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Sad Tropics

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We're told about Indians who suffer and are becoming scarce.
Aren't we themselves oppressed peoples?
No penis sheats, no curare,
but the same terror that forces us to back off.
 
Some used to set off in the morning and come back
in the evening, living off the land and false hopes.
On piddling hunting grounds,
you still own the right to be cynical
and to refuse to follow the crowd like donkeys1,
and not to go dancing like pieces of machinery
on the incense smokes of
on the incense smokes of sad tropics,
among apocalyptic flute sounds.
 
Some used to set off in the morning and come back
in the evening, hunters-gatherers clad in black.
Even though the forest is dying, rotting away,
this is not enough to be considered a challenge.
 
Some Atlantises again
Some Atlantises again are collapsing into the sea,
but all that dies one day is reborn one day.
We still own the right to sit there
in the din of great trees and saws,
not to ape others, to pretend,
not to go dancing like pieces of machinery
on the blue smokes of sad tropics,
on the blue smokes of sad tropics,
among apocalyptic flute sounds.
 
Naked Indian girls, ageless women
who will have turned into peat or folliage,
the day you wake up, the swamp
will be covered in steel up to the clouds.
 
And in front of precious marble pools
the Indian girls come to die and become scarce.
Aren't we themselves the rarest of Indians?
It might not be too late to save us.
 
Since we all have to meet our end someday, somewhere,
we will go into hinding in some pond,
in one of those lagoons spared by History,
where the sand is a home, and the wind is a tune,
in one of those sad tropics' lagoons
where the sand is a home, and the wind is a tune,
in one of those sad tropics' lagoons.
 
In one of those lagoons
where the sand is a home.
in one of those sad tropics' lagoons.
 
In one of those lagoons
In one of those lagoons
 

• 1. lit. 'like a goat', but the term used for a person implies stubbornness and stupidity

This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

Goodbye, sorrow

I feel the soft breeze between my hands,
fireflies shine, shine
look at how they fly!
There's a new smile in my face today,
I can't help saying hi
to everyone who pass by.
 
When I know I won't find you again
tears, hours beside you
are part of the past, now.
 
And well, dry tears erase my pain
dreams I hid inside my heart
are an absurd concern,
that's why, I will welcome sorrow while smiling
like if it was an old friend from yesterday,
because I promised you this way...
 
Flower petals among my hair,
whisper to me:
why?, why?, is that goodbye so cruel?
I can't blame you for your departure,
life is this way, you see
no one decides what could have been.
 
Even though, today I'm drowning by your memories
my spirit wants to fight
doesn't want to cry.
 
Despite my heart brokes in a thousand pieces
by those pieces, happiness I felt one day,
with you, will escape.
 
If you look at me, you'll find out my words are sincere,
sorrow will help me survive
because I promised you this way...
 
And now, dry tears erase my pain
dreams I hid inside my heart
are an absurd concern,
that's why, I will welcome sorrow while smiling
like if it was an old friend from yesterday,
because I promised you this way...
 
Even when pain is drowning me,
I'll keep on fighting
I will never hide from solitude
because I promised you this way...
 
Just learning.

Sadness

It's cold, I'm home all alone,
my friends are far away...
 
Winter is a cruel scythe
that reminds me that yesteryear's dreams are rusted,
of acidic strawberries and birds made from cotton,
dreams of mornings made of honey and plums,
we must recover them...those dreams...
 
The window weaves the heavy rain,
a capricious flurry...
 
'There's no place for people like you in this world'
said the swindler of the employment office.
 
It's cold, I'm home all alone,
my friends are far away...
 
I curse each moment of the everyday comedy
that pushes us towards conformism,
it's a bad time for dignity
but can't remain hunched over,
sadness is a forbidden feeling
for people who try to make a living every day,
depression is a bourgeois luxury
incompatible with the working class...
 

• No utilicen mis traducciones sin crédito o permiso. — Don't use my translations without credit or permission.


• Tienen permiso de usar mis traducciones como base para hacer otras traducciones, pero solo en este sitio con crédito. — You have permission to use my translations as a base to make other translations, but only on this site and with credit.


• Terminology: lit. (literally), lat. (latin term), pr. (pronunciation).

Sadness

Sadness
please go away
so much you in my house
no, you will never enter
there are so many people
who need to suffer
and every day cry a bit
instead Ornella / Andrea
wants to live and sing
and she/he must tell you no
 
La La La La
 
Sadness
please go away
do not have the craze
to live with me
I would like to paint
of red
my room
just you walk away
I will do it
in your place
I have already invited hope
and finally I will live
 
La La La La
 
Thanks a lot for your attention!

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Hello Sadness

For as long as we've been together
You come every morning
To give me the first caress
Hello, sadness.
Friend who looks like me
You're the only mirror
In which I can contemplate my youth
Hello, sadness.
You know the secret of my pain
Because it was you who rocked it in its cradle.
 
And if I must remember
You come to put your hand on mine
And you never forget
For as long as we've been together
You're my only love
I'm too weak
To leave you
Hello, sadness
For as long as we've been together
You're my only love
And I'm too weak
To leave you
Hello, sadness.
 
i hope this translation was useful to you. use it wherever, i don't mind.
i write evocative translations rather than precise ones so this might not be 'word for word'.

The Road of Sorrows Part II

Fate through a bullet
If there`d be seven lives
The nights too long
You won`t forgive me (for them)
 
Leave me wiped
When you`ll know me
Undying only a verse
Absent among the living
 
I`m a jewelcrafter
I`m selling thousands of sorrows
I throw them towards the sky
Lead in arrows
 
Life in droplets
When it will dry out
A bird in free fall
I will throw
 
The nights were fretting
When the stars were falling
In my chest I was gathering
The sorrows were burning
 
Abandoned beaches
To rent (I want)
In late autumns
To drink from the rain (I want)
 
I have nothing left
Beneath the ribs nothing
The empty twinge in the chest
Hoarfrost in an envelope
 
The nights were fretting
When the stars were falling
In my chest I was gathering
The sorrows were burning
 

To the Sad One

There lies what once was: the stubborn sword
of the Saxon and its steel metric,
the seas and the islands of exile
of Laertes' son, the golden
moon of the Persian and the endless gardens
of philosophy and history,
the sepulchral gold of the memory
and in the shadow, the smell of the jasmines.
And none of it matters. The resigned
exercising of the verse doesn't save you
nor do the waters of the dream or the star
which forgets dawn in the razed night.
A single woman is your care,
she's just like the others, but she is herself.
 

The Year's Saddest Song

Dear, when our wine get bitter or lose its flavor
When my make-up gets smudged and the photos fade
Will you still heat me when there's not even heat left for me?
And when the cigarette dies off, will the ashes and the freshness have been worth it?
 
When our song plays, will you still remember the rhythm?
When the world hurts me, will you still want to ease my pain?
Your voice and your breath are my favorite noises
But when I forget to live, your eyes will still remind me of who I am
 
Will you still want to wake up with my touch and listening to my voice?
Will your life still mean anything if our life was all that was left for you?
When you get tired, my hug will still be your shelter
But when life ends, will you still want to go wherever I go?
 
Will you still smile when I'm your only reason?
Will you still hear what I say even when I only want to talk about love?
Will you still try to understand me when I no longer make sense?
And will you still be with me after you see my worst side?
 
Translation done by Alma Barroca. In case you want to reprint it, please ask for permission first and always cite my name as its author. /
Tradução feita por Alma Barroca. Caso você queira reutilizá-la, por favor peça por permissão antes e sempre cite meu nome como o do autor.

Gloomy Evening

Barbarically that woman sang
In that deserted cafe, late,
Barbarically, but full of sorrow -
And such an upset all about ...
And in the music's monstrous row
Barbarically that woman sang.
 
Barbarically that woman sang ...
And there we were, in such a gloom -
Through cigarette-smoke, as through clouds,
Pondering non-existent worlds ...
And with a long, satanic boom,
Barbarically that woman sang.
 
Barbarically that woman sang,
And such an upset all about ...
And we never even made it home,
Foreheads on tables, crying out,
While over us, in the deserted room -
Barbarically that woman sang ...