Poems

  arethewritingsintheblood

  andonthebarkoftrees.

  Heknowsthenamesofwildflowers

  andremembersthoseoftherarest

  fruitsofcross-breeding.

  Nostalgialivesinhim,

  acountryfiedcity-man,

  ascholarlycountry-man.

  He’sbecomeapatriarch.

  Andthenyouseeonewho

  inheritedyourhardwill

  andyourhardstoicism.

  Buthedidn’twanttorepeatyou.

  Hethoughtitnotworththetrouble

  toreproduceontheearth

  whattheearthwillswallowup.

  Heloved.Heloves.Andwilllove.

  Buthedoesn’twanthislove

  tobeaprisonfortwo,

  acontract,betweenyawns,

  andfourfeetinbedroomslippers.

  Passionateatfirstmeeting,

  dry,thesecondtime,

  agreeable,thethird,

  onemightsayhe’safraid

  ofbeingfatallyhuman.

  Onemightsaythatherages,

  butthatsweetnesstranscendshisrage,

  andthathisclever,difficult

  recoursesforfoolinghimself

  abouthimselfexert

  aforcewithoutaname

  unless,perhaps,it’skindness.

  Onekeptquiet,notwanting

  tocarryonthecolloquy,

  rustling,subterranean,

  ofthemoretalkativeones

  withnewwordsofherown.

  Shekeptquiet,youweren’tbothered.

  Ifyoulovedhersomuchlikethat,

  there’ssomethinginherthatstill

  lovesyou,inthecross-grainedway

  thatsuitsus.(Notbeinghappy

  canexplaineverything.)

  Iknow,Iknowhowpainful

  thesefamilyoccasionsare

  andtoargueatthisminute

  wouldbetokilltheparty

  andyou—onedoesn’tdie

  once,andnotforever.

  Duetothedisagreements

  ofourbloodinthebodies

  itrunsdividedin,

  therearealwaysmanylives

  lefttobeconsumed.

  Therearealwaysmanydead

  lefttobereincarnated

  atlengthinanotherdead.

  Butweareallalive.

  Andmorethanalive,joyful.

  Weareallaswewere

  beforewewere,andnoone

  cansaythathedidn’tget

  somethingfromyou.Forexample:

  thereatthecornerofthetable,

  butnottobehumble,perhaps

  outofpurevanity

  andtoshowoffhisawkwardness

  incarefullyawkwardposes,

  thereyouseeme.Whatofit?

  Keepcalm.Keepcalm.I’mworking.

  Afterall,thegoodlife

  stillisonly:life

  (andneitherwasitsogood,

  norisitsoverybad).

  Well,that’sme.Observe:

  Ihaveallthedefects

  Ididn’tsmokeoutinyou,

  nordoIhavethoseyouhad,

  anymorethanyourqualities.

  Nevermind:I’myourson

  justbybeinganegative

  wayofaffirmingyou.

  Oh,howwefoughtandfought!

  Wow!Itwasn’tfunny,

  but—thepathsoflove,

  onlylovecantrackthemdown.

  Igaveyousuchscantpleasure,

  none,perhaps…unless

  Imayhavegivenyou

  asortofhopeofpleasure,

  theindifferentsatisfaction

  ofonewhofeelshisson,

  justbecauseofbeinguseless,

  mayturnouttobe,atleast,

  notabadcharacter.

  I’mnotabadcharacter.

  Ifyoususpectit,stop;

  I’mnotanyofthosethings.

  Someaffectionsstill

  cangetatmyboredheart.

  Iboremyself?Toomuch.

  That’smytrouble.Onefailing

  Ididn’tinheritfromyou.

  Well,don’tkeeplookingatme,

  therearemanystilltosee.

  Eight.Andalllower-case,

  allfrustrated.Whatsadder

  floracouldwehavefound

  toornamentthetable!

  Butno!Ofsuchremote,

  suchpure,forgottenones

  onthesucking,transformingearth,

  aretheangels.Howluminous!

  Theirraysofloveshineout,

  andamongtheemptyglasses

  theirglassesclinkuntil

  eventheshadowsreverberate.

  Theyareangelsthatdeign

  toparticipateinthebanquet,

  tositonthelittlestool,

  toliveachild’slife.

  Theyareangelsthatdeign

  thatamortalreturntoGod

  somethingofhisdivine

  ethereal,sensitivesubstance,

  ifhehas,andloses,achild.

  Count:fourteenatthetable.

  Orthirty?Orweretherefifty?

  HowdoIknow—ifmore

  arrive,daily,oneflesh

  multipliedandcrossed

  withotherlovingflesh?

  Therearefiftysinners,

  iftobeborn’sasin,

  anddemonstrate,insins,

  thosewewerebequeathed.

  Theprocessionofyourgrandsons,

  lengtheningintogreat-grandsons,

  comestoaskyourblessing

  andtoeatyourdinner.

  Takenotice,foraninstant,

  ofthechin,thelook,thegesture,

  oftheprofoundconscience,

  andofthegirlishgrace,

  andsay,if,afterall,

  thereisn’t,amongmyerrors,

  anunexpectedtruth.

  Thisismyexplanation,

  mybestoruniqueverse,

  myall,fillingmynothing.

  Andnowthetable,replete,

  isbiggerthanthehouse.

  Wetalkwithourmouthsfull,

  wecalleachothernames,

  welaugh,wesplitoursides,

  weforgettheterrible

  inhibitingrespect,

  andallourhappiness

  blightedinsomanyblack

  commemorativebanquets

  (nouserememberingnow),

  gesturesoffamilyaffection

  accumulated,heldback

  (nouserememberingnow),

  thekindandgentlewords

  thatsaidattherighttime

  couldhavechangedourlives

  (nousechangingnow),

  areattable,spreadingout

  unprecedentedfood.

  Oh,whatmorecelestialsupper

  andwhatgreaterjoyonearth!

  Whopreparedit?Whatincomparable

  vocationforsacrifice

  setthetable,hadthechildren?

  Whowassacrificed?Whopaid

  thepriceofallthislabor?

  Whosewastheinvisiblehand

  thattracedthisarabesque

  inflowersaroundthepudding,

  asanaureoleistraced?

  Whohasanaureole?Who

  doesn’thaveone,since

  aureolesaregold,andshe

  wantedtoshareitquickly,

  andwiththethought,shedid.

  Whositsattheleftside,

  bentoverthatway?Whatwhite,

  butwhatwhitemorethanwhite

  targetofwhitehair

  drawsthecolorfromtheoranges,

  cancelsthecoffee,an
d

  outshinestheseraphim?

  Whoisalllightandiswhite?

  Youhadnopresentiment

  surely,howwhitecanbe

  amorediversetinge

  ofwhitenessitself…Purity

  elaboratedin

  yourabsence,andmadeperfect,

  cold,concreteandlunar.

  Howcouldourpartybe

  foroneandnotfortwo?

  Nowyouarereunited

  inaweddingringmuchgreater

  thanthesimpleringofearth,

  togetheratthistable

  ofwoodmorelawful*thanany

  lawoftherepublic.

  Nowyouareaboveus,

  andabovethisdinner

  towhichwesummonedyou

  sofar—atlast—toloveyou

  andloving,deludeourselves

  atatablethatis

  empty.

  FromTheDeathandLifeofaSeverino

  APernambucoChristmasPlay,1954–55

  ( JoãoCabraldeMeloNeto)

  I

  The“Retirante”Explains

  totheReaderWhoHeIs

  andWhatHeDoes

  —MynameisSeverino,

  IhavenoChristianname.

  TherearelotsofSeverinos

  (asaintofpilgrimages)

  sotheybegantocallme

  Maria’sSeverino.

  TherearelotsofSeverinos

  withmotherscalledMaria,

  soIbecameMaria’s

  ofZacarias,deceased.

  Butstillthisdoesn’ttellmuch:

  therearemanyintheparish

  becauseofacertaincolonel*

  whosenamewasZacarias

  whowastheveryearliest

  senhorofthisregion.

  Thenhowexplainwho’sspeaking

  toYourExcellencies?

  Let’ssee:theSeverino

  ofMariaofZacarias,

  fromtheMountainoftheRib,

  attheendofParaiba.

  Butstillthisdoesn’tmeanmuch.

  Therewereatleastfivemore

  withthenameofSeverino,

  sonsofsomanyMarias,

  wivesofsomanyother

  Zacariases,deceased,

  livingonthesamethin,

  bonymountainwhereIlived.

  TherearelotsofSeverinos;

  weareexactlyalike:

  exactlythesamebighead

  that’shardtobalanceproperly,

  thesameswollenbelly

  onthesameskinnylegs,

  alikebecausetheblood

  weusehaslittlecolor.

  AndifweSeverinos

  areallthesameinlife,

  wediethesamedeath,

  thesameSeverinodeath.

  Thedeathofthosewhodie

  ofoldagebeforethirty,

  ofanambuscadebeforetwenty,

  ofhungeralittledaily.

  (TheSeverinodeath

  fromsicknessandfromhunger

  attacksatanyage,

  eventheunbornchild.)

  WearemanySeverinos

  andourdestiny’sthesame:

  tosoftenupthesestones

  bysweatingoverthem,

  totrytobringtolife

  adeadanddeaderland,

  totrytowrestafarm

  outofburnt-overland.

  But,sothatYourExcellencies

  canrecognizemebetter

  andbeabletofollowbetter

  thestoryofmylife,

  I’llbetheSeverino

  you’llnowseeemigrate.

  II

  HeMeetsTwoMenCarryinga

  CorpseinaHammockandCrying

  “BrothersofSouls!BrothersofSouls!

  IDidn’tKillHim,NotI!” *

  —Whomareyoucarrying,

  brothersofsouls,

  wrappedinthathammock?

  kindlyinformme.

  —Adefunctnobody,

  brotherofsouls,

  travellinglonghoursto

  hisrestingplace.

  —Doyouknowwhohewas,

  brothersofsouls?

  Doyouknowwhathisnameis,

  orwhatitwas?

  —SeverinoFarmer,

  brotherofsouls,

  SeverinoFarmer,

  farmingnomore.

  —Fromwheredoyoubringhim,

  brothersofsouls?

  Wheredidyoustartout

  onyourlongjourney?

  —Fromthedriestoflands,

  brotherofsouls,

  fromthelandwherenoteven

  wildplantswillgrow.

  —Didhedieofthisdeath,

  brothersofsouls,

  wasitthisdeathhediedof,

  orwashekilled?

  —Itwasn’tthatdeath,

  brotherofsouls,

  itwasdeathbykilling,

  inambuscade.

  —Andwhohidinambush,

  brothersofsouls?

  Andwithwhatdidtheykillhim,

  aknifeorabullet?

  —Thiswasabulletdeath,

  brotherofsouls.

  Abullet’smorecertain

  (itgoesindeeper).

  —Andwhowasitambushedhim,

  brothersofsouls,

  wholetthisbulletbird

  out,toharmhim?

  —That’shardtoanswer,

  brotherofsouls,

  there’salwaysabullet

  idleandflying.

  —Butwhathadhedone

  brothersofsouls,

  whathadhedone,

  toharmsuchabird?

  —Heownedafewacres,

  brotherofsouls,

  ofstoneandleechedsand

  hecultivated.

  —Butdidhehavefields,

  brothersofsouls,

  howcouldheplant

  onthebarrenrock?

  —Inthethinlipsofsand,

  brotherofsouls,

  inthestones’intervals,

  heplantedstraw.

  —Andwashisfarmbig,

  brothersofsouls,

  washisfarmsobig

  thattheycovetedit?

  —Hehadonlytwoacres,

  brotherofsouls,

  onthemountain’sshoulder,

  andneitheronelevel.

  —Thenwhydidtheykillhim,

  brothersofsouls,

  whydidtheykillhim

  withashotgun?

  —Itwantedtospreaditself,

  brotherofsouls,

  thisbulletbirdwanted

  toflymorefreely.

  —Andnowwhatwillhappen,

  brothersofsouls,

  willmeasuresbetaken

  againstthatgun?

  —Ithasmorespacetoflyin,

  brotherofsouls,

  morespaceandmorebullets

  toteachtofly.

  —Andwherewillyouburyhim,

  brothersofsouls,

  withtheseedstillinhim,

  theseedoflead?

  —InthegraveyardofTorres,

  brotherofsouls,

  (nowToritama)

  atbreakofday.

  —AndcanIhelpyou,

  brothersofsouls,

  sinceIpassToritama,

  it’sonmyway.

  —Yes,youcanhelpus,

  brotherofsouls,

  it’sabrotherofsouls

  whohearsourcall.

  Andthengoback,

  brotherofsouls,

  youcangoback

  fromtheretoyourhome.

  —I’llgoback;it’sfar,

  brothersofso
uls,

  it’salongday’smarch

  andthemountainishigh.

  Thedefunctisluckier,

  brothersofsouls,

  sincehewon’tbegoing

  thelongwayback.

  —Toritamaisnear,

  brotherofsouls,

  we’llreachholyground

  bybreakofday.

  —Let’sgowhileit’snight,

  brothersofsouls,

  forthedead’sbestshroud

  isastarlessnight.

  XIV

  (ACHILDHASJUSTBEENBORN)

  Neighbors,Friends,TwoGypsies,etal.

  ArriveandStandTalkinginthe

  DoorwayoftheMan’sHouse

  —Alltheheavenandearth

  aresinginginhispraise.

  Itwasforhimthetide

  didn’tgoouttonight.

  —Itwasforhimthetide

  madeitsmotorstop.

  Themudstayedcoveredup

  andthestenchdidn’trise.

  —AndSargassolavender,

  acidanddisinfectant,

  cametosweepourstreets,

  sentfromthedistantsea.

  —Andthesponge-drytongue

  ofwindfromtheinterior

  cametosuckthemoisture

  outofthestagnantpuddle.

  —Alltheheavenandearth

  aresinginginhispraise.

  Andeveryhousebecomes

  aninvitingrefuge.

  —Everyhutbecomes

  thekindofidealrefuge

  highlythoughtofby

  thesociologists.

  —Theorchestraofmosquitoes

  thatbroadcastseverynight,

  becauseofhim,Ithink,

  isofftheairtonight.

  —Andthisriver,alwaysblind,

  opaquefromeatingdirt,

  thatneverreflectsthesky,

  hasadorneditselfwithstars.

  NewandUncollectedWork(1969)

  RainySeason;Sub-Tropics

  GiantToad

  Iamtoobig,toobigbyfar.Pityme.

  Myeyesbulgeandhurt.Theyaremyonegreatbeauty,evenso.Theyseetoo much,above,below,andyetthereisnotmuchtosee.Therainhasstopped.The mistisgatheringonmyskinindrops.Thedropsrundownmyback,runfrom thecornersofmydownturnedmouth,rundownmysidesanddripbeneathmy

  belly.Perhapsthedropletsonmymottledhidearepretty,likedewdrops,silver on a moldering leaf? They chill me through and through. I feel my colors changingnow,mypigmentsgraduallyshudderandshiftover.

  NowIshallgetbeneaththatoverhangingledge.Slowly.Hop.Twoorthree

  times more, silently. That was too far. I’m standing up. The lichen’s gray, and roughtomyfrontfeet.Getdown.Turnfacingout,it’ssafer.Don’tbreatheuntil thesnailgetsby.Butwegotravellingthesameweathers.

  Swallowtheairandmouthfulsofcoldmist.Givevoice,justonce.Ohowit echoedfromtherock!Whataprofound,angelicbellIrang!

  Ilive,Ibreathe,byswallowing.Once,somenaughtychildrenpickedmeup, meandtwobrothers.Theysetusdownagainsomewhereandinourmouthsthey putlitcigarettes.Wecouldnothelpbutsmokethem,totheend.Ithoughtitwas the death of me, but when I was entirely filled with smoke, when my slack mouthwasburning,andallmytripeswerehotanddry,theyletusgo.ButIwas sickfordays.