Conquistense Poetry 01: Edmilson Machado and his secret verses
Today I discovered a section in the local library completely dedicated to a very specific kind of book; and not about a special day in history, or the monumental bibliography of a single author (like you may find in a few great libraries around the world), but in fact, hear me out, a whole intact shelf of literatura Baiana (literature from the state of Bahia, Brasil), and even better, Conquistense (Conquistense refers to someone who is native or inhabitant of Vitória da Conquista; a Brasilian city from the state of Bahia), that holds, pretty much, the entirety of my hometown's published literary works (not, it definitely does not, this is a joke), including self-published and low-run titles.
Excited as only I can get about something seemingly so trivial to most, I decided to treat this blog to a running series, doing (possibly) the first English translation of many pieces of obscure poetry, that caught my eye and truly deserve to be revived at this point and time, to once again have a chance to shine in front of all new eyes. Each volume of the series will present a carefully curated selection of verses pertaining to whatever interesting Conquistense book/author I discover at the library, having in mind the current trends of world poetry. Thus, if you enjoy my literature and artistic ideology, you'll do good trusting my taste on this one.
The first piece I'd like to present is "Versos Esquecidos" (Forgotten Verses), by this regular man that once lived a regular life, but managed to get a chair in Vitória da Conquista's famed A1cademy of Letters, by means of his extraordinary view of the world, beautifully translated into a very distinct kind of poetry: Edmilson Machado — a common name for a common man.
The book itself is composed of various sections, each grouping either works from a certain phase of his life (i.e.the fiery youth, the cooling down adulthood, etc.), or a specific theme or format. This book is not, in its essence, a selection, and serves to represent his life work, telling stories from his horny, youthful years, all the way to singing odes to the life sprouted from his seed, his dear children. It is a faithful representation of his likes and dislikes, the ups and downs of his history, et cetera; it is the abstraction of Edmilson Ferreira Machado.
Solidão (Solitude)
"Lírios indolentes
perfumam o deserto
do meu abandono.
Há insetos pousados
manchando a brancura
que os lírios ostentam [...]"
"Indolent lilies
perfume the desert
of my solitude.
There are insects perched,
staining the whiteness
the lilies flaunt [...]"
(As explained, in lesser poetic value, in the rest of the poem, his solitude is intentional, self-made. In a moment of weakness he sees himself as a stain in the potential beauty of his self, and isolates himself from himself. But this excerpt can also be read from a much different perspective, in fact, from many other different perspectives. My favorite one being the sense of impurity in your poetic self, like a plague, staining your work.
Ironicamente (Ironically)
"Essas flores são pra você.
Não repare na monotonia de cor
nem na ausência de perfume que elas sugerem...
Era assim, também, nosso antigo amor:
Unicolor e inodoro...
Lembra-se?... [...]"
"These flowers are for you.
Don't mind the monotony of color
or the lack of scent they suggest...
Like it, was, also, our old love:
Monotone and odorless...
Remember?... [...]"
Advertência (Warning)
"Se me vires dormindo, minha amiga,
não penses que meu sono é tão profundo...
— só meus olhos se fecham —
meus devaneios lúbricos despertam!
Previna-te, portanto, meu amor,
porque tu vives sempre a passear
— completamente nua —
diante da volúpia dos meus sonhos."
"If you see me sleeping, my friend,
don't think that my sleep is so deep...
— only my eyes close —
my lustful reveries awake!
Therefore, beware, my love,
for you're always strolling around
— completely naked —
before the voluptuosness of my dreams."
(This one is quite funny. The early parts of his book are full of this youthful fuckery: both the delicacy of the first week's fuckfest and the aggressive rant at the aftermath of a break up; the happiness of kicking the ball around and the displeasure of his country's politics. And in this excerpt in specific, we have a pretty pure example of the inner workings of a young man's mind in regards to his love interest, but in a manner so intense — "beware, my love" — that it almost comes as his acknowledgement of a primal drive in means of turning him crazy. Coming from that, too, there's another half-a-dozen heavily sexual poems that won't be brought up, but are exactly what you'd expect to be happening everywhere in the 70s, when two lovebirds were left alone.) P.S. he's referring to a woman, even though it's not completely clear in translation.
Contágio (Contagion)
"Você vivia feliz
e eu curtia revezes...
Você colhia rosas
e eu calcava espinhos...
Éramos tão diferentes!
Depois, você ficou sozinha, sem ninguém,
muito triste (com certeza!),
tal como eu sempre vivi... [...]"
"You lived happily
and I wallowed in sadness...
You picked roses
and I trampled thorns...
We were so different!
But then,
you were alone, with no one by your side,
very sad (I'm certain),
just like I have always been... [...]"
Poem (to all the vegetarians of love)
(This one isn't very good, but the title is very clever. Comparing the process of nurturing a relationship to growing a plant.)
P.S.On second thought, I should've translated the poem as well, probably will if I remember to do so. (13/01/2023)
Saudade ("saudade" is near-impossible to translate, but refers to the feeling of missing something, of longing for whatever, like nostalgia)
"Brinquedos espalhados pela sala...
Ausência temporária de vozes e semblantes familiares.
Verde silêncio irrompendo de plantas ornamentais.
Almofadas abandonadas sobre poltronas solitárias.
Livros empilhados numa sábia mudez.
Sorriso infantil iluminando o espaço cinzento de um poster pendente da parede.
Berço vazio
cama vazia
quarto vazio
casa vazia
um enorme vazio dentro de mim:
saudade das vozes e dos semblantes queridos
que ora estão ausentes
e quanta falta fazem!"
"Toys scattered around the living room...
Temporary absence of voices and familiar faces.
Green silence coming from the ornamental plants.
Abandoned pillows in solitary armchairs.
Books stacked, in sapient silence.
Childish smile lighting up the gray space of a poster hanging on the wall.
Empty craddle
empty bed
empty room
empty house
a big emptiness inside of me:
Voices and familar faces,
now absent,
that I so long for."
(This one is, just as the title, quite hard to translate and keep faithful to the original. Especially because english sucks for poetry, and romance languages are infinitely superior in that regard, but also because the formatting of the original is of a ridiculously abstract format. So, in short, this one is a translation nightmare, and doesn't matter how much time I spend on it, I cannot be happy with the outcome. So take it as more of a "to understand what the words mean" instead of a "so that's what the author actually meant".)
Loosies
"Sua santidade, o Papa,
veio ao Brasil
e não me viu."
(in translation:
"His holiness, the pope,
came to Brazil
and didn't come say hi.")
"Você é A aberração da natureza!
É o perfeito contraste da beleza
e abusa do direito de ser feia!"
(in translation:
"You are THE freak of nature!
The perfect contrast of beauty
and abuses of the right of being ugly!")
And that's it, folks, my favorite bits of "Versos Secretos", a book by a very unknown person that boasts an extremely high title, but so anonymous I can't even tell if he's dead or not. The book itself holds quite a bit of value, too, if you take into consideration all the context around it, but also, at the same time, can seem just as trivial as the shelves upon shelves of Rick Riordan as you walk around the library looking for specific names. So the next time you're at a used-book store, or the library, remember that the bland-looking-ass book nobody buys could be holding a terrific secret behind its title.