Peterborough’s Festival of
Literature and Poetry 2013
My presentation in Journey to Islands Part of We
Love Words 2013
Organised by The
John Clare Trust
By: Celso Oliveira
Peterborough Central Library, 27th
September 2013
Many poems in my new book “Os Escritos Dum Poeta Timorense” are about life in East Timor
during the Indonesian occupation from 1975 until 1999.
I was a young boy when I saw my beloved country was
invaded and occupied by the Indonesian military on the 7th of
December 1975. My beloved father, uncle, aunt and many Timorese people died
soon after that. Life was very hard for East Timorese people. One of my poems
talks about this:
And She Become A Widow
As soon as the war started/
She became a widow/
Still young to become one.
Her husband died, not for illness/
But he died in the arms of his brother, his comrades/
He left wife and children….
Each minute/ each day/ each month/ each year/ was a
cross to bear.
This
poem represents the suffering and pain of the East Timorese women.
Another poem is “The
Silence of The Timorese” is about how the Timorese were living and fighting
alone against the Indonesian military without supported by any country in the
world. These are two lines from this poem:
The body dies not the soul/
O corpo morre mas
a alma não
We will stay here, fighting and building Timor.
Nós continuamos
aqui, lutar e construir Timor
About
Me and The War, I wrote:
I hate war because:
War destroyed our childhood,
our youth, our development and future.
War splits-up parents,
children, brother and sister
War brought misery, famine,
hatred, vengeance and resentment.
War made widows and orphans.
As a writer and poet, I couldn’t express my thoughts
and feeling while East Timor was under the Indonesian occupation. One of my poems
about this is:
Imagine!
Imagine!
Imagine!
Imagine my friends!
Imagine meu amigo!
So many problems in life,
Tantos problemas
que existem na vida
From our children, parents, from our identity,
Os dos nossos
filhos, dos nossos pais, da nossa identidade,
But this is the toughest: our homeland is occupied.
Mas este é o
maior: A Pátria está ocupada
Imagine!
Imagine!
Imagine my friend!
Imagine meu amigo!
We feel fear but we can’t defend ourselves
Nós temos razão,
mas não podemos defendê-la
There’s no writer writing in freedom.
Não há escritor
que escreva em liberdade.
My poem “Waiting For The Time” expresses hope for freedom.
Waiting For The
Time
It’s a long
waiting.
É longa espera
It’s a mess.
É confusão
It’s a silence.
É silêncio
It’s a soliloquy
É solilóquio
It’s death.
É morte
It’s illness.
É doença
It’s drunkness
É embriaguez
It’s patience
É paciência
It’s anger
É raiva
It’s vengeance
É vingança
It’s humbleness
É humildade
It’s
frustrations
É frustação
It’s hope
É esperança
It’s tears
É lágrimas
It’s playing
É brincar
It’s sleeping
É dormir
It’s laughing
É rir
It’s studying
É estudar
It’s working
É trabalhar
It´s feigning
É fingir
It’s lying
É mentir
Kids, teenagers, adults, elderly,
Crianças,
jovens, adultos, velhos
Birds, earth,
sea, farms,
Pássaros, terra,
mar, quintas
Pavements,
shirts, cloths,
Calçadas, camisas, panos
Kids are born and play far from home
As crianças
nascem e brincam longe da terra
Students study far from their land
Os estudantes
estudam longe da terra
Their parents
work far away
Os pais
trabalham longe da terra
All of them waiting for the time.
Todos à espera do tempo
All of them waiting for freedom.
Todos à espera da liberdade
Some of my poems are about faith. It’s because I
believe in God and I think without Him I am nothing. During the war, I always
kept a Rosary in my pocket.
One of my poems is “With The Rosary In Their Hands”:
Outside Santa
Cruz’s graveyard/
Fora do
cemitério de Santa Cruz
Indonesian soldiers fired their rifles/
Os soldados
Indonesios dispararam tiros.
Inside the
graveyard/
Dentro do
cemitério
Young people said Rosary in Portuguese.
Os jovens
Timorenses rezavam o terço em Português.
Desperate, anguished, shouting and screaming/
Desesperados,
com medo, choro e gritos
But feeling faith, confidence and hope in Our Lady of
Fatima.
Mas com fé,
confiança e esperança em Nossa Senhora de Fátima
The soldiers entered the graveyard,
Os soldados
entraram no cemitério
The young
Timorese prayed and kept singing
Os jovens
Timorenses cada vez mais rezavam e cantavam mais
“Our Lady of Fatima, Pray for us”
“Nossa Senhora
do Rosário de Fátima, Rogai por nós”
Pátria or Homeland
represents for me everything. My life, my future, my school, suffering, dying,
etc. During the war I felt that I could lose my studies, my family but I didn’t
want to lose my homeland.
In my poem “Homeland”
I wrote:
That’s once in a lifetime/
É uma vez na
vida
If we don’t
catch in once/
Se não
agarrarmos bem
We will never do that again/
Nunca mais
If we betray/
Se Trairmos
We will cry and regret/
Choramos e
arrependemo-nos
If we proclaim
our Independence/
Se proclamarmos a independencia
We will be proud of it/
Orgulhamo-nos
Homeland is the
kiss
A Pátria é o
beijo
Of the kid and of the old
Da criança ao
velho
Homeland is the
music
A Pátria é a
música
Homeland is the
sacred book,
A Pátria é o
livro sagrado
Of the poets who write the poems:
Dos poetas que
escrevem poemas:
Homeland Timor
Loro sa’e
Pátria Timor Lro
Sa’e
Music is a medium used of humans to bring happiness
but music can’t change our homeland.
In my poem “Music and Homeland” I describe one of
my artistic life. Music brings sorrow and courage.
The music of war is the music of homesickness/
A música da
Guerra é a muúica de saudade
Longing for our childhood, wretched by war/
Saudade do nosso
tempo de infância que foi estragada pela guerra.
It’s also the music of pride that makes us keep
fighting.
Tambem é a música
do orgulho que faz continuar a lutar.
Music is followed by nice words making us motivated,
courageous and caring.
A musica é
acompanhada com palavras bonitas que dao motivação, coragem e amor.
Our homeland is far away, far from us.
A nossa terra é
longe de mim, de todos nos.
Thinking of homeland is thinking with our hearts and
soul.
Pensar na pátria
é pensar com coracao e alma.
My last poem is “My Country Now Free From War”:
Now I'm happy because my country is free from war.
Happy at last because there’s no more war in East
Timor.
The white colour, the green colour.
They mean my country is living in peace and hope.
One guitar,
One chair,
One music,
One bike,
Sunshine,
Breeze,
My whole being enjoying together.
Some food,
Some drink,
Some party dishes,
Some dancing together with friends,
And planning for the future.
People don't cry anymore because of war.
People no longer like war.
They’ve said goodbye to war.
And welcome to peace and reconciliation.
People wake up in the morning and go to work,
Coming home from work they can talk about the future.
And I hope if all the people in the world read this
poem,
They will say "we’re happy because there’s no more
war in East Timor".
Politicians! Please don't make anymore war in East
Timor.
Nor people from other countries, please don't make war.
People from Indonesian and Australian,
Please work together with East Timor,
To make a better future of East Timor.
Folk from around the world please enjoy this poem with
me.
Thank you
