Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Cecília Meireles: "Canção Póstuma"


Bom dia, folks. I've got another Brazilian poem in translation for you. Along with the João da Cruz e Sousa poem I posted the other day, I read this during the event this past Sunday at the BAF, "O Brasil Secreto". The event went pretty well; attendance was good, and people seemed to enjoy the work presented. I look forward to doing it again in a few months' time.

Today's offering to the gods and muses of literature is by Cecília Meireles, one of Brazil's most widely known poets. I've got another translation of one of her poems in the works, so look for that in the near future, along with renewed efforts to practice my classical Chinese (via translation, of course).

Até breve!
DAS

Canção Póstuma
Cecília Meireles

Fiz uma canção para dar-te;
porém tu já estavas morrendo.
A Morte é um poderoso vento.
E é um suspiro tão tímido, a Arte...

É um suspiro tímido e breve
como a da respiração diária.
Choro de pomba. E a Morte é uma águia
cujo grito ninguém descreve.

Vim cantar-te a canção do mundo,
mas estás de ouvidos fechados
para os meus lábios inexatos,
atento a um canto mais profundo.

E estou como alguém que chegasse
ao centro do mar, comparando
aquele universo de pranto
com a lágrima da sua face.

E agora fecho grandes portas
sobre a canção que chegou tarde.
E sofro sem saber de que Arte
se ocupam as pessoas mortas.

Por isso é tão desesperada
e pequena, humana cantiga.
Talvez dure mais do que a vida.
Mas à Morte não diz mais nada.

Posthumous Song
Cecília Meireles
translated by D.A. Smith

I wrote a song to give to you;
however, you were already dying.
Death is a strong wind.
And Art is such a weak sigh...

It is a brief, timid sigh,
like that of everyday breathing.
The cry of a dove. And Death is an eagle
whose cry nobody can describe.

I came to sing you the song of the world,
but your ears were deaf
to my fumbling lips,
tuned to a deeper song.

And I am like someone who has come
to the middle of the sea, comparing
that weeping world
to the tears on your face.

And now I close the massive doors
on the song that arrived late.
And I suffer not knowing which Art
dead people concern themselves with.

That is why you are so desperate
and small, human song.
Perhaps you will last longer than life.
But you have nothing to say to Death.

Thursday, February 22, 2018

João da Cruz e Sousa: "Vida Obscura"


Last year I mentioned to Maurício, who runs the Brazilian Arts Foundation, that there should be some kind of Brazilian or Portuguese-language literary event sometime. This past November he put me in touch with some like-minded folks, and this coming Sunday, February 25, we're having our first public reading of Brazilian poetry in translation and short fiction in English by a Brazilian writer, along with artist Tony Paraná discussing his work. If you're in Houston, come on by, check out some Brazilian literature, drink a Topo Chico. The fun starts at 4 PM and wraps up around 5:30.

One of the poems I've translated for the event is by João da Cruz e Sousa, who I believe was Brazil's first black poet. I initially ran across his name on a list of Symbolist poets on Wikipedia, and after reading a little more about him I hunted down his collected works. Not only is he a fascinating figure—the son of freed slaves, a polyglot, and an abolitionist—but his poetry is quite good, and his prose poetry (or whatever the proper name for it is, if it has one in Portuguese) seems far ahead of its time. I look forward to reading, and translating, more of his work, which I don't think has received any exposure in English.

Enjoy, and maybe I'll see you Sunday.

Vida Obscura
João da Cruz e Sousa

Ninguém sentiu o teu espasmo obscuro,
ó ser humilde entre os humildes sêres.
Embriagado, tonto dos prazeres,
o mundo para ti foi negro e duro.

Atravessaste no silêncio escuro
a vida prêsa a trágicos deveres
e chegaste ao saber de altos saberes
tornando-te mais simples e mais puro.

Ninguém te viu o sentimento inquieto,
magoado, oculto e aterrador, secreto,
que o coração te apunhalou no mundo.

Mas eu que sempre te segui os passos
sei que cruz infernal prendeu-te os braços
e o teu suspiro como foi profundo!


An Obscure Life

Nobody felt your dull spasms,
Oh lowly among the lowly.
The world, drunk and giddy with pleasure,
was black and hard for you.

You passed through in dark silence,
your life chained to tragic duties
and arrived at the highest wisdom
humbled and purified.

Nobody saw in you the uneasy feeling,
hurt, hidden and terrifying, secret,
which your heart pierced in the world.

But I, who always followed in your steps,
know what infernal cross bound your arms
and how deeply you sighed!