A century ago, a great poet was born:
Carlos Drummond de Andrade.
With his birth (31st of
October) the poetic world has been gifted with a literary gem, both
in poetry as in prose.
Those who are familiar with his work
know that he could make of any daily issue a lyrical poem.
From politics to his own illness, from
war to a ride on a trolley; anything became poetry when expressed in
words by Drummond. A true magician with his mind and ink as his only
tools.
This Brazilian poet, recognized as one
of the greatest writers of all time, has had his works translated in
different languages, and has been appreciated through many decades by
everyone who likes poetry.
Drummond was a nonconformist, a poet
who did not care about the conservative criticism.
One of his poems actually stirred the
anger of many of those critics; this same poem became one of his most
famous poems, as well a symbol for the modernist movement in the
Brazilian literature.
No
meio do caminho
No meio do caminho tinha
uma pedra
tinha uma pedra no meio do caminho
tinha uma pedra
no
meio do caminho tinha uma pedra.
Nunca me esquecerei desse
acontecimento
na vida de minhas retinas tão fatigadas.
Nunca
me esquecerei que no meio do caminho
tinha uma pedra
tinha uma
pedra no meio do caminho
no meio do caminho tinha uma pedra.
-by Carlos Drummond de
Andrade (1930)
There are few translations
of this poem into English; in my opinion, John Nist wrote the best of
them.
IN
THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD
In the middle of
the road was a stone
was a stone in the middle of the road
was
stone
in the middle of the road was a stone.
I shall never
forget that event
in the life of my so tired eyes.
I shall
never forget that in the middle of the road
was a stone
was a
stone in the middle of the road
in the middle of the road was a
stone.
-translation by
John Nist (1965)
Notice that John
Nist translated the line 'No meio do caminho tinha uma
pedra' exactly as Drummond intended—with the grammatical
mistake. To be grammatical correct, the original line should be
written as 'No meio do caminho havia uma pedra' and be
translated (as it has been by other translators) as 'there was a
stone in the middle of the road'. Luckily we have John Nist, who saw,
understood and respected Drummond's intention!
Drummond wrote several short poems,
poems about poetry, poems about not being able to put his thoughts
into words. The one below is one of my favourite of his short poems.
Poesia
Gastei uma
hora pensando em um verso
que a pena não quer escrever.
No
entanto ele está cá dentro
inquieto, vivo.
Ele está cá
dentro
e não quer sair.
Mas a poesia deste momento
inunda
minha vida inteira.
-by Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Poetry
I spent one hour thinking of a verse
my
pen does not want to write.
Yet, it is here inside
restless,
alive.
It is here inside
and does not wish to get out.
But
the poetry of this very moment
overflows my whole life.
-translation by Mariza G Góes
His poems about the society in Brazil,
and in the world in general, have a strong voice, a voice that not
only echoed his thoughts and feelings, but also of all the people who
were suppressed by the government, especially in Brazil. His view of
the world, often pessimistic, sometimes came with hope at the end of
the tunnel. We can witness one those occasions when reading his poem,
which is part of the book A Rosa do Povo.
Áporo
Um
inseto cava
cava sem alarme
perfurando a terra
sem achar
escape.
Que fazer, exausto,
em país bloqueado,
enlace
de noite
raiz e minério?
Eis que o labirinto
(oh razão,
mistério)
presto se desata:
em verde,
sozinha,
antieuclidiana,
uma orquídea forma-se.
-by
Carlos Drummond de Andrade
There
are three meanings for the word áporo in Portuguese. 1) an insect;
2) a problem with no solution or difficult to solve; 3) a kind of
green orchid. You'll notice, when reading the translation of the poem,
that the three meanings are there to see, each of them distinctively.
Such a subtle touch, even though unnoticed by many, was one of
Drummond's amazing qualities as poet.
Aporo
An insect digs
digs without
alarm
perforating the earth
without finding escape.
What to
do, exhausted,
in a blocked country,
union of the night
root
and mineral?
And the labyrinth
(oh reason and
mystery)
suddenly untie itself:
in green,
lonely,
anti-euclidean,
an orchid is born.
-translation by Mariza G Góes
To finish this birthday celebration,
nothing better than one of his love poems. Despite the several poems
about society, politics and even death, Drummond had the most lovely
thoughts about love as well. The tenderness of his love poems shows
that he was indeed a poet who could write about anything, without losing
a bit of his poetic talent.
I grew up reading Drummond's poetry,
and that is certainly the main reason why today I like poetry.
Inconfesso
Desejo
Queria ter coragem
Para falar deste
segredo
Queria poder declarar ao mundo
Este amor
Não me
falta vontade
Não me falta desejo
Você é minha vontade
Meu
maior desejo
Queria poder gritar
Esta loucura saudável
Que
é estar em teus braços
Perdido pelos teus beijos
Sentindo-me
louco de desejo
Queria recitar versos
Cantar aos quatros
ventos
As palavras que brotam
Você é a inspiração
Minha
motivação
Queria falar dos sonhos
Dizer os meus secretos
desejos
Que é largar tudo
Para viver com você
Este
inconfesso desejo
-by Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Ulterior
Desire
I wish I had the courage
To speak
of this secret
To tell the world
About this love
Isn't
lack of wanting
Isn't lack of desire
You are my wanting
My
greatest desire
I wish I could speak loud about
This healthy
madness
That is to be in your arms
Lost in your kisses
Feeling crazy by desire
I wish I could recite verses
Sing
to the four winds
The words that spring
You're the
inspiration
My motivation
I wish I could speak of dreams
Tell my secret desire
Of leaving everything
To live with
you
This ulterior desire
-translation by Mariza G Góes
