“The Dance”, by William Carlos Williams, translated into Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese translation of “The Dance”, by William Carlos Williams.
Translation by Luísa Pessoa.

A DANÇA

Na grande obra de Breughel, A Quermesse,

os dançarinos bailam, bailam e se

balançam, o estrondo e o fragor e o

ronco dos foles, corneta e rabecas

apoiados nas panças (roliças como as 

canecas em que bebem as rodadas)

suas bundas e barrigas bambeando

para revirá-las. Chutando e rodando 

na Área Comum, revirando traseiros, 

só coxas robustas suportam o peso 

de tão roliços arranjos, trotando alegres,

na grande obra de Breughel, A Quermesse.

THE DANCE

In Breughel’s great picture, The Kermess,

the dancers go round, they go round and

around, the squeal and the blare and the

tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles

tipping their bellies (round as the thick-

sided glasses whose wash they impound)

their hips and their bellies off balance

to turn them. Kicking and rolling about

the Fair Grounds, swinging their butts, those

shanks must be sound to bear up under such

rollicking measures, prance as they dance

in Breughel’s great picture, The Kermess.

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“Young Woman at a Window”, by William Carlos Williams, translated into Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese translation of  “Young Woman at a Window”, by William Carlos Williams.
Translation by Luísa Pessoa.

A JOVEM NA JANELA

Sentada com
lágrimas

no rosto
o rosto

apoiado 
em sua mão

o narizinho
do menino

em seu colo
contra o vidro

YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW

She sits with
tears on

her cheek
her cheek on

her hand
the child

in her lap
his nose

pressed
to the glass

Hits: 69

“Acquainted with the Night”, by Robert Frost, translated into Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese translation of  “Acquainted with the Night”, by Robert Frost.
Translation by Luísa Pessoa.

MINHA VELHA CONHECIDA, A NOITE

A noite é minha velha conhecida.
Eu já fui e voltei em meio à chuva,
Além das luzes da última avenida.

Já vi nos becos a tristeza nua.
Ao cruzar com o guarda noturno,
Baixei os olhos e evitei perguntas.

Suspendi meus passos, taciturno,
Quando uma voz interrompida
Soou ao longe, sem em seu turno

Oferecer-me adeus ou companhia.
E mais além no céu, longínqua,
A lua qual relógio reluzia

Sem ver no tempo bondade ou vilania.
A noite é minha velha conhecida.

ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Hits: 78

“I’ve seen a Dying Eye”, by Emily Dickinson., translated into Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese translation of “I’ve seen a Dying Eye”, by Emily Dickinson.
Translation by Luísa Pessoa..

O OLHO AGONIZANTE

Já vi um Olho Agonizante
Rodar e rodar um Quarto—
À procura de Algo — parecia —
Então se Turvar—
E então—tomado por Névoa—
E então—chumbar-se ao chão
Sem revelar que imagem
Abençoou-lhe a passagem—

I’VE SEEN A DYING EYE

I’ve seen a Dying Eye
Run round and round a Room—
In search of Something—as it seemed—
Then Cloudier become—
And then—obscure with Fog—
And then—be soldered down
Without disclosing what it be
’Twere blessed to have seen—

Hits: 73

“Counting”, by Philip Larkin, translated into Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese translation of Counting”, by Philip Larkin.
Translation by Luísa Pessoa.

CONTAGEM

Pensar o um sozinho
Que fácil caminho!
Um quarto, uma cadeira, uma alcova,
Uma só pessoa,
Faz total sentido; um punhado
De desejos pode ser realizado,
Um caixão ocupado.

Mas contar até dois
Complica o depois;
O um deve ser negado
Antes de ser testado.

COUNTING

Thinking in terms of one
Is easily done—
One room, one bed, one chair,
One person there,
Makes perfect sense; one set
Of wishes can be met,
One coffin filled.

But counting up to two
Is harder to do;
For one must be denied
Before it’s tried.

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“Thursday”, by Edna St. Vincent Millay, translated into Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese translation of  “Thursday“, by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Translation by Luísa Pessoa.

QUINTA

Se te amei na quarta,
   Isso é problema meu.
Não te amo na quinta —
Nosso caso morreu.

Já você vir reclamar,
   Porque isso te doeu,
Tá bom que te amei na quarta  — mas
   Isso é problema seu.

THURSDAY 

And if I loved you Wednesday, 
   Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday —
   So much is true. 

And why you come complaining 
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,— yes — but what
   Is that to me?

Hits: 61

“Negro Drama” lyrics translated into English

“Negro Drama” [Black Drama] lyrics translated to English by Luísa Pessoa. This translation was used in the international version of the video below, which promoted the manifesto “As Long There is Racism, There Will Be No Democracy“, from the Black Coalition of Rights, Brazil. The video was directed by João Wainer. “Negro Drama” is a song by Racionais MC’s, but, in this version, it is performed by Seu Jorge.

NEGRO DRAMA from TX on Vimeo.

Black drama! He tries, but can’t see a thing

but a star, far away, half shining

He feels the drama, the pressure, the expense

in love, in hate, the insane revenge

Black drama! I know who’s plotting and who’s my friend

The trauma I carry so I won’t be another fucked black man

The drama from jails and slums

Blood, siren, cries, candles, tombs

Passengers from Brazil, São Paulo, the agony

of those who survive the orders and cowardice

Outskirts, alleys, railroad flats

Bet you’re thinking: I have nothing to do with that

Since the beginning, in search of gold and silver,

Watch who dies and then how the killer

gets the merit and the uniform that harms

Seeing the poor in jail or dead became cultural

Stories, records, documents

This is no tale, fable, myth or legend

We’ve always heard: blacks won’t have their turn

So, look at that castle, brother, you’ve built it, scum

My friends from the battle are my comrades

I was flesh, now I’m the fucking blade

Cheers, a toast to me

I’m an example of glories, pathways and victories,

Money takes the man out of misery

But can’t erase the slum inside him

Few are those who enter the field to win

The soul keeps what the mind tries to forget

I look back and see the long path I’ve walked,

and who was by my side, and who kept out of sight

Stylish black drama

To be, you have to be, no fear

Between the trigger and the storm

Always proving I’m a man, not a scorn

May God protect me, I know he’s not impartial

He watches the rich, but loves the ghetto

I wear black, inside and outside

Warrior, poet, between memory and time

On this path, I see euros, karats and bills

And I say: Bro, don’t die, but don’t kill

The clock doesn’t wait, see how it goes

This path is full of mortars, it’s poisonous

Nightmare is a compliment

For those who live at war, peace never came

My people have cold sweats even when it’s hot

I saw a black kid, his notebook was a glock

Black drama

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