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Ronald de Carvalho: Brazil

The poet hears the sounds of Brazil in an hour of pure sunlight, including the sounds of nature like the Iguassu Falls pounding rocks, the lazy yet powerful Amazon River, the hot winds of the northeast, and the many birds and animals of the jungle. The poet also hears the industrial sounds of sugar cane mills, rubber plantations, sawmills, steel factories, and the bustling cities. But most of all, the poet hears the song of the cradles and future of Brazil, with dark-skinned babies sleeping while being fed milk.

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1K views2 pages

Ronald de Carvalho: Brazil

The poet hears the sounds of Brazil in an hour of pure sunlight, including the sounds of nature like the Iguassu Falls pounding rocks, the lazy yet powerful Amazon River, the hot winds of the northeast, and the many birds and animals of the jungle. The poet also hears the industrial sounds of sugar cane mills, rubber plantations, sawmills, steel factories, and the bustling cities. But most of all, the poet hears the song of the cradles and future of Brazil, with dark-skinned babies sleeping while being fed milk.

Uploaded by

Christian
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
  • Brazil

Brazil

Ronald de Carvalho

In this hour of pure sunlight


still palms
shining rocks 
flashes
gleams
scintillations
I hear the vast song of Brazil
I hear the thundering steed of Iguassu
pounding the naked rocks, prancing in
the wet air, trampling with watery feet
the morning of spume and green trills;

I hear thy solemn melody, thy barbaric


and solemn melody, Amazon, the
melody of thy lazy flood, heavy as oil,
the swells
greater and ever greater, licking the
mud of banks, gnawing roots, dragging
along islands, goring the listless ocean
like a bull infuriated with rods, darts,
branches, and leaves;

I hear the earth crackling in the hot northeast wind, earth that heaves beneath the
bare bronze foot of the outlaw, earth that turns to dust and whirls in silent clouds
through the streets of Joazaeiro and falls to power on the dry plains of Crato; 

I hear the chirping of jungles—trills, pipings, peepings, quavers, whistles’ whirrings,


tapping of beaks, deep tone that thumb like taut wires, clearly vibrating drums,
throats and creek, wings that click and flicker, cries like the crickets’ whispers,
dreamy calls, long, languid calls—jungles beneath the sky!

I hear the streams laughing, dashing the flanks of greedy golden carp, disturbing the
bearded catfish in their cozy holes and hiding places beneath submerged stones;

I hear the millstones grinding sugar cane, the gurgle of sweet juice flowing into
vats, the clank of pails among rubber streets;
and axes opening paths,
and saw cutting timber,
And packs of hounds name Wind-cutters,
Iron Beakers, Flashes, and sharks holding at bay the red leopard and the
Jaguars, and mangroves leafing in the sun,
and peccaries snapping their jaws of alligator asleep in the tepid mud of
Bayous. . . .

I hear all Brazil singing, humming, calling, shouting! Hammocks swaying,


whistles blowing,
factories grinding, pounding, panting, screaming, howling and snoring,
cylinders exploring,
cranes revolving,
wheels turning,
rails trembling,
noises of foothills and plateaus, cattle bells, neighings, cowboy songs, and lowings,
chiming of bells, bursting of rockets,
Ouro-Preto, Baia, Congonhas, Sabara, clamour of stock-exchanges shrieking
numbers like parrots,
tumult of streets that seethe beneath skyscrapers
voice of all the races that the wind of the seaports tosses into the jungle!
In this hour of pure sunlight I hear Brazil.

All thy conversations, tawny homeland, wander in the air…


the talk of planters among coffee bushes,
the talk of miners in gold mines,
the talk of workmen
in furnaces where steel is made,
the talk of diamond hunters shaking sieves,
the talk of colonels on the verandas of country houses…

But what I hear, above all, in this hour of pure sunlight,


still palms
shining rocks
flashes
gleams
scintillations
is the song of thy cradles,Brazil, of all thy cradles, in which there sleeps, mouth
dripping with milk, dusky, trusting,
the man of tomorrow!

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