Of passion, poetry and nostalgia
So, this week the Brazilian government launched a whole set of new Real bills. I preferred the older ones, which were not a shameless copy of the Euro bills, but hey, at least they copied something pretty. That got me thinking about the old currencies, from when I was a kid (the Real was only created in 1994). There was the Cruzado Novo, when I was six or seven years old; I remembered that the 50 cruzados novos bill had a poem by Carlos Drummond de Andrade on the back. It was my favourite poem for years, and the very first poem I memorized. And even though I had not thought about that poem in years, this week I found out that I could still recite it from memory.
Canção Amiga
Eu preparo uma canção
em que minha mãe se reconheça,
todas as mães se reconheçam,
e que fale como dois olhos.
Caminho por uma rua
que passa em muitos países.
Se não me vêem, eu vejo,
e saúdo velhos amigos.
Eu distribuo um segredo
como quem ama ou sorri.
Do jeito mais natural
dois carinhos se procuram.
Minha vida, nossas vidas
formam um só diamante.
Aprendi novas palavras
e tornei outras mais belas.
Eu preparo uma canção
que faça acordar os homens
e adormecer as crianças.
Friendly song (translation, imperfect as it is, is mine)
I am working on a song
in which my mother sees herself
all mothers see themselves
and that speaks like two eyes.
I walk along a street
which goes through many countries.
If they cannot see me, I see
and salute old friends.
I spread a secret
as one who loves or smiles.
In the most natural way
two caresses reach for each other.
My life, our lives
form one diamond only.
I've learnt new words
and made others prettier.
I am working on a song
that makes men wake up
and lets children sleep.
Years later, I discovered that politics and poetry were a match made in heaven and fell in love with O Navio Negreiro, by Castro Alves, and O operário em construção, from Vinícius de Moraes. But Canção Amiga always makes me think of the old days. I can still see myself holding a 50 cruzados novos bill, trying to read the poem (the letters on the bill were pretty small) and falling in love with a way to write that was unlike everything I knew so far. I think of simpler days, and of feelings I haven't felt in a while. My life is so hectic these days, with so much work and troubles, that sometimes I feel I'm just surviving, not living. Not making any difference. And the last thing I wanted in this life was to be just another face in the crowd.
Memorizing that poem took me days, but the first time I was able to recite it from memory, it was like I had conquered the world. The last time I felt that was when I found out my Anatomy 1 grade, but before that, I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt truly rewarded, truly satisfied with something.
It bothers me more than I'm willing to admit.
Canção Amiga
Eu preparo uma canção
em que minha mãe se reconheça,
todas as mães se reconheçam,
e que fale como dois olhos.
Caminho por uma rua
que passa em muitos países.
Se não me vêem, eu vejo,
e saúdo velhos amigos.
Eu distribuo um segredo
como quem ama ou sorri.
Do jeito mais natural
dois carinhos se procuram.
Minha vida, nossas vidas
formam um só diamante.
Aprendi novas palavras
e tornei outras mais belas.
Eu preparo uma canção
que faça acordar os homens
e adormecer as crianças.
Friendly song (translation, imperfect as it is, is mine)
I am working on a song
in which my mother sees herself
all mothers see themselves
and that speaks like two eyes.
I walk along a street
which goes through many countries.
If they cannot see me, I see
and salute old friends.
I spread a secret
as one who loves or smiles.
In the most natural way
two caresses reach for each other.
My life, our lives
form one diamond only.
I've learnt new words
and made others prettier.
I am working on a song
that makes men wake up
and lets children sleep.
Years later, I discovered that politics and poetry were a match made in heaven and fell in love with O Navio Negreiro, by Castro Alves, and O operário em construção, from Vinícius de Moraes. But Canção Amiga always makes me think of the old days. I can still see myself holding a 50 cruzados novos bill, trying to read the poem (the letters on the bill were pretty small) and falling in love with a way to write that was unlike everything I knew so far. I think of simpler days, and of feelings I haven't felt in a while. My life is so hectic these days, with so much work and troubles, that sometimes I feel I'm just surviving, not living. Not making any difference. And the last thing I wanted in this life was to be just another face in the crowd.
Memorizing that poem took me days, but the first time I was able to recite it from memory, it was like I had conquered the world. The last time I felt that was when I found out my Anatomy 1 grade, but before that, I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt truly rewarded, truly satisfied with something.
It bothers me more than I'm willing to admit.