OF THE BEGINNING OF MINAS

Geraldo Reis

 

I

in the beginning

there were the canvas

and the boy

in the beginning

 

in the beginning

there was color

and folly

in the beginning

 

in the beginning

there was color by itself

and the blank canvas

in the beginning

 

in the beginning

there was a start

of the beginning

 

in the future

that hinders

 

there was the beginning of minas

there was the promise

 

of mists that go beyond

and that remain

 

there was the choir of angels

there was the song of the marsh

 

the condemnation

of the impure

 

from beyond the tagus

 

 

II

grave chords

of colors and warbles

will soon cover the canvas

 

and will also cover the canvas

the marks of magic

and will also cover the canvas

the troops and the delights

 

that, taken through the trails

and mixed together,

shall bring eternity

to the bushlands

 

 

III

there will be lines on the canvas

there are lines

 

there will be colors on the canvas

there are colors

 

now all

condemned

 

now all

captured

 

now all

organized

 

by the hand that imprisons

the edge of the light that surpasses

 

by the hand that now hijacks

the dead on the square

 

 

IV

what comes yonder

with those paints

with those colors and war horns?

 

what comes yonder

with those buckets

of dense mist around it?

 

what comes yonder

with that milk

that lazily stretches over the canvas?

 

what comes first?

the eye or rheum?

the saint or the chapel?

the rose adorning

the deceased? or the lapel?

 

what does it lay (on)

with those paints?

 

and what does it say

when it paints?

 

V

these lines are now condemned

to eternal life by grace

 

of the hand that imprisons

the edge of the light that surpasses

 

by the hand that now hijacks

the dead on the square

 

free from all threat

and from all deception

and from all profligates

 

and from the merciless teeth

of the merciless moth

 

there are lines on the canvas

there are lines

 

there are colors on the canvas

there are colors

 

there are graves, warheads, and chapels

there are the blessed and mists and novels

 

and there are old pathways

and gates

there are the desire bosoms

of maidens

 

desperate harnesses and buckles

(all is reborn in the paint

that levels!)

 

and thus the deceased at will

still be alive in this square

will be reborn with you, free

of all forgetting

and of all threat

 

 

VI

a first of the deceased

is reborn from those paints

a contour places on the canvas

the huge shoulder

 

the arm of the hanged one

when it paints

rises from your line

that does not sleep

 

the back of the hanged one

is like the moon

that leaves the painting

charming the streets

 

the second of the deceased

is a damsel

with her thirty strands of hair

flooding the painting

with two hundred eyes

dull with hope

and three eternities

of promise

 

the second of the deceased

was the truth

the mist that there would be in the city

 

a third of the deceased is reborn

and has my name

written in a sheet

and has my face

carved on a piece of wood

and has my verse

imbedded on a canvas

 

that slips away

inside mists

and promises

 

the last of the deceased

is the hand of the executioner

and of all of them

will be remembered

in your painting, Layon,

that condemns me

to be away from everyone

who also share this canvas

above all

through the verse

that I do note write!