cartilha do futuro

que a um toque sofremos

no cheiro e caímos do verde

para o vermelho, e da lage huminícula

para o guerreiro do estandarte sustenido."

("TEMPLE

It even hurts, the architecture of the final Yes

where the plastic sweat silences time

and the darkness, surprised

that there is still no sun, lives in its day,

complete with revolutions and pure terraces.

When we entered there in a tenuous slow pace

veiled by the West and trying not to look like

a sad empire without end, we looked a little longer

seeking help from the fertile

statues of the dynasties.

But what is ignored and what was is worth nothing if the exact words for silence never come to mind.

The alphabet of travels, the rosaries, are worth nothing

neither do we remember the fame of the infantes.

They gave us a womb

and we made children of fortune,

we are inhuman.

In the centre there is an open churchyard like the pores of a golden body

that the mother breathes, the city that towards theend recovers and puts on

the face of flags that the children carry.

Pain of goodbye, the route of convents.

Out here, far away, the river says that it has always flowed, and the memories with it,

future primer

that with a touch

our reputation suffers and we fall from green

to red, and from the??

to the warrior of the sharp standard.")

    齊思
    
    自白
    交易是你情還是我願
    這我不管
    你是有著無可測度的財富
    這我比你更淸楚
    我是有著無盡的欲念的霸權者
    這你也該明白
    我有的是二硫化碳酸氫氧化
    鈉矽或是什么重金屬核廢料
    之類的傑作
    用來換
    你那些珍珠瑪瑙石油煤天然氣
    或是什么金剛黃金白銀的東西
    上帝從未與子民作任何交易
    我現在和你簽的合約
    比神的恩賜更恩賜
    無論接受與否
    這交易已開始
    直至你的所有變成我的所有

Qi Si

    ("CONFESSION
    
    Whether the business is yours or mine, 
    Is not important to me. 
    You have immeasurable wealth, 
    That I know better than you; 
    I have all the ambition, 
    Which you must also know well. 
    
    I have the best products, 
    Made with carbon bisulphate, 
    Sulphuric acid, sodium hydroxide 
    And silicon hydroxide, 
    Or other heavy metals 
    And nuclear wastes, 
    To exchange with you, 
    The pearls, agates, petroleum, 
    And natural gas, 
    Or diamonds, gold, and silver. 
    God did not do any business, 
    With his human children. 
    Now, I sign a contract with you, 
    That is more beneficial than the one God benefited from. 
    Whether you like it or not, 
    The transaction has already begun, 
    Until everything you had, 
    Became mine!")
    魏源
    
    澳門花園聽夷女洋琴歌
    
    天風送我大西洋
    誰知西洋即在澳門之島南海旁
    怪石磊磊木千章
    園與海濤隔一墻
    墻中禽作百蠻語
    樓上人通百鳥語
    鳥聲即作琴聲譜
    自言傳自龍宮女
    蟬翼纖羅髮鬚鬖
    廿弦能作千聲彈
    有如細雨吹雲間
    故將兒女幽窗態
    寫出天風海浪寒
    似訴去國萬里關山難
    倏然風利帆歸島
    鳥啼花放檣聲浩
    觸碎珊瑚撫瑟聲
    龍王亂撒珍珠寳
    有時變節非絲竹
    忽又無聲任剝啄
    雨雨風風海上來
    蕭蕭落落燈前簇
    突并千聲歸一聲
    關山一雁寥天獨
    萬籟無聲海不波
    銀河轉上西南屋
    鳴呼
    誰言隔海九萬里
    同此海天雲月耳
    膝前況立雙童子
    一雙瞳子翦秋水
    我昔夢蓬萊
    有人長似爾
    鞭騎么鳳如竹馬
    桃花一别三千紀
    嗚呼
    人生幾度三千紀
    海風吹人人老矣
    Wei Yuan
    
    ("LISTENING TO THE FOREIGN LADY PLAYING PIANO IN THE GARDEN IN MACAU
    
    The winds of heaven carry me to the Atlantic city. 
    Surrounded by the South China Sea, 
    there it is, surprising, the Macao peninsula. 
    
    Fantastic rocks in the intense forest. 
    The garden, separated by a wave wall. 
    The birds singing in strange tongues, 
    the people, in the pavilion, speaking various languages. 
    
    The songs of the birds are piano notes, 
    produced, it is said, by the daughter of the Dragon. 
    The lady, in the lightest silk and with hair like clouds, 
    delivers a thousand effects of sound from the twenty chords, 
    
    That are like drizzle blowing between the clouds, 
    accompanying the wind and the cold wave, 
    communicating her loneliness and bitterness
    for she left her homeland long ago. 
    
    Suddenly, marvellous melodies are heard, 
    sometimes like ships returning to port on a wind, 
    rocked by the songs of the birds among the flowers, 
    and by the laughter of the fishermen on shore; 
    at other times like coral that breaks, or like the Dragon King, 
    spilling pearls on the ground.")
    
    Then, silence, 
    allowing the imagination to soar. 
    Little by little, the wind and the rain that have come in from the sea, 
    embrace each other near the lantern. 
    
    Suddenly, the thousand sounds are reduced to only one, 
    like a solitary goose flying through the wide-open sky. 
    The sea is calm, the world is silent, 
    as the Milky Way emerges southeast of the building. 
    
    Ah... 
    who said that we are separated by a great distance, 
    if, in fact, we live with the same sea and the same sky, with the same cloud and the same Moon. 
    
    Beside the lady, two children, 
    with eyes as bright as the waters of Autumn. 
    I met children like these, 
    in the land of the gods, in my dream. 
    Mounting the phoenixes as if they were bamboo horses. 
    "The world of the peach-tree flowers" has been disappearing for three thousand years. 
    
    Ah... 
    How many three thousand years are there in a human life? 
    The sea breeze that blows over our Being ages us each day.")
    梁披雲
    
    澳門盧園挹翠
    
    曲徑方溏得地偏
    芳亭一角自淸便
    緃横域外大瀛海
    俛仰壺中小綠天
    露竹風荷呼共語
    長竹高樹看齊肩
    聞來漸覺滄洲趣
    樂與園林數嵗年
    
    姚京明
    
    
    
    看見閃爍的草帽
    掛在了星星的栅欄
    這是出擊的信號
    碩大的黑色剪刀
    剪出風景的輪廓
    詞匯的大火
    從內部
    把天機泄露
    
    窗子是夜的眼睛
    燈光不是一種需要
    激情永遠年輕
    孤獨没有禁忌
    只有煙缸里的時間
    記錄著檔案的衰老
    
    晨光熹微
    愛情揉揉眼睛
    在多解辭典中
    辨别路標
    
    Leong Pei Wen
    ("LOU LIM IOK GARDEN
    The path winds along the square lake, 
    Hidden in a quiet place, 
    The enchanting pavilion alone occupies the home of solitude, 
    Amusing itself in all tranquillity. 
    The immense Sea undulates out of the territory, 
    The small green space remains here in the garden. 
    The wet bamboo and the oscillating lotus speak with the same voice, 
    The dense pine competes with other tall plants. 
    I remember Cang Zhou's pleasant landscape, 
    And I like to compare age to the garden.")
    
    Yao Jingming
    
    ("TO TRAVEL BY NIGHT
    
    To travel by night
    is to measure the immensity of desire in insomnia
    is to recover the late seeds ephemerally
    is to probe the mystery again in the swinging of the shadow
    is to search for oneself
    in the mirror of the morning dew
    There are never news from the threshold nor does the beak of the 
    gull bring the expected song
    And thought still at the window insists on repeating the cycle of the clepsydra
    Finally, to travel by night
    is to prolong waiting")
    汪兆鏞
    
    崗頂波樓竹枝詞

    宛邱自昔詠婆婆
    高會時時共踏歌
    百萬羊鐙千斛酒
    紅氈觎上美人多
    
    葦嗚
    
    觀音堂觀秋螢觀自在記

    晚鐘敲響斜陽的禪機
    僧禱的餘音漸遠
    我買棹歸来,徘徊沉思
    大海流轉於彩霞里
    悲無法也無量
    而世法
    原來在雙手中
    落花之瓣與紅葉
    靜臥,廡廊留影的時候
    恰有一頭螢火蟲
    隨微風飛近
    隨深秋
    飛入
    蒼涼的古寺
    
    Wong Zhao Yong
    
    ("IN THE DOM PEDRO V THEATRE 

The dances follow each other on the old hill, continuing throughout the night;

Celebrating the joyful encounter singing to the rhythm of the melody.

The light of ten thousand multi-coloured lanterns, the wine reflects the gaiety in a thousand glasses:

As many beauties as there are clouds twirl, as they step on the red carpet.")

("KUN IAM TEMPLE

The bells signal the evening Buddhist meditation

Drowning out the prayers of the monks little by little

So I immersed myself in thought after returning from the sea

which was still bathed in the red light of the setting sun

Sorrow has no horizon and boats have no destination

Ultimately, the laws of the world are in both hands

The fallen petals and the reddish leaves

Lie in the silence, just as the portico cast a shadow

A firefly began to fly

To the rhythm of the breeze

And the full Autumn

Finally turning off its light

In the solitude that reigns in the old temple")

    馮傾城
    
    日落里斯本
    
    博彩的美夢
    烤赤了黃昏的天空
    堤榕黯然垂下眉睫
    下注聲開始了不夜的宣言
    
    海鷗倦立
    暫停與水翼船作往返飛奔
    的追逐
    浪潮引退
    泥潭張羅魚蟹蝦的陷阱
    
    當輪盤多轉一圈
    夕照終於迭入
    垂釣者久候的魚簍
    於是
    那來自南半球擲來的一把
    雪亮的鐮刀
    便將暮色裁爲
    一辑東方蒙地卡羅的剪影
    
    鄧景濱
    
    母親我回來了
    
    南海水撥動澳氹仔橋的琴弦,
    主教山回蕩濠江小城的觀欣。
    英雄牌金筆簽署的聨合聲明,
    讓澳門的軀體重新有了靈魂!
    四百年來夢寐不忘的生母啊,
    請聽聽你的兒女心中的聲音。
    
    母親,我回來了,母亲!
    
    Feng Qing Cheng
    
    ("SUNSET
    
    The dream of winning at the gambling table
    burned the sunset sky
    The trees in the dyke had closed the dark lashes
    when the noisy betting declared the insomnia of the night
    
    Tired from the races, the gulls stopped pursuing the wake of the hydrofoil
    The ebbing tide
    Trapping fish, crabs and shrimp in pools
    
    After the roulette wheel spun one more time
    the setting sun finally fell
    in the basket of the patient fisherman
    when
    the South Pole swung a radiant, sharp sickle
    making a Monte Carlo of the Orient cut
    at the bottom of the twilight")
    
    Deng Jing Bin
    
    ("MY MOTHER, I WILL BE HOME SOON 

When the waves of the South China Sea pluck the strings of the Macao-Taipa Bridge,

Penha Hill is spreading the happiness of this small city.

Macao once again has a soul, thanks to the signing of the Joint Declaration, with the Hero gold pen.

Oh, my mother, every day of the 400 years make me nostalgic,

And today I can already say from the bottom of my heart.

My mother, I will be home soon!")

    陶里
    
    何東圖書館
    
    斜陽煙雨制造了一點氣氛
    然後我以殖民地居民的身份
    拾級而登
    心跳聲中彷彿聽到一點
    之乎者也幾聲
    抑揚頓挫的吟哦
  辮子馬褂早從後院逃走
  没有士大夫
    
    縱使擁有書城也無補於事
    終歸被炮打槍燒去數百年来
    失去的當然不僅僅是線裝的傳統一幫老人和兩三條老祖母們的纏腳布
    那邊的藏書簍里  有人
    議論風聲雨聲有人出門去
    好像是孫中山
    
    後來赫然發現自己的名字在書架上
    亂在一幫知識分子堆里
    陌生得猶如在夢中照鏡
    驟然門關燈滅
    一整座歐陸建築暗如歷史
    我匆匆覓門又走上
    大半個屬於别人的黃昏
    
    Tao Li
    
    ("THE SIR HO TUNG LIBRARY 

    In the atmosphere gradually created by the setting sun, rain and mist
    I climb the stairs in the capacity of a citizen of the colony
    It seems that the beating heart can still listen to
    a reading of the classic text or
    a cadenced canto of poetry
    However, the braids and the vests already escaped by the back door
    There are no more mandarins. 
    
    A city, even if it was full of books, did not survive anything
    and in the end everything was burned or plundered by cannons and rifles
    The truth is that tradition bound by strings a group of old men and some
    ties to bind the feet of our grandmothers are not the only things that 
    disappeared over hundreds of years
    Past the street, at the library, some people talk about the rain and the wind
    Some people have gone outside
    Could it be Sun Zhongshan? 

Then, I found that on the bookshelf my own name

falls asleep among the jumble of intellectuals

The name seems so foreign that it is perceptible only in the mirror of dreams

Suddenly, the door closed and the light turned off a western-style building went

dark as history

So I rush to find the door a manage to leave to envelop myself in the evening the greatest part of which, however, does not belong to me")

    高戈
    
    一匹怪獣蹲伏在城堡陰影里
    眼窩逬出全方位搜索的光柱
    倒懸如風車構成發亮的十字架
    那十九世纪抛給東方的飛旋鏢
    交叉的劍鋒閃爍棹聖城的光芒
    長命橋萎縮於潑墨山水畫里
    今宵如膠似漆一個蕩女人
    海的風韻是黑瑪瑙里的鑽石幻彩
    飄旋的光暈里有一堆晃動的影子
    彼此只保持一種最短射程的距離
    
    歷史逐漸進入一個最銷魂季節
    電動圓床狠狠磨掉分類學界限
    銅馬廣場的守護神走出備忘錄
    仍然保持一種唐•吉訶德姿態
    皮條客將英雄神話編成色情故事
    
    那是每個夜晚必須復述的情節
    珠光寳氣的雀籠里有春宮情調
    虎口餘生卻令人感受溫情脈脈
    問題在於如何保持永遠亢奮狀態
    用印度神油去詮釋代議制功能
    
    娛樂大眾有法可循小賭可怡情
    角子機鈴聲大作制造轟動效應
    牌九大小輪盤百家樂變化無窮
    從賊船搏殺到里斯本同賭王較量
    西方文明与東方智慧水乳交融
    
    如今新儒學食色性也領導潮流
    有人退龍蝦也有人扮豬食老虎
    有人捉黃腳鷄也有人變大閘蟹
    上海小籠包本地鹹肉粽一應俱全
    泰國風情加呂宋風味更令人口饞
    
    管他是臺灣同胞還是日本嫖客
    應招女郎只關心各種外幣兑換率
    望鄉情節里有港幣與美元掛鉤
    北地胭脂已不屑唱何日君再來
    旗袍佳麗也不曉得還有望厦條約
    
    滿足七情六欲需要歷史想像力
    輸回的夢里花花世界妙趣橫生
    四百年的亡魂聚首東西望洋山
    城堡已褪色爲犬牙交錯的剪影
    護衛著不設防的東方蒙地卡羅
    
    Gao Ge
    
    ("MACAO LANDSCAPE
    
    A wild animal lurks in the shadow of a fortress
    its eyes are two lighthouses surveying every direction
    An inverted windmill evokes the shining cross
    The 19th century threw spears to the Orient
    whose crossed points reflect the rays of the holy city
    
    The bridge of long life was reduced among the colours of a Chinese painting
    This night becomes more palpable on the lap of a lascivious woman
    The softness of the sea breeze is the illusion of diamonds in the black agate
    and the shadows that move in the gyrating rays
    maintain minimal distance between themselves in order to fire
    
    Step by step, history has entered a more excited time
    The round electric bed tries to wear out the limits of typology
    The God that protects the Plaça Amaral left the memorial
    still in a Don Quixote pose
    and the panders invent erotic stories based on the legends of the hero
    
    These stories are repeated every night
    because in the luxurious cages there is always a sensual atmosphere
    which men survive with a loving feeling
    But the question is how to maintain eternal erectility
    and how to explain the representative regime with Indian balsam? 
    
    'Gambling in moderation gives pleasure' is how the public justifies amusing itself
    Slot machines operate noisily for publicity purposes 
    Dominoes, big or small, roulette and baccara are there to tempt
    From the pirate attacks to the challenges against the king of the casino
    everything is a combination of Western civilization and Eastern wisdom
    Hunger and sex are two natural drives
    Today it is the new Confucianists who set the trend
    There are those who free themselves from the 'shrimp net'
    There are those who 'pretend to be the pig devouring the tiger'
    There are those who catch 'the yellow-footed chicken'
    There are those who 'turn into the autumn crab'
    A wide range of specialties can be tried here
    from steamed cakes from Shanghai
    to pamonhas• with salted meat from the Territory
    There are also mouth-watering Thai dishes and Filipino delicacies
    
    It does not matter who the client is
    a compatriot from Formosa or a Japanese visitor
    What the dance girls care about is the foreign exchange rate
    and the nostalgia they feel is measured by
    the difference between the Hong Kong and U. S. dollars
    The northern prostitutes have forgotten how to sing "When will you return, sir?"
    and the cabaias• are not familiar with the Mong Ha Treaty
    
    To sate one's sexual desire it is necessary to explore the historic imagination
    In the dream of reincarnation life is fantastic and colourful
    Uniting the ghosts of the fifteenth century
    by the Guia and Penha hills
    In the end, the fortress was reduced to an indented cut
    defending the undefended Monte Carlo of the Orient")
    王和
    
    神話小城
    
    滿染鮮血的秋海棠葉下
    悄悄地躺著
    身軀跨過濠鏡海峽
    頭顱蜷在大學的山崗上一條灰色巨龍
    血紅的天空
    把大海也滴得通紅
    修煉四百年的精靈剛成形
    就得浮在濠鏡一隅
    靜靜地吐血
    
    因爲紅鬚綠眼的魔鬼
    眨間貶爲嘍囉小妖
    赤腳的都升爲大仙
    在天地混沌的三界邊緣
    東大山崗上的修道者練不成天眼通
    投訴天道衰落
    飛昇五行六道外去
    所以巨龍只剩下奄奄的一息
    因爲牠有一個怪怪的名字馬交
    
    Wang He
    
    ("A SMALL LEGENDARY CITY 
    
    A quiet grey dragon, 
    Is lying, on bouquets of begonias, 
    Tainted with blood. 
    Its giant body, 
    Filled the Strait of Hou Keng, 
    with the head on University hill. 
    The bloody sky, 
    Covered the ruby sea; 
    The soul of four hundred years, 
    That stopped having its image, 
    Had to remain apart, 
    In a corner of Hou Keng, 
    In silent hematemesis. 
    The Monster-King with a red beard
    And green eyes, 
    Instantly turned into a small devil: 
    While another, barefoot, 
    Became supernatural. 
    By the tenebrous border, 
    Between the Earth and the Sky, 
    A Daoist was not able
    To be 'Tian Yan Tong',
    On the Oriental Mount. 
    He protested with the decadence
    Of celestial law, 
    That left, 
    for the five elements
    And the six theories. 
    The moribund dragon, 
    Remained here alone, 
    For he has a fantastic name, 
    -Macao")
    平易
    
    乘客

    嵗月早已使你黯淡
    寂靜的長路如此寂靜
    花園里的長椅空了
    稀疏的竹影走不進
    你毫無色彩的夢
    你回答不了我的疑問
    只能隨意指點疾掠過的飛鳥
    無心閲讀
    古舊的殘碑剝落的銘文
    
    陽光
    從帝國的夢想中歸來
    下午安安靜靜
    你坐在異國的廣場
    或許將永恆地騎在馬背上
    你隨手抛下的詩句
    變成行人向交错的街市湧去
    
    你還會笑么
    夜深了你又要走了
    平凡的日子已揭示不出
    充滿失眠的思緒
    你曾在一個小小的城市想起我
    那些遺忘在星辰下的作品
    將變成對於道路的回憶
    
    Ping Yi
    
    ("PASSENGERS
    
    With the time that has passed, 
    It was diluted. 
    It accompanies me long and tortuously
    In the silence of the roads. 
    In the garden, the bench always empty with the decorative dream of bamboo shadows. 
    And cannot answer my question, 
    Only the imaginary birds rapidly flew
    suggesting... 
    
    Lights of the sun
    Returned from the dream of the Empire. 
    In the evening, much silence. 
    He sits in a square in a remote country
    Perhaps immutable mounting on his horse. 
    
    Does he still have his eternal smile? 
    At midnight, he is already leaving. 
    But I am certain
    I will remember a city of the Name of God. 
    Its forgotten poems
    Spreading, shining among the stars")
    莊文永
    
    阿E小傳
    
    阿E他一拐一拐向著長長的街
路走
    我捲起褲筒戰戰兢兢跟隨他
背後
    針織工人也拉起橫額隆隆走向
城市的心臟
    我們注定在這里驚險奇遇
    我們的渴望充满了溫情
    我很想親昵地喊你:阿E老爹
你好嗎
    你赳赳如一海神卻没有任何
色彩
    你回過頭來臉上的青腫色塊像
秋夜的寒星
    
    没有人爲你流淚
    阿E老爹
    每次我都把你象徵爲生活的
標誌
    你的額頭蕩過多少風雨
    你的妻子一日三次向你老鬼要
些什么
    這點我當然淸楚
    但你在城市底層的方格里無
法突破
    它的格局
    太陽不因你而放亮
    天照様下雨
    臨街對面照様有人舉行開業
剪綵
    立法委員照様爲民請命通過
加薪法案
    阿E老爹
    你的額頭也加了幾條深深的
皺纹開滿迷人的冰花
    我也緊咬雙唇緊咬滴出一點
晚霞
    我再一次深情的喊你:阿E
老爹
    外面世界與你無關
    要去的地方離我們十分遙遠
    你咕噜咕噜的聲音是你們口
中的含珠隨意隨意吐出街
路動聽而無力
    老英雄桑地亞哥也曾被鲨鱼
趕出大海
    你的宿命之鄉是那一條街的
盡頭
    回家吧,阿E老爹
    倚杖走向你老妻傷心描繪的
情景
    我閉目爲你祈禱:一路平安

    Zhang Wen Yong
    
    ("A SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF UNCLE A E
    Uncle A E, you are limping down a long street
    Timid, I follow you, my trousers rolled up
    the moment the weavers move into the heart of the city
    lifting the sashes
    We are destined to cross paths
    We are embracing an emotional desire
    I want to give you a loving greeting: 
    "How are you, uncle A E?"
    You are as brave as the God of the Sea
    but without legendary splendour
    You turned your head
    letting me see your face with wounds shining like
    the stars of the cold Autumn night
    
    No one cries for you
    Oh, uncle A E
    only I respect you as a symbol of life
    I don't know how many rainfalls and winds have marked your forehead
    and I understand perfectly what your wife asks you for three times a day
    For you never manage to escape the gates of the city
    The Sun does not smile for you
    The rain does not stop for you
    On the other side of the street another company opens its doors
    In the assembly the ministers defend the public interest and approved, 
    as always, the new act to increase salaries
    Uncle A E
    Time has furrowed your forehead to the extent
    that from my closed lips flowed a red drop of twilight
    
    Oh, uncle A E! 
    I call you once again from the bottom of my heart
    The outside world does not interest you
    because the destination we want is very far away
    because the murmur you pronounce is fascinating like pearls
    but they cannot be used
    to communicate with others
    Even Santiago, the heroic fisherman, was expelled from the sea by a shark
    The destination of your land is not merely the end of that street
    Oh, uncle A E
    Return home with the help of your cane
    and tell your wife the story of a melancholy heart
    and I pray for you with the best of wishes: 
    "Have a good trip!")

PORTUGUESE LEXICON

Bafá = A Chinese card game that used to be played in Macao.

Bagi = A dessert made with rice, coconut, milk and sugar.

Barba = A pastry made at carnival time (fine strands of caramelized sugar rolled in the shape of a crown and dusted with lightly toasted flour).

Batatada = a cake made with sweet potato, coconut and eggs.

Bicha = a maid or slave.

Bicho-bicho = a pastry that is fried and covered with a sugar glaze.

Bolo menino = a cake made with pine nuts, coconut and ground biscuits, and covered with icing sugar.

Cabaia(s) (Chinese-English: cheong-sam) = A tight-fitting high-necked dress with slits at the sides.

Cabelo de noiva = a dessert consisting of fine strands of egg and sugar.

Calda de chacha = a glaze.

Chilicote = a cake.

Cilicário = a pastry made with eggs, milk and sugar, and cooked in a double boiler.

Do-dol = a cake made with perada, jaggery, pine nuts, coconut, almonds, butter, lard and rice flour.

Entena-podre = a very flaky cake.

Fula-fula = a pastry made with rice, jaggery, toasted peanuts, etc.

Geleia = gelatin obtained from cows' hooves.

Genete = small cakes made with corn starch, eggs, butter, etc.

Ladu = a dessert made at carnival time (rice, jaggery, toasted pine nuts, coconut, etc.).

Mamoon = a pastry made with rice flour and eggs.

Múchi-múchi = a rice pastry with grated coconut, toasted bean powder and sesame seeds.

Nhom = a man who has a European father and a Macanese mother.

Nhonha = a Macanese woman.

Obreia = a wafer.

Pamonha(s) = A cake made with rice or cassava.

Pão-recheado = stuffed bread.

Pasteis de nata = pastries filled with custard.

Pastelinha-

Pei-pá-chai 巴發牌 bafapai = a professional female singer.

Perada = a type of pear marmalade.

Rebuçado de ovos = a candy made with eggs and sugar, with an almond centre.

Saransorável = a cake that is covered with grated coconut and darkened with toasted bean powder.

Surang-surave = a Macanese pastry.

Terno = a shelf in a box used for carrying pastries.

NOTES

* The I ENCONTRO DE POETAS DE MACAU (FIRST MEETING OF POETS OF MACAO) took place on the 10th of December 1994 at the Sir Robert Ho Tung Library, in Macao. The event was sponsored by the Instituto Cultural de Macau (Cultural Institute of Macao).

1 And in Portuguese:

    
    "O LAMENTO DA AVÓZINHA
    
    A Avózinha, com este frio, 
    Metida em casa, xale sobre os ombros, 
    Não pára de resmungar. 
    Diz e torna a dizer que é uma pena
    Ver tantas coisas boas
    Da nossa Macau dos tempos idos
    Desaparecer, umas após outras. 
    
    Petiscos deveras apetitosos
    Que as pessoas em casa faziam, 
    Festas que tinham a sua piada, 
    Vida barata, tranquila, 
    Gente hábil para tocar e cantar, 
    Tudo depressa se sumiu, 
    Ficando apenas na lembrança. 
    
    "Um pote de boa perada, °  
    Um pacotinho de fina barba, °  
    Onde se vêem?", pergunta a Avózinha. 
    "Cilicário, °   geleia, °   que é deles? 
    Cabelo de noiva, °   genete, °  
    Pudim de leite, batatada, °  
    Doce de abóbora, onde estão?"
    
    "Rebuçado de ovos, calda de chacha, °  
    Entena-podre, °   obreia, °   mamum, °  
    Bicho-bicho, °   múchi-múchi, °  
    Patéis de nata, °   fula-fula, °   bagi, °  
    Bolo de coco, ladu, °   saransorável, °  
    Bolo mármore, bolo menino, °  
    Quem há aí que os faça?"
    
    "Onde descobrir chilicote, °  
    Massa folhada, pastelinha, °  
    Pão-recheado,  °   croquete, 
    Pastéis de camarão, pasta de nabo, 
    E muitas coisas mais, 
    Todas são deliciosas, 
    Que até nos fazem ficar a apetecer?"
    
    "É ou não é uma lástima ",
    Pergunta a Avózinha com voz chorosa, 
    "Vermos vazios em nossas casa
    Os ternos para bolos e doces, 
    Por causa das exímias doceiras
    E os pateleiros de agora
    Se terem tornado preguiçosos?"
    
    O entrudo nos tempos antigos
    Era fartar-se de divertir; 
    Por toda a parte se viam mascarados
    A percorrer as ruas atrás da tuna, 
    Gracejando e brincando, 
    Os miúdos chineses diziam palavrões
    E os mascarados batiam neles com um pau. 
    
    As casas de gente graúda, 
    E todos os clubes que havia em Macau
    Davam bailes, uns após outros, 
    Na semana de Carnaval, 
    Uns cantavam, outros dançavam animadamente, 
    E, depois de comerem lauta ceia, 
    Voltavam a dançar até ao amanhecer. 
    
    Lembrando o entrudo, a Avózinha diz... 
    "Comédia não podia faltar. 
    0 Chencho dos meus pecados, 
    Acompanhado de seus amigalhaços, 
    Subia ao palco para dizer larachas. 
    As madamas, torcendo-se nas cadeiras
    Riam até fazer xixi, molhando o sobrado. "
    
    Apesar dos ordenados, naqueles tempos, 
    Serem uma míngua de patacas, 
    A vida barata permitia às pessoas
    Viverem com menos arrelias. 
    Sabendo ser dona-de-casa, 
    O dinheiro havia de chegar
    Para todos os tipos de despesas. 
    
    Casa alugada, cinco ou seis patacas; 
    Cozinheira, uma ou duas patacas, 
    Lavadeira e a mulher da água
    Não representavam mais do que uma pataca. 
    Com duas patacas se arranjava iluminação, 
    Do poço vinha a água para se lavar, 
    No pomar se arrancavam frutas para comer
    
    la-se ás compras no mercado
    Com sessenta avos no bolso, 
    E voltava-se com hortaliça, camarão, 
    Came de vaca, pato salgado, 
    Acrescentavam-se outros trinta avos, 
    Já se podia comprar porco, costeletas
    E uma perna de galinha. 
    
    Peixe e gema de ovo de pata, 
    Soja e flor de árvore de papaia
    Eram comida de gente pobre. 
    Em casa criava-se galinha
    Que ovos havia até se fartar. 
    Para comprar inhame e batata, 
    Não era preciso gastar vinte avos. 
    
    A pensão de reforma do Chencho
    Era apenas sessenta patacas. 
    Seu filho Atútu ganhava noventa, 
    A Avózinha confeccionava bolos para vender, 
    A Maria costurava para ganhar, 
    Corn este dinheiro todo, 
    Eles viviam com certo desafogo. 
    
    Sem fim lamuriar, 
    A Avózinha diz que dinheiro agora não falta; 
    0 que não há são coisas boas. 
    Há casa e casarões, 
    Gente hábil, aparelhos modernos, 
    Mas não há do-dol °  apetitoso, 
    Para comermos com biscoito."
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