Poems by Pierre Sotér

Terra com sal
to the memory of Fernando Pessoa

Ó ser mudado,
Ó alma colossal,
quanto do teu estado,
não é nem foi dado,
por algo quebrado,
por nada fatal.

Ó mar irado,
Ó longo areal,
quanto do teu estado,
é hoje, é passado,
amanhã inventado,
e será sempre igual.

Ó mundo sagrado,
Ó terra com sal,
quanto do teu estado,
foi nado, criado,
moldado, esmerado,
feito em Portugal!


Longe, para além deste caminho
sigo, o que o coração procura,
lanço, com tremor o amor sózinho,
rogo, vislumbrar tua figura.
Sinto, os afectos que trocámos,
venço, o temor de não te ver,
escuto, as promessas que selámos,
morro, no que ficou por dizer.
Passo, pelos sítios que passámos,
fico, à procura dos teus olhos,
lembro, o tanto que nos amámos,
corro, sempre atrás dos mesmos sonhos.

Corro, continuarei a correr.
Corro, se parar não vou viver.

Dancing and dicing

Unforgiving, Time is dancing and dicing,
indulging its recurrence of haughtiness,
a part of life it blurs, another blows,
let you believe what will later repress.
The tragedy of it is not avowed,
nor life’s secrets found, nor its holy grail,
and the frustration is to watch and shroud
all that we give away to no avail.
The way it’s done, Time’s reign, gods only know,
and if there’s more than time and space around,
for other forms our senses will not show,
nor reason or intentions on this ground.

Some people run away in front of Time,
and others are just dragged and miss their prime.

Your horizon

Today I’d like to see
what’s going on beneath the horizon,
from here, not by the sea,
where that line and zone
it’s always straight and quite afar.
There, the horizon is raising
above the mystic mist of the embracing valleys,
in this pure early morning.
And breezes are whispering, are telling
that another day is born,
announcing a generous star.
Towards East, now the horizon is dancing,
with warm shades and tones of yeast,
contouring towers and crossing bridges,
spectral trees, the green of a timeless park,
a statue, roofs, and many chimneys.
And birds and words are floating,
quoting stories of man and gods,
and things disperse, of the Universe,
where life repeats in different ways,
always, with joy and grief,
many delays, bad and better days.
And now, at last, the best part is coming.
Down the road, moving with elegance,
I start perceiving my willings,
the unique shape of your horizon,
your distinct unequalled stance.
The only that is real, that I can touch,
feel with my hands, and my heart fills
with more sounds and colours than any part,
secrets that only it misses,
with strong emotions, kisses,
with feelings, with art.

About the Author
Pierre Sotér is the pen name of a Portuguese engineer with a Ph.D. in environmental hydraulics. After thirty years of international activity in engineering, he now dedicates his time to poetry, philosophy and photography. Pierre Sotér writes in English and Portuguese.