Four poems of José Eduardo Degrazia

01 November 2019
Author :  

José Eduardo Degrazia - was born in Porto Alegre in 1951. He is an ophthalmologist. As a writer he has published 19 books of short stories, poetry, novel, and children-juvenile; Among them Permanent Lavra, poetry, 1975; Submerged city, poetry, 1979; The Guaraní urn, poetry, 2004; Body of Brazil, poetry, 2011; The fleeting flower, poetry, 2011; The record player, short stories and mini-hits, 1996; The ear of the bugre, short stories and minicontos, 1998; The earth without evils, tales; The wild lions of Tanganyika, short stories and mini-tales; The collector of owls, minicontos; The kingdom of macambira, novel, 2005; The fabulous voyage of lechiguana honey, novel, 2008; The giraffe samba, infanto-juvenil, 1985; The cocoa cactus, infanto-juvenil, 1991; Cat and shoe, infante-juvenil, 1997. As a translator of Spanish and Italian, he published 14 books, among them, 07 by Pablo Neruda. Main Awards Received: Award of the Colonization and Immigration Biennium with Permanent Land, 1974; Contest Award from Status Magazine, 1978; Award of theater of the SNT with the play The House of the Impossibles, 1975; Finalist of the Nestlé prize of Literature, of 1996, with The Record Athlete; Finalist of the Azorean Prize with the Wild Lions of Tanganyika, 2003. 2006 The Best Translation South Prize with Pablo Neruda's books Book of the Year Award of the Gaúcha Association of Writers - with the novel The Kingdom of Macambira - 2006 Award from the Mihai Eminescu International Academy of Romania for the Work in prose - 2012. International Prize of Poetry of Trieste of 2013. Prize of Poetry of the Union of Writers of Moldavia. 2015. Translation Award of the Association of Publishers of Romania – 2016.




In space

a single



on the edge

of a time

a watch stops


is geometry.





In the season of May

the birds stop the sun

at my window. Nests.

Fine breakfeast,

and a pale face of woman

breathing knives

over the old wood table.

Poems are not necessary

I think –

but I write them.





I put source

of the Raven

in my hat,

and the dark rat

knock at the gate

of Heaven.


I dream with blackbirds

in the middle of the night,

and see the face of a maiden

in the middle of the mirror.


I see the dark cat

crossing the wall

of midnight,

and the bells sing,


in my troubled soul.


I put silence

in autumn’s ears,

and attune the violin

of the clouds’s stars.

I am afraid – she said,

but I don’t wake-up.





There was a boy



There was a boy in a circle of paradise

but he did not know his power –,

he was a leader in a rock and roll band.

And his soul a blade, an iron wheel

running away from home, going so far

from the little city where he was born;

but the girls loved his sweet blue eyes

and put their hands on his long hair

and kissed his untouched lips

but he did not know his power,

and he was in the circle of hell

drinking oceans of bottles, using mounts of drugs.

There was a boy in the 60’s,

he saw the bottom of his life

and sang a song of love to nobody.

And on a winter’s night, in an old hotel room,

he died lonely, prisoner of his youth.

In the old school where he studied

in the little inland city where he was born,

a lonely girl sings a song of farewell.


Literary Editor

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