John

So what now, John?
The party is over,
the light is off,
the crowd has vanished,
the night is cold,
so what now, John?

what now, you?
you with no name,
who mocks other people,
who writes verses,
who loves, protests?
so what now, John?

You have no woman,
you have no speech,

you have no caress,

no longer you can drink

no longer you can smoke,

no longer you can spit,
the night is cold,
the day hasn't risen,
the train hasn't come,

a smile hasn't come,
as did not utopia,

and all is over
and all has fled
and all has rotted,
so what now, John?

So what now, John?
what about your velvety word,
your moment of fever,
your overeating and fasting,
your library,
your gold pit,
your glassy suit,
your lack of logic,
your rage - what now?

Keys in hand, you
want to open the door,
there is no door;
you want to die at sea,
but the sea has dried up;
you want to go to Minas,
Minas is no more.
John, what now?

Even if you screamed,
even if you moaned,
even if you played
the Viennese waltz,
even if you slept,
even if 'were tired,
even if you died...

But you do not die,
you are tough, John!

Alone in the dark
as a wild beast,
with no theogony,
with no plain wall
to lean against,
no black horse
to gallop away,
you are marching, John!
John, where to?

Original poem: 'José', by Carlos Drummond de Andrade

In: 'Poesias', 1942