Pedro Mexia
Pedro Mexia Poems
We meet the family at funerals.
We're never as transparent
as when we mourn
and tell measured anecdotes
...
You should not open closed
drawers: they were locked for a reason,
having now found
the key is a happenstance you can ignore.
...
I bought the ‘Ballad of the Sad Café' from her,
after having almost passed as a book
thief, touching books without looking
at them, while I circled from all
...
Lisbon is not Alexandria but then
Alexandria is only a metropolis
heightened and exalted in verse, its geometry,
its incisions of small despair.
...
In the improvised church hall,
disordered rows of chairs announced
a film on ‘the life of Christ'.
We were children, on holiday
...
En route, Hartford stiffens
and at the same time becomes lighter.
Fall ceases to be the fall.
The cockerels don't sing
...
This poem begins by comparing you
to the constellations,
with their magical names
and precise drawings,
...
Pedro Mexia Biography
Pedro Mexia was born in Lisbon in 1972. He graduated in Law at Universidade Católica Portuguesa and attended the Master in Literature and American Culture at Universidade de Lisboa. He writes book reviews for the newspaper Diário de Notícias, the magazine LER.)
The Best Poem Of Pedro Mexia
Funerals
We meet the family at funerals.
We're never as transparent
as when we mourn
and tell measured anecdotes
recalling the deceased.
What blood runs here
that mine may resemble?
Some of the old people bring the flowers
they already gave at weddings
and among them they decide
we are a family,
they know the cousins I don't
know, regret the fate
of those whose story is known,
they are even graver
than us, and use
endearing terms.
My name will turn to dust
with my body, a widowed
woman is thinking,
there are siblings who are completely silent
and children who play blindman's buff.
We follow the cortege
straightening our ties,
the wind can't tell that someone has died.
Ten people keep up with the priest,
the others can no longer remember
the prayers,
ten people think about
what they are facing,
the others follow the coffin.
Soon enough
the younger will bury
the older digger.
Translation by Ana Hudson,
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