One day, when I was twelve years old, I suddenly felt the urge to climb down from the treetops, where I’d spent the greater part of my early tomboy years, to grab a pencil and start writing. My very first composition was a poem entitled The Enchanted Glade. At that time, I was living in the middle of a sizzling Brazilian asphalt jungle. I had never seen a forest in my life, much less a glade, enchanted or not. But I so wished to see a forest, and a glade in it. Preferably an enchanted one. That was why I wrote that poem.
“Mano, sabe aonde eu fui,
e voltei tão assustada?
Eu fui visitar
a clareira encantada.
Na clareira as flores dançam
e as árvores …”
That’s all I remember from that first poem.
The Enchanted Glade was the last poem I wrote with the express purpose of conjuring a fantasy world where my imagination could roam and play. It was, however, not my last poem. For regardless of my circumstances, my age, or where in the world I happened to find myself, I’ve written poems—in Portuguese, English, and Swedish. I write poetry out of love for words, their sound, their meaning—out of love for the languages in which I write. Love is my driving force.
To date, I’ve published one little volume, Skorpion, featuring a selection of my poems. I did so in collaboration with my friend and fellow poet Martin Ringh. Eventually, all of the poems published in Skorpion will find their way to this site. But not only them—far from it, in fact. It is my ambition to make all of my poems available here, those already written as well as those yet to be.
I should mention that my poems (as well as my fiction) are organic entities. As such, they are susceptible to changes, slight as they may be, in the course of time.