Conquistense Poetry 07: The magic of Hildegardes Veloso Part 01
Now, after months of research into Conquistense literature, I can say for sure that very little can compare — considering the context and scene — to the poetics of Hildegardes Veloso. I'm a fan, completely, absolutely, of the 90's boy that today represents better than anybody else the independent poetry scene of his time. Despite many of his works growing unable to survive the test of time, much like the vast majority of national artistic subversivité from the 80s-90s, what did survive and count as utterly timeless today is nothing short of magnificent, and it is for that reason that, from now on, I'll be bringing to the table as both an archival and revival attempt —through the medium of translation—, his whole works. Though it's particularly not easy to find his earliest books, the author is still alive and, at the moment, I'm trying to contact him about his archives. Hopefully, I'll be able to complete within this year the translation of his pieces from 1987-2000, and have it all here, available for anyone who wants to read them, Portuguese or English-speaking.
In this one work here, "O Choro das Árvores (When Trees Cry)", we have for the most part the critical outcry of a poet, saddened by the state of humanity-nature's relationship in our time, presenting many philosophical and religious elements in the writing, as well as an impeccable lyricism to melt your heart. The few that don't particularly refer to The Big War or the environment's decay, on the other hand, are passionate love messages to also melt your heart. Therefore, you cannot go wrong with this book, and it is for sure one of my favorites by Veloso.
Since I'm going to translate the whole thing, naturally the posts will be separated in a few parts, so stick around for that.
Note: In order to more easily translate this work I took pictures of all the pages, and since they're not numbered, the order of each entry might be wrong.
Intro (or maybe outro)
"DEUS me deu o dom
o dom fez-me poeta
e eu o teu poeta
faço poesia para mudar
as pessoas com o dom
de doar...
DEUS é a pura essência
essencial da vida e do espírito.
E as árvores não tombadas
não doentes são a pura
essência essencial da vida...
E onde está a pura essência essencial dos homens
se os homens exalam
a pura essência essencial das árvores???"
"GOD* gave me the gift,
the gift made me a poet
and I, your poet,
make poetry to change
people, with the gift
of giving...
GOD is the pure essence;
essential of life and spirit.
And the trees not yet felled,
not yet diseased, are the pure
essential essence of life...
And where is the pure essential essence of the man,
if the man exhales
the pure essential essence of the trees???**"
*Every time you see words in all capitals, it is a mimicry of the original formatting of the book. The author while typing chose to give emphasis to certain words, with the majority of examples being any name related to god himself, or real people that have big importance in his life.
**The repetition of ponctuation as in "???" or "!!!", as you'll see, is also from the original formatting, in order to give emphasis.
Amanhã (Tomorrow)
"Amanhã o sol não nos despertará
nem os pássaros hão de cantar, suas canções melódicas.
Amanhã as estrelas não cintilarão nem a luz surgirá.
Amanhã não farei acepção de pessoas, nem serei um burguês vulgar.
Amanhã não lhe oferecerei o meu canto,
nem o meu sonho mais lindo, não
poderei mais te amar.
Amanhã o mundo não será dominado por gigantes, nossos olhos
hão de contemplar um novo horizonte.
Amanhã a guerra não prevalecerá
as bombas serão desfeitas, as usinas
de forças demolidas, uma nova vida ressurgirá.
Amanhã as crianças não dormirão nas calçadas, não sairão em busca
de pão, nem morrerão de fome.
Amanhã as árvores não serão tombadas, nem os rios poluídos.
Amanhã ou a qualquer momento
nem uma programação haverá
pois antes que o mundo se desintegre totalmente,
CRISTO VOLTARÁ..."
"Tomorrow the sun won't awaken us,
nor will the birds sing their melodic songs.
Tomorrow stars won't twinkle, nor will surge the light.
Tomorrow I wont receive any visitors, nor will I be a vulgar bourgeois.
Tomorrow I won't offer you my song,
nor my most beautiful dream;
I won't be able to love you anymore.
Tomorrow the world won't be dominated by giants,
our eyes will contemplate a new horizon.
Tomorrow the war will not prevail
bombs will be dismantled,
power plants demolished,
a new life will arise.
Tomorrow no children will sleep on sidewalks,
nor will they roam in search of bread, nor will they die of hunger.
Tomorrow trees will not be felled, nor will rivers be polluted.
Tomorrow, or at any moment,
not a single schedule will there be,
for before the world totally desintegrates,
CHRIST WILL ARRIVE..."
Sonhos ofegantes (Breathless dreams)
"Nas calçadas...
Corações acelerados
sonhos com pães imolados.
Mãos atadas, olhos de lágrimas
cacareco nas costas.
Destino?
Querer? Lógica
ou desacerto?
Serão eles os culpados
desse fardo pesado?
De manhã a procura
dos coitados malroupidos
e malquistos.
À tarde a busca a pino
circunvalados dormem nos papelões
com a noite gélida
e os sonhos ofegantes
com pães imolados..."
"On the sidewalks...
Hearts beating fast,
dreams of moldy bread.
Wrapped hands, teary eyes,
junk on the back.
Goals?
Desire?
Logic or mistake?
Are they guilty of such a heavy fate?
Every morning, the search of the shabby and unloved.
Come the afternoon, the search at its peak.
Circumvallated, sleeping on cardboard sheets,
in the freezing night;
breathless dreams of moldy bread."
Um livro em branco (A blank book)
"O homem rapidamente
desintegra o mundo.
Bombas preparadas, mesa
sem pão, sem nada.
Mísseis instalados
barrigas vazias,
costelas de fora,
olhos arregalados.
Árvore caída
poema consumido
poeta foragido
lágrimas com abundância
dos meus olhos derramam
envio ao povo meu grito.
Mas ninguém me sente
ninguem me vê clamando.
Eu não queria nunca
lançar um livro
em branco..."
The men rapidly desintegrate the world.
Bombs ready, but no bread on the table, no nothing.
Missiles ready,
empty bellies,
ribs sticking out,
eyes wide open.
Tree felled,
poem consumed,
the poet a fugitive;
abundant tears
shed from my eyes:
I send my cry to the people.
But nobody can feel me,
nobody sees me cry.
I never wanted to release
a blank book..."
Poluição (Pollution)
"Um sorriso fugira depressa
a atmosfera chorou na obscuridade
e tudo se tornara negro,
tão negro quanto a noite..."
"A smile quickly fled,
the atmosphere wept in obscurity,
and everything turned black,
as black as night..."
???*
"A terra rachada
uma árvore suspensa
uma voz clamando
pela paz na escuridão.
Um lobo e um homem
chorando... Chorando..."
"The cracked earth,
a hanging tree,
a voice crying
for peace, in the dark.
A wolf and a man
crying... Crying..."
*That actually is the title of this one.