The mirror
The one that ages in me
appeared in the mirror
trying to show that it's me.
the others of me,
pretending not to know the image,
left me alone, perplexed,
with my sudden reflex.
That's what age is: the weight of light
with which we see ourselves.
The verses that open this article are written by one of the greatest contemporary writers, the Mozambican Mia Couto. A great representative of literature in the Portuguese language, Mia is almost unanimous between audiences and critics, with a work that already has thirty titles, including prose and poetry. His books, marked by an inventive and unusual language, are already considered a heritage of lusophone culture, gaining more and more space among Brazilian readers.
Mia Couto is the pseudonym of Antônio Emílio Leite Couto. The choice of this apparently funny name was not made by chance: his passion for cats made him, as a boy, ask his parents to treat him like that. His writing, marked by stylistic innovation, transits humanist issues, revealing all the writer's sensitivity which, in 2013, was awarded the Camões Award, considered the highest award given to authors of literature in the language Portuguese. Great connoisseur of the history and culture of Mozambique, Mia is a writer attentive to speech records of its people, transposing to writing the orality combined with verbal innovation, a characteristic that brings them closer together. in
Guimaraes Rosa, one of his greatest literary influences.In order for you to learn a little more about the inventiveness and mastery of this great writer, Brasil Escola selected some of the best poems by Mia Couto so that you can try out her verses and, thus, venture into what is best in her prose. Good reading!
Destiny
àlittle tenderness
I'm getting used to
while I add myself
damage and deceit servant
I'm losing address
in sudden slowness
of a destination
which has been scarce for me
I know my death
your elusive place
your scattered happening
now
what else
can I win?
In the book “Raiz de Dew and Other Poems”
Spiral
In the hidden part of the womb,
the fetus explains itself as the Man:
in itself wrapped up
to fit what is yet to be.
Body yearning to be a boat,
water dreaming to sleep,
lap in itself found.
In the fetal spiral,
the skein of affection
rehearses your first infinity.
In the book “Translator of Rains”
promise of one night
I fold my hands
over the mountains
a river runs out
to the fire of the gesture
I inflame
the moon rises
on your forehead
while groping the stone
until it's a flower
In the book “Raiz de dew and other poems”
For you
it was for you
I defoliated the rain
for you I released the perfume of the earth
I touched nothing
and for you it was everything
For you I created all the words
and all I missed
the minute I cut
the taste of always
I gave voice to you
to my hands
open the segments of time
assaulted the world
and I thought it was all in us
in this sweet mistake
of owning everything
without having anything
simply because it was night
and we didn't sleep
I came down on your chest
to look for me
and before the darkness
gird us around the waist
we were in the eyes
living on one
loving of one life
In the book “Raiz de Dew and Other Poems”
End Time
nothing dies
when the time comes
it's just a bump
on the road where we no longer go
everything dies
when is not the right time
and it's never
this moment
In the book “Raiz de Dew and Other Poems”
*The image that illustrates the article was taken from the author's book covers published by Editora Companhia das Letras.
By Luana Castro
Graduated in Letters
Source: Brazil School - https://brasilescola.uol.com.br/literatura/os-melhores-poemas-mia-couto.htm