My father died today

and tomorrow there will be no Mass


there will be coms from the party and ashes

of Lucky Strikes in evening meetings


there will be atheists’ smiles,

for sure,

(is there anything more naive than the smile of a Communist?)


ironies in the Pope’s days

one of those Popes that frights …


Today was a day of harvest

bricks where lifted

bricks that will leave corners

in the cities that resist

and await

the arrival of Bob


have you seen Bob?


exactly 5 years ago

my mother died


but they made ​​the calendars

– we must comply to the fucking days


yes, there was white smoke

and heart attacks


a good man died today

(you can be certain of this)

and the sick loneliness of a perverse Face (b)

gives you  the discourse and clichés

(updated by the news of the day)


We have a short form for communist in Portuguese (I thought “coms” could work in English)

In Portuguese it is written “SG gigante” instead of “Lucky Strike” which is a very strong tobacco that my father used to smoke (I like the story of Lucky Strike tobaccos and that’s why it’s here)

My father died on the 13th March 2013, as my mother did on the 13th March 2008.

I wrote this in Portuguese and it has a few references that only  Portuguese people would understand (as the reference to the corners in a city which refers to a song that is a symbol of the 1974 Portuguese Carnations revolution). This was my way of reacting to this event and I published it on facebook, also to communicate it to my friends. Someone asked (it is only a poem, right?) and I said “No” and they understood it was a real thing. It made me think that at this stage every poem is a real thing and it is there, in poetry, that I express the deepest and serious questions and problems, as well as enchantments, of my days.

My father was a communist, but he was a good one. He had dreams. He was an excellent father (though we had many conflicts) and my best friend in the latest years.

This was one of those things that you write from impulse. I think I might have been offensive to Catholics in the poem, and I regret that… but I didn’t think properly at that moment. It was my first reaction (writing this and publishing it on facebook), maybe I did wrong.




o meu pai morreu hoje
e amanhã não haverá missa

haverá comunas do partido e cinzas
de SG gigantes e reuniões noturnas

haverá sorrisos ateus
(há sorriso mais ingénuo do que o dos comunistas?)

ironias em dia de Papa
… dos que assusta

hoje foi dia de ceifa
ergueram-se tijolos que nos deixarão esquinas
nas cidades que resistem
e aguardam
a chegada do Bob

vocês viram o Bob?

há exatamente 5 anos
a minha mãe morreu

mas os calendários fizeram-nos eles
– que se cumpra a porra dos dias

sim, houve fumo branco
e ataques cardíacos

hoje morreu um homem bom
(podem estar certos disso)

e na doentia solidão de uma Face(b) perversa
deixo o discurso das frases feitas
(atualizado pela notícia do dia)