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/lit/ - Literature


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15516698 No.15516698 [Reply] [Original]

>> No.15516705
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15516705

>>15516698

>> No.15517295
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15517295

>>15516698

>> No.15517460
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15517460

Profundamente, by Manuel Bandeira. PT and EN.

Profundamente

Quando ontem adormeci
Na noite de São João
Havia alegria e rumor
Estrondos de bombas luzes de Bengala
Vozes, cantigas e risos
Ao pé das fogueiras acesas.

No meio da noite despertei
Não ouvi mais vozes nem risos
Apenas balões
Passavam, errantes

Silenciosamente
Apenas de vez em quando
O ruído de um bonde
Cortava o silêncio
Como um túnel.
Onde estavam os que há pouco
Dançavam
Cantavam
E riam
Ao pé das fogueiras acesas?

— Estavam todos dormindo
Estavam todos deitados
Dormindo
Profundamente.

*

Quando eu tinha seis anos
Não pude ver o fim da festa de São João
Porque adormeci

Hoje não ouço mais as vozes daquele tempo
Minha avó
Meu avô
Totônio Rodrigues
Tomásia
Rosa
Onde estão todos eles?

— Estão todos dormindo
Estão todos deitados
Dormindo
Profundamente.
/
When last night I feel asleep
At the feast of St. John
There was much merriment and noise
Stacatto banging of rockets and lights of Roman candles
Voices songs and laughter
Near the kindled bonfires.

In the middle of the night I awoke


And could no longer hear voices and laughter
Only vagrant balloons
Drifted here and there
Oh, so silently
And from time to time
Only the clatter of the streetcar
Bored through the silence
Like a tunnel.
Where were those who a mere moment ago
Were dancing
Were singing
Were laughing
Near the kindled bonfires?

— They were all asleep
They were all lying down
Sleeping
Oh, so profoundly.

When I was sic years old
I could not see the end of the feast of St. John
Because I fell asleep.

Today I can no longer hear the voices of that time
My grandmother
My grandfather
Totonio Rodrigues
Tomasia
Rosa
Where are they all?

— They are all asleep
They are all lying down
Sleeping
Oh, so profoundly.

>> No.15517511

>>15516698
Read Jorge de Lima's A Invenção de Orfeu.

>>15516705
Mensagem is better.

>> No.15517520
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15517520

Em todos os jardins, por Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen

PT and EN.

Em todos os jardins...
Em todos os jardins hei-de florir,
Em todos beberei a lua cheia,
Quando enfim no meu fim eu possuir
Todas as praias onde o mar ondeia.

Um dia serei eu o mar e a areia,
A tudo quanto existe me hei-de unir,
E o meu sangue arrasta em cada veia
Esse abraço que um dia se há-de abrir.

Então receberei no meu desejo
Todo o fogo que habita na floresta
Conhecido por mim como num beijo.

Então serei o ritmo das paisagens,
A secreta abundância dessa festa
Que eu via prometida nas imagens.
/
In all gardens I will flower,
In all I will drink the full Moon,
When at last at my end I will possess
All the beaches where the sea makes its waves.

One day I will be the sea and the sand,
To everything that exists I will unite myself
And my blood drags through every vein
That embrace that one day will open.

Then I will receive my desire
All the fire that inhabits the forest
Known in me as a kiss.

Then I will be the rhythm of the landscapes,
The secret abundance of this party
That I saw promised in the images.

>> No.15517597

>>15516698
Jose Saramago is the only one I know

>> No.15517599
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15517599

POEMA DE SETE FACES, by Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Quando nasci, um anjo torto
desses que vivem na sombra
disse: Vai, Carlos, ser gauche na vida.

As casas espiam os homens
que correm atrás das mulheres.
A tarde talvez fosse azul
não houvesse tantos desejos.

O bonde passa cheio de pernas:
pernas brancas pretas amarelas.
Para que tanta perna, meu Deus, pergunta meu coração.
Porém meus olhos
não perguntam nada.

O homem atrás do bigode
é sério, simples e forte.
Quase não conversa.
Tem poucos, raros amigos
o homem atrás dos óculos e do bigode.

Meus Deus, porque me abandonaste
se sabias que eu não era Deus
se sabias que eu era fraco.

Mundo mundo vasto mundo,
se eu me chamasse Raimundo,
seria uma rima, não seria uma solução.
Mundo mundo vasto mundo.
Mais vasto é meu coração.

Eu não devia te dizer,
mas essa lua
mas esse conhaque
Botam a gente comovido como o diabo.
/
SEVEN-SIDED POEM

Translated by Elizabeth Bishop

When 1 was born, one of the crooked
angels who live in shadow, said:
Carlos, go on! Be gauche in life.

The houses watch the men,
men who run after women.
If the afternoon had been blue,
there might have been less desire.

The trolley goes by full of legs:
white legs, black legs, yellow legs.
My God, why all the legs?
my heart asks. But my eyes
ask nothing at all.

The man behind the moustache
is serious, simple, and strong.
He hardly ever speaks.
He has a few, choice friends,
the man behind the spectacles and the moustache.

My God, why hast Thou forsaken me
if Thou knew'st I was not God,
if Thou- knew'st that I was weak.

Universe, vast universe,
if 1 had been named Eugene
that would not be what 1 mean
but it would go into verse
faster.
Universe, vast universe,
my heart is vaster.

I oughtn't to tell you,
but this moon
and this brandy
play the devil with one's emotions.

>> No.15517701

>>15517511
I've always been interested in that work, I read his Libro del Desasosiego in Spanish (I'm a Spaniard) - I found it absolutely marvellous. Would his Mensaje translate just as well or no since it's not prose?
I've read translated Antero de Quental and Olivo Bilac and found them incredible. I also want to read Só and Machado de Assis' famous novel about postmortem something (can't recall the name)
Abrazos ibéricos

>> No.15517751

>>15517701
Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas.

>> No.15517766

>>15517701
Machado de Assis was a pardo nigger from Brazil. This thread is about Portuguese literature.

>> No.15518091
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15518091

is it good?

>> No.15519114
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15519114

>>15516698

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