At 6:40 I asked the woman in the gallery shop to join me for a drink when her shop closed at 7. Quickly she said, "No, that´s impossible. I have two daughters." 5 and 8, I guessed, correctly. Later she told me they stayed with her mother during the day at her parents´ land 5 minutes out of Guimaraes. "They have rabbits and chickens and other small creatures. The girls love it."
The bulk of our conversation was about love poetry. The other day she´d translated, most enchantingly, a love poem painted in Portuguese on a cup. But here she was tonight saying any love poem is specific to the "personal situation," as she called it, of the two lovers. I proposed a more general application. She said, "Well, maybe," leaning forward quickly to claim, as she did two or three other times, with a touch of her hand on my forearm, that she was "no expert."
I´m sure that everything about me revealed that I was no expert either.
Now I´m at the restaurant, at a table for four. As is the custom here, the waiter inquires with a "Just yourself?" as, assuming so, he clears away the other three settings.
"Yes," I say, then decide to confide in him a little. "I asked someone to join me but she said it was impossible."
"Well, sometimes it´s better that way," he said, most helpfully.
I had the steamed asparagus and a steak.
PS Wouldn´t you know--a beautiful young woman picked tonight to sing some fado about six feet away from me.
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3 comments:
Perhaps, Gerry you need to rethink your time. For us coffee or dinner are important. To a culture who also enjoys long lunches perhaps that is the time to share a table and a bottle of wine and poetry in translation.
Concordo plenamente con vostede na vosa proposta de aplicaçao mais geral da poesía amorosa.
Este tema me lembra de ver como dous obxectos flotantes amarre en Emma Lake constantemente visión e un paso atrás do outro.
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