Selected Poems of Maria Teresa Horta Translated by: M.B. McLatchey and Edite Cunhã Published in Ezra , Spring 2019 Prev 1 Next LITTLE BY LITTLE I begin by writing at first one word only immaterial and deadly right away another then another, then another little by little a poem drinking up ravenously and madly the very poison to the flower of my mouth A POUCO E POUCO Começo por escrever primeiro uma palavra apenas mínima e fatal logo depois outra após outra, após outra a pouco e pouco poema indo beber voraz e louca o próprio veneno à flor da minha boca Copyright © 2019 M. B. McLatchey & Edite Cunha, with permission. All rights reserved. Published in Ezra , Spring 2019. Copyright © 2017 Maria Teresa Horta, from her collection Poesis . Dom Quixote Publisher, Lisbon. Back to List

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Selected Poems of Maria Teresa Horta Translated by: M.B. McLatchey and Edite Cunhã Published in Springhouse , Fall 2019 Prev 6 Next ANTICIPATION I constrain myself in waiting for the poem to arrive with a beating of wings with the heart on fire in the likeness of a body the reverse of verse remorse locked away quickly and quietly hallucinating ESPERA Limito-me a esperar que o poema chegue num bater de asas no coração em fogo no jogo do corpo no reverso do verso no remorso fechado num silêncio depressa alucinado Copyright © 2019 M. B. McLatchey & Edite Cunha, with permission. All rights reserved. Published in Springhouse , Fall 2019. Copyright © 2017 Maria Teresa Horta, from her collection Poesis . Dom Quixote Publisher, Lisbon. Back to List

Award Winning Poetry - 2025 Winner of the Lazuli Literary Group 2024 Writing Contest - 1 of 3 - Plan B And so, we are not to be concerned about living – but about living well. - Socrates, Dialogue with Crito I watch them settle in. David’s Death of Socrates on the projection screen. Clashes of colors like warring teams: a white toga hanging from a teacher’s shoulder; the blood-red robe of a servant, who holds out the deadly drink. An ancient story, someone else’s fight. And yet, the old man who sits upright to take the servant’s chalice. The absence of malice. Gestures like haunting glyphs. We open ourselves to what ifs. What if someone you love, someone who taught you right from wrong; drew you a map of valleys not yet drawn; rowed with you on a winding river: the labyrinth of your young years. A chance to visualize: a wrestling coach; a theater teacher tirelessly recapturing missed lines. What if this person you love comes under fire. A mob seeds hatred, until – like trees that burn too easily – they are cheering for his demise. Why. Because he is winning in an art his accusers used to prize: logic as leak-proof as a Grecian vase. Because he is gaining fans. Because they can. Suppose, like an extended hand, the mob gives your mentor a choice: Disavow all you ever taught. Apologize – or hemlock. They grasp for the extended hand. Why not sign a pity release? Spare your children and wife. Surrender – just for the moment – what defines your life. The boat for escaping is waiting in the bay. The judges want their take. What will history say if friends do not save a man accused in the wrong? Who will teach virtue if the teacher of virtue is gone? Scales that tip and sway. It must have weighed on Crito’s heart to learn the decision was already made; to arrive in a drafty cell for a teacher- student review – so late. How he misread the old man sitting on his cot: alone and unafraid. The question on his teacher’s face: How much are you willing to trade ? We weave, instructed, heart persuaded. We leave it – not for the Midterm – almost certainly for a later day. Copyright © 2024 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Published in Azure , Vol. 8, March, 2025. Winner of the Lazuli Literary Group's Fall 2024 Writing Contest - First Place. Other poems in collection: "Ethos, Pathos, Logos" and "Is There a Final Exam?". Editor's comment: I enjoyed the steady strain of brilliance and the profound sense of wisdom that runs through each poem, well-delivered through narratively evocative language and clearly intentional choices in poetic form! To cloak modernity in a sense of magic is difficult to do, and yet I feel your poems do so in a very useful way. I hope our readers find in these pieces the impetus for an examined life. - Sakina B. Fakhri Previous Next

People use the word 'closure.' It's not about closure, it's more about justice. ― John Walsh, father to Adam Walsh. Award Winning Poetry - 2008 Muriel Craft Bailey Award The Rescue People use the word 'closure.' It's not about closure, it's more about justice. ― John Walsh, father to Adam Walsh. Today in the news: Miraculous Rescue An uncle drags a shark to shore to save his near-dead nephew. A bull of a shark, the arm that it tore from the boy when he waved for help fueled the beast's palate; its tail in the uncle's grip, a blur of blood claret and kelp; the husks from his palms, a grim and edible kale. I want a shark that I can wrestle and make it spit you out. To make it yearn for its strength, to thrash about as I nestle its nose in my grip. I want to turn you loose from a palpable place: a well, a shed, a jaw. I want the monster to face me and beg for the law. Copyright © 2007 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved. Muriel Craft Bailey Memorial Award Special Merit. Published in The Comstock Review , January 2008. Previous Next

Index Previous Next The End of Knowing The absence of Copernicus’s scope. Stuttering logos. The ego’s trophy halo. The quiet, unnatural death of the three artistic proofs. The excuse rather than the fight. Homer’s limping hero, Buddha’s blind eye. Plato’s cave dweller empowered by the shadow maker; the messenger despised. A crush of valedictorians still tethered to their mothers’ seedy placentas. The golden bough made bronze for more to enter. Elysium no longer the nerve center. The present, past, and future: Picasso’s flung bones in Guernica – discordant tones, discordant consciousness. The epic hero homeless, more or less. . Copyright © 2021 M. B. McLatchey All rights reserved. Published in The Criterion , April 2021.

Selected Poems of Maria Teresa Horta Translated by: M.B. McLatchey and Edite Cunhã Published in Metamorphoses , 2019 Prev 8 Next FROM MUTINY TO MUTINY From mutiny to mutiny I give myself up to poetry overcoming the hardships of insidious darkness the vertigo of longing in the manacles of passion the loss to my pulse in that singular gift of shock and tumult DE MOTIM EM MOTIM De motim em motim entrego-me à poesia a vencer a escuridade as agruras da insídia a vertigem da saudade na paixão de algemar o perdimento ao meu pulso nessa dádiva singular de sobressalto e tumulto Copyright © 2019 M. B. McLatchey & Edite Cunha, with permission. All rights reserved. Published in Metamorphoses , Fall 2019. Copyright © 2017 Maria Teresa Horta, from her collection Poesis . Dom Quixote Publisher, Lisbon. Back to List

Index Previous Next Leaving the Mainland The last resort as some wags dub it. And now for the first time since leaving the mainland we feel it. So narrow an approach, the road we're on seems less a slip of land than a channel of water. And everywhere the doubling back of life scenes: herons teetering on one leg as if to remain prescient of two worlds - this one that warms us through car glass, and the other a stirring life submerged. Island of bones. So overwhelmed were they by life's remains - so many bones - that de Leon and trails of others found there. The terrible name must have given breadth to their worst fears. Ships like theirs brought to grief by poorly marked reefs or the lure of a light on a cow's tail. And after disaster, the call - but not for help- among the islanders. A wreck! Prosperity from ruined ships - a life no one had entertained. Still, there they were chasing submerged treasures. A slip in judgment, perhaps. But given the choice between limestone too hard for digging graves or an ocean of pyramids, who could blame them - certainly neither of us - for wanting to live? . Copyright © 2004 M. B. McLatchey All rights reserved. Published in The American Poetry Journal , Summer/Fall 2005.

Published Poems Title Journal Year Award 1-800-THE-LOST American Poetry Journal 2012 2011 American Poet Prize - Winner Sort by Year * forthcoming