JOAQUIM CARDOZO

 (b. 1897) was born in Recife and is a gradúate of the Engineering School of Pernambuco. Carlos Drummond de Andrade refers to him as "a modernist more absent than present," for his first book, a collection of poems

written since 1925, was not published until 1947. For many years he has been employed as a specialist in calculus for an engineering firm in Rio. His poetry is greatly admired by the new generation of poets in Brazil.

TEXTOS EM PORTUGUÊS    /    TEXTS IN ENGLISH

CEMITÉRIO DA INFÂNCIA

         Semana da criança, 1953

No cemitério da Infância

Era manha quando entrei,

Das plantas que vi florindo

De tantas me deslumbre! . . .

Era manhã. reluzindo

Quando ao meu país cheguei,

Dos rostos que vi sorrindo

De poucos me lembrarei.

Vinha de largas distâncias

No meu cavalo veloz,

Pela noite, sobre a noite,

Na pesquisa de arrebóis;

E ouvia, sinistramente,

Longínqua, esquecida voz . . .

Galos cantavam, cantavam.

— Auroras de girassóis.

Por êsses aléns de serras,

Pelas léguas de verão,

Quantos passos repetidos

Trilhados no mesmo chão;

Pelas margens das estradas:

Rosário, cruz, coração . . .

Mulheres rezando as lágrimas,

Passando as gotas na mão.

Aqui caíram as asas

Dos anjos. Rudes caminhos

Adornam covas pequenas

De urtiga branca e de espinhos;

Mais perto cheguei meus passos,

Mais e demais, de mansinho:

As almas do chão revoaram:

Um bando de passarinhos.

Oh! aflições pequeninas

Em corações de brinquedos;

Em sono se desfolharam

Tuas roseiras de medo ...

Teus choros trazem relentos:

Ternuras de manha cedo;

Oh! Cemitério da Infância

Abre a luz do teu segredo.

Carne, cinza, terra, adubo

Guardam mistérios mortais;

Meninos, depois adultos:

Os grandes canaviais . . .

— Crescem bagas nos arbustos,

Como riquezas reais,

Pasta o gado nas planuras

Dos vastos campos gerais.

ELEGÍA PARA MARÍA ALVES

Trago-te aqui estas flores

— Filhas que são, modestas, de um sol de outubro —

São flores das velhas cercas, flores de espinheiros,

São verbenas e perpetuas, bogaris e resedás;

Têm as cores do céu nos crepúsculos longínquos

E a transparência e a limpidez das tardes em que sonharam

         moças

Nos mirantes dos antigos jardins de arrabaldes.

As frutas que deposito no chão, no teu chão, dentro desta
         folha de aninga ...

— Filhas, também, de um sol que tu não viste —

São araçás silvestres, cajás de cercas nativas,

Pitangas, macarandubas, corações de rainha;

São vermelhas, são cheirosas e amarelas

Como se fossem . . . como se flores ainda . . .

As terras que espalho sobre o terreno do teu corpo vazio

— De muito distante vieram —

São areias do Rio Doce e da Piedade

Barros vermelhos das ribanceiras do Mar

Argilas das "Ruinas de Palmira" com as suas cores

De arco-íris naufragado entre os morros de Olinda.

Assim, Maria, trago-te flores, frutos e terras . . .

E para que se conservem sempre frescas e puras

Sobre elas derramo estas águas

Que são doces e claras, que são mansas e amigas:

Água da Levada de Apipucos

Água da Bica do Rosário

— Relíquias de chuvas antigas —

Águas por mim, por ti, por todos nos choradas.

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TEXTS IN ENGLISH

CEMETERY OF CHILDHOOD

         Translated by Elizabeth Bishop

         Children´s Week, 1953

In the cemetery of Childhood

It was morning when I entered,

The flowers were in bloom,

So many I was dazzled . . .

It was morning, bright with dew,

When I reached my own country:

Of the smiling faces I saw

I´ll remember very few.

From wide distances

My horse travelled swiftly,

Through night, across the night,

Searching by after-glow;

And I heard, ominous,

A remote, forgotten voice ...

And the roosters crow and crow

— Sunrise sunflowers.

From behind those mountains,

Through the leagues of summer,

How many repeated steps

Tracking the same ground;

And along the roadsides:

Rosary, cross, and heart. . .

Women praying tears,

Their hands telling the drops.

Here the wings of the angels

Fell off. Homely paths

Adorn the small graves

With thorns and white nettles;

My steps carne closer, closer,

Too close, stealthily:

The souls flew up from the ground:

A flock of little birds.

Oh! the small afflictions

In the hearts of toys!

Your sleeping rosebushes

Drop their leaves in fright. . .

Your grief brings evening dew,

Sweetness of early morning;

Oh! cemetery of Childhood,

Reveal your secret light.

Flesh, ash, and earth
Feed mortal mysteries;

Children, then adults:

The big fields of cane ...

Like a king's ransom

Berries load the trees,

Cattle graze the levels

Of the vast common plain.

ELEGY POR MARÍA ALVES

      Translated by Elizabeth Bishop

I bring you now these flowers

— Modest flowers of an October sun —

Flowers from old hedgerows, flowers from bramble bushes,

Verbenas and everlastings, jasmines and mignonettes;

Colors of the sky in far-off  twilights

And the transparency and limpidity of afternoons

When girls dreamed in the gazebos

In ancient gardens at the city's edge.

The fruits that I place on the ground, your ground,

Wrapped in this philodendron leaf
(Daughters, too, of a sun you did not see)

Are wild guavas, plums from native hedges,

Surinam cherries, star-apples, queens' hearts;

They are red, they are fragrant and yellow

As if they were . . . as if still blossoms . . .

The earths that I scatter

Over the earth of your empty body

Come from far away:

Sands from Sweet River and from Piety,

Red grains from the shores of the sea,

Potters' clays from the "Ruins of Palmyra" with their colors

Of rainbow shipwrecked on the hills of Olinda.

Thus, Maria, I bring you flowers, fruits, and earths . . .

And to keep them always fresh and pure,

Over them I pour these waters,

Sweet and clear, mild and friendly:

Water from the Sluice of Apipucos,

Water from the Fount of the Rosary

— Relies of ancient rains —

Waters wept for me, for you, for all of us.  

AN INTRODUCTION TO MODERN BRAZILIAN POETRY. Verse translations by Leonard S. Downes.  [São Paulo]: Clube de Poesia do Brasil, 1954.  84 p.   14x20 cm.  “ Leonard S. Downes “ Ex. Biblioteca Nacional de Brasília.

BIRDS OF PREY

´Tis many years since the roads
Dragged themselves over the mountains.
They traversed forests in pursuit of the distance,
Slow and sinuous they slid across the plains.

Rains and winds passed over them,
and winged shadows…

One day came aeroplanes and set the distance free,
The aerorplanes swooped down and carried off the roads.