Olive Senior - PEN International

52
WORDS ... JOHN MATEER
John Mateer
Pessanha’s House, Lisbon
Carlos, in his long black coat,
stands at the end of the bar
like a magi, listing the names
of cities in Africa and Asia,
giving his opinion on each.
Ana Paula, historian and poet,
with her big green maternal eyes,
listens, her Luanda of last week
vast as the Forbidden City.
And Mónica, too, my Galician love,
has in her heart, at very least,
Torre de Hércules. While Miguel,
the publisher, paces back and forth,
planning, plotting … The first
time I met Carlos was in Macau,
outside the smoky Á-Mà Temple,
he wore a black suit and walked us
along the Inner Harbour to show
the Wall of Dissimulation,
Pessanha’s other home. In his essay
on the poet’s house, it’s a chaotic museum;
Chinese scrolls, statues, plates
everywhere, except in the bedroom
where Camilo sits, tearfully presenting
his mother’s rosary. Carlos may be
right: there are the starry conurbations
of the departing world, and then,
always, the kindly void of the Mother.
Like this bar that, he says, he’s
frequented over the decades,
each time under a different name.
WiPC 50 Years, 50 Cases