Nothing Twice

 

Sergei Nechaev

 

 

Nothing can ever happen twice.

In consequence, the sorry fact is

that we arrive here improvised

and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,

if you’re the planet’s biggest dunce,

you can’t repeat the class in summer:

this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,

no two nights will teach what bliss is

in precisely the same way,

with precisely the same kisses.

One day, perhaps some idle tongue

mentions your name by accident:

I feel as if a rose were flung

into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you’re here with me,

I can’t help looking at the clock:

A rose? A rose? What could that be?

Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day

with so much needless fear and sorrow?

It’s in its nature not to stay:

Today is always gone tomorrow.

With smiles and kisses, we prefer

to seek accord beneath our star,

although we’re different (we concur)

just as two drops of water are.

Wislawa Szymborska

in, Poems New and Collected: 1957–1997

O quarto

Quem te pôs a mão no ombro,

a faca que te atravessou o coração,

são feridas alheias, talvez algo que leste;

entretanto partiste

para lugares menos iluminados

e corações menos vulneráveis,

pode perguntar-se é o que fazes ainda aqui

se já cá não estás.

A hora havia de chegar em que

nos perderíamos um do outro.

E acabaríamos necessariamente assim,

mortos inventariando mortos.

Morrer, porém, não é fácil,

ficam sombras nem sequer as nossas,

e a nossa voz fala-nos

numa língua estrangeira.

Apaga a luz e vira-te para o outro lado

e acorda amanhã como novo,

barba impecavelmente feita,

o dia um sonho sólido onde a noite se limpa e se deita.

Manuel António Pina