Art by Herikita
translated by Alison Entrekin
Mars is closer to Earth
precisely today 56 million kilometers
a glowing red dot
we’d say a star from here from this
other dot where fireflies survive
precisely today
the hues of Autumn provide
the palette for photographers and
the newspaper prints the word solastalgia:
homesickness without ever having left home
the hues of Arctic white
56 million kilometers from the next
planet to be colonized
fill one’s eyes with
homesickness without ever having
wanted to allow home
to be colonized (a verb in pursuit of tense)
by the time of men
but the progress of boots
the cracking
of the glaciers – it’s all recreational
in the eyes of the observer:
green eyes in the hue of the green dunes
of a Trump Golf Club in Dubai
or Aberdeen or even Jupiter, Florida
(eighteen holes) that we cite
to keep up the planetary theme
solastalgia is longing
for a home that has never been left behind
grief over the violent bite
of the time of men
when everything transmutes everything yacks everything lacks
everything is mute in the Arctic white noise of this dot
of light what does Earth look like
from Mars?
the Arctic is melting and the fireflies provide
the palette for philosophers
Earth seen from Earth
contradiction of contradictions (should’ve
been poetry)
let eyes roam the stars
supposing that one’s feet at least
are here
the inhabitants of the Arctic
worn down by solastalgia
Earth seen from Earth
Earth in sight
the heart a glowing red dot
the new colors of the Arctic provide
the palette for the news that is read
with a pained click of the tongue
we’d say a funerary stele
we’d say a road to where
56 million kilometers
closer to Mars
than to us
*
all that is form (the form
of Mars the form of a golf ball of a marble
of autumn straw of ice)
is all the while becoming
all that is form (the form of Jupiter
of Florida the imaginary form of the
Arctic Circle)
is all the while ceasing to be
beneath the gray wing of the day
this lead denser than the newspaper
my friend wants to know where
the forms of beauty
the forms of joy are hiding
the heart a distant red dot
all the while becoming
all the while ceasing to be
systole a fist closing
diastole a ship setting sail
but if it does will it be for one more
conquest a violation
mitral valve regurgitating the world
blood flowing backwards
history running backwards
and a man with his boot on another man’s neck
pressing as he says I can't
systole diastole I can’t
the forms of beauty the forms of joy
I can’t breathe
we’re mistaken: can Earth really be seen
from here from this cracked red surface
the flayed skin of Mars
in the palm of our hand?
or could the ship setting sail
be headed for an ampler time
a time of temples open to all
a time free of sacrificial
altars
the heart a distant red dot
the heart a pulsating red temple
systole a fist closing
all devils are alike
there are deep abysses so deep
that angels can’t get there
or light
*
and yet there are fireflies
little stars flickering
around the Palácio do Planalto in Brasilia
life is more important than architecture
said the communist who designed it remember?
solastalgic capital of what
was meant to be but wasn’t
contradiction of contradictions (should’ve
been poetry)
there was no diastole systole
this preposterous thing that is the heart
form is emptiness but looking
from another angle form is content
so how strange it is when the young man says
art is more important than life
(not that the fireflies care)
*
I live in the same place but
everything has changed so much everything
around me looks so different
that I'm homesick for home
even though I'm still here
she suggests we close
our eyes and imagine:
the phone rings it’s the doctor
he says the exam results aren’t good
and we only have one year to live
heavens! one year everything around me
maybe I need to go say goodbye to
a friend my dad a forest
the city seen from above when
the phone rings again it’s the doctor
he says the reviewed exam results
are worse than they thought
and we only have one month to live
everything around me looks so different
and what’s going on in me maybe I
want to go to a planetarium to look at Mars
ask the neighbor to turn up the volume
and buy some beers I’ll settle up later
(best do it soon)
the phone rings again it’s the doctor
he says it’s actually worse much worse
and we only have one week to live
we look around and we’re
alive I live in the same place but
will there be time to settle up?
a stroll around the neighborhood a message for
the doctor calls again
just one day now
and time a bleed-out
the heart a pulsating red temple
sweep the room make some rice
systole one hour diastole half an hour
until it’s the last
time of everything
of the ship that in the end was just a raft
the other shore of when everything is allowed
to be depleted that I'm homesick for home
even though I'm still here
and there is no longer a raft
home or longing or settlement
the bleed-out of the red planet
the organs torn out in sacrifice
for ever so carnivorous gods
always more partial to blood than to sap
than to water than to air
in the end the boot trampling the fist clinging
to life
the last voice of
everything around me
wasn’t around me
everything around me was inside
inside of me
*
56 million kilometers
what an excessive number
impossible to appraise
it’s easier to think fifty thousand five thousand
Cape fur seals
the drones count the bodies there are
five thousand tiny opaque dots
along the Namibian coast
everything around me looks so different
but if the poet thought up a Paradise
where the birds sang in Greek
and repeated eros eros eros
what would Earth look like from there
Earth from the bird’s-eye view of a drone
that counts five thousand
tiny opaque dots
Cape fur seal fetuses strewn
along the Namibian coast
soon the females will give birth
but in times of food scarcity they
often miscarry
or abandon their newborns
the Aztec god demanded
red human hearts still beating
the Greek poet desired red human
bird hearts
still beating inside
the body
inside the abyss of the body
of the enjoyment of life
systole a muscle that contracts
diastole a scream
what does Earth look like
seen from the other side of us
I live in the same place but
everything has changed so much everything
around me looks so different
and soon the females will give birth
what does Earth look like
from inside the light
where Eros revokes the devils
what does Earth look like
from inside the green of a leaf
grazed by a free sun
at this time of the afternoon
and now this one
*
for the silent
river of time
for the time it takes to say life
is more important than
architecture poetry art
the ways to build a palace
a wall or a bridge the forms
of mystery of human misery the palaces
and those who are outside the temples
and those who are outside those
who seep beneath
the lights of the cities of the flight
of a drone over the Namibian coast
form is emptiness continent is content
everything is on fire and
a glacier is
cracking
in Earth’s sky a planet
shimmers unfirm crimson
for the time it takes to look at it
for the silent
river of the time it takes to look at it
I'm homesick for home
even though I'm still here
what does Earth look like
from inside time
from Earth as if we actually belonged
more to her than to Mars
still faithful lovers
glowing red dots we’d say
stars from here
Author's Note: This poem takes its inspiration from an article by Ossie Michelin in The Guardian, published on 15 October 2020, entitled “Solastalgia: Arctic inhabitants overwhelmed by new form of climate grief.” The lines “I live in the same place but / everything has changed so much everything / around me looks so different / that I'm homesick for home / even though I'm still here” have been adapted from a statement by Ashlee Cunsolo, who studies the Inuit communities, transcribed in the article: “‘People are expressing this deep pain,’ says Cunsolo, ‘saying I am still living in place, but my home has changed so much, everything around me looks so different, it feels so different that I am homesick for my home even though I am still here.’”
The Palácio do Planalto on page 6 is the official workplace of the president of Brazil.
The poet on page 9 is Odysseas Elytis (1911-1996).
Excerpted from the book of poems, "O vivo" - Relicário Edições, Belo Horizonte (Brazil), 2021.
