Poem of the day. John Freeman
Saudade
means nostalgia, I’m told, but also
nostalgia for what never was. Isn’t it
the same thing? At a café
in Rio flies wreathe my glass.
How you would have loved this: the waiter
sweating his knit shirt dark. Children
loping, in tiny suits or long shorts, dragging
toys and towels to the beach. We talk,
or I talk, and imagine your answer, the heat clouding our view.
Here, again, grief fashioned in its cruelest translation:
my imagined you is all I have left of you.
To know more about our poetry project, check our dedicated page on the ProMosaik website ProMosaik Poetry Page.
In the following you can download our newsletter about the last poetry projects we did in German, English, Italian, French, Greek, Russian and Turkish.