the news arrives
spreads out in the bog of the display,
it arrives
rolls through the feed
as fast as hummingbirds
269 dispersi nel mare di Lampedusa
and burns your retina
*
jellyfish approach
causing eczema and paralysis
on the skin exposed to the sun
with vertigo and nausea
at noon
*
meanwhile
between failures in connection
messages also arrive,
unexpected oil stains
resound in your inbox like coins
in a metal piggy bank,
they are friends migrating in the world
constellations
of intermittent affection,
an unstoppable flow of news
and people leaving
light up your iphone
fleeting wings
like an insect emerging from its cocoon
*
two destinies get closer
for an instant, hurt each other,
like beasts pretending
to be sleeping peacefully
while the bodies fall
the faces fall
into the bog of the display
*
the news doesn’t stop arriving
soulless androids
that invade your room:
*
269 have died in the sea around Lampedusa
added to the 653 counted
so far this year,
still without a face or a name
269 are the latest non-arrivals
*
meanwhile
so many faces glitter on the screen
every silence every like every profile
that sinks into the nickel sea
*
every raft
that hasn’t managed to make a trip
*
it’s possible to die
two, three, four
ten, nineteen times
from the same living death
*
the first one occurs
when you carry
your homeland
in your hands
for days
from day to day
like a stillborn baby
*
the second
when you finally get
to dig into what is deepest
in your memory
*
the third
when your tongue cracks
and falls to pieces
*
the forth when you forget
the smell of earth after rain
*
the other deaths
pile up
like insects
*
It’s difficult to find
where the last insect is hiding
from Mutilated World
Prisca Agustoni
translated from the Portuguese by Alice Osti Magalhães and Jenny Marshall Rodger
Read the original in Portuguese
Listen to an excerpt of the original Portuguese read by the translator:
We reflected considerably before translating the following verses: “é possível morrer/duas, três, quatro/dez, dezenove vezes/da mesma morrida morte” from the book O mundo mutilado (The Mutilated World; Editora Quelônio, 2020) by Prisca Agustoni.
We were only able to translate it after we had interpreted the deaths to mean migrants living in extremely harsh conditions; they were already dead before dying. The author meant that it is possible to die many times from the same death, as follows:
The first death was becoming aware that migrants belonged nowhere as their home country was uninhabitable; they had no place to call home. As a result, they found themselves abandoned in a country that did not shelter them from their anguish.
The second death was when the migrants delved in vain into their innermost reminiscences. It is extremely painful and tiring trying repeatedly to remember something that really matters when they are so far from their homeland, like being apart from who they really are. Without memory, they have no identity. And without identity, they are dead.
The third death is when migrants become speechless. In other words, when they are so miserable that they do not have the strength to say anything when faced with these terrible conditions. The fourth death is when they no longer even notice or remember the smell of earth after rain. That is to say, when they become unable to care about the special things nature offers them.
The other deaths are as meaningless as a pile of dead insects. Only the most sensitive people care about the death of migrants. The logic of some developed countries is to care only about their own countrymen, which is why migrants suffer so much from prejudice, xenophobia and racism. Finally, it is difficult to find where “the last insect is”, that is to say, the survivor.
It was challenging to find an expression in English that would adequately translate “são 269 os últimos não-chegados”. However, we ended up finding the solution: “269 are the latest non-arrivals”.
We decided upon a verbal collocation, instead of a noun collocation as it is in the original.
We were only able to translate it after we had interpreted the deaths to mean migrants living in extremely harsh conditions; they were already dead before dying. The author meant that it is possible to die many times from the same death, as follows:
The first death was becoming aware that migrants belonged nowhere as their home country was uninhabitable; they had no place to call home. As a result, they found themselves abandoned in a country that did not shelter them from their anguish.
The second death was when the migrants delved in vain into their innermost reminiscences. It is extremely painful and tiring trying repeatedly to remember something that really matters when they are so far from their homeland, like being apart from who they really are. Without memory, they have no identity. And without identity, they are dead.
The third death is when migrants become speechless. In other words, when they are so miserable that they do not have the strength to say anything when faced with these terrible conditions. The fourth death is when they no longer even notice or remember the smell of earth after rain. That is to say, when they become unable to care about the special things nature offers them.
The other deaths are as meaningless as a pile of dead insects. Only the most sensitive people care about the death of migrants. The logic of some developed countries is to care only about their own countrymen, which is why migrants suffer so much from prejudice, xenophobia and racism. Finally, it is difficult to find where “the last insect is”, that is to say, the survivor.
It was challenging to find an expression in English that would adequately translate “são 269 os últimos não-chegados”. However, we ended up finding the solution: “269 are the latest non-arrivals”.
We decided upon a verbal collocation, instead of a noun collocation as it is in the original.
Prisca Agustoni is a poet, translator and literary critic who writes and self-translates in Italian, Portuguese and French. She has lived between Switzerland and Brazil for twenty years and works as a literature professor at the Universidade Federal de Juiz de Fora (UFJF) in Brazil. Her most recent works in Portuguese are: O mundo mutilado (The Mutilated World; Quelônio, 2020), finalist for the Prêmio Jabuti (2020); O gosto amargo dos metais (The Bitter Taste of Metals; 7Letras, 2022), winner of two awards—the Prêmio Cidade de Belo Horizonte (2022) and Prêmio Oceanos (2023); Rastros (Traces; Fósforo, 2022)—and Entre o que brilha e o que arde (Between What Shines and What Burns; Urutau, 2022). In Italian, her most recent work is Verso la Ruggine (Towards Rust; Interlinea, 2022), which won the Swiss Literature Award (2023) and was a finalist for the Premio Fortini (2023).
Alice Osti Magalhães is a Brazilian poet and translator working in English and Portuguese. She received a Master of Philosophy (MPhil) in literary translation from Trinity College Dublin (2013), where she developed a translation portfolio and an annotated translation.
Jenny Marshall Rodger is British and has lived in Brazil for forty-three years. She holds an MA in translation from the University of Westminster (1994) and has been a translator for the last thirty years. She is a sworn translator and works as an interpreter in Brazil and the United Kingdom. Together with Alice Osti Magalhães, Rodger published three poems from the book Sombras Longas (Long Shadows; Relicário Edições, 2023) by Patrícia Lavelle in Exchanges: Journal of Literary Translation (2024). In addition, they won third place in the Stephen Spender Prize for Poetry Translation 2023, together with other translators, including the highly acclaimed Alison Entrekin. Their co-translation has been published on the Stephen Spender Trust website and booklet.
