& Moira Bianchi: Small town blues, poetically speaking

terça-feira, 8 de maio de 2012

Small town blues, poetically speaking

Good morning everyone!

I start off quoting Chico Buarque, Brazilian Firthness: cool, charming, manly, sexy, whatever.

'You, who invented sadness, please be so kind as to uninvent it.'

At this point of 'Frienship of a special kind', Lizzy has brought Mr Darcy to Meryton, and he recieved a Bennett intensive care treatment. How about that?

'I´m actually happy to be your knight in shining armour today.'

'At least one of us is glad about this trip...'

Lizzy is a bit squirmish to visit her small town, Darcy meeting her parents, commitment... Things getting too real. She says that coming to Meryton enhances her disconfort. Makes sense, let´s be sincere. Especially because her first husband also was from Meryton.

I was born in a small town too, and I couldn´t get out soon enough. During my senior year, I counted days to move here (Rio) and start college. Ah... a whole new life waited for me here. 

Preparing this post I came across several accounts of living in small towns - choosing to live in a small town. Check 'Why I run' way of saying it: 'I love living in a small town. I love the traffic, or lack thereof. I love the fields and animals that are so close. I love the small town newspaper. I love the school,... I love that I know so many people. Although I am not naive, I like feeling safe here. However, by choosing to live in a small town, I give up some things. We have about 3 good restaurants in town. Shopping is limited... There's just no sugar coating that one.' 

Neatorama's Alex says something very real: 'Taxes are low, the cost of living is low and the kids enjoy school. But the family (who moved from Florida to a North Dakota small town) also found a cliquey community that treated them like outsiders. "For my wife, it’s been a culture shock," the husband said.'

Yep, cultural shock. What a drag...

'The nice part about living in a small town is that when you don´t know what you're doing, someone else does.'

Yep. That´s why I couldn´t get out fast enough. 

But there are poetical views of a small town. Several. I prever Brazilian poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade's, a genius with words. He could bend words, twist and make them behave whatever way he wanted. Here´s what he wrote about his small town, Itabira. 'Confidência' is the poem.

Drummond as he used to enjoy Copacabana beach everyday.

Alguns anos vivi em Itabira.                                                   For some years I lived at Itabira.
Principalmente nasci em Itabira.                                              Mostly I was born in Itabira.
Por isso sou triste, orgulhoso: de ferro.                                    That´s why I´m sad, proud: iron maden.
Noventa por cento de ferro nas calçadas.                                 Ninety percent of iron on the sidewalks.
Oitenta por cento de ferro nas almas.                                      Eighty percent of iron in the souls.
E esse alheamento do que na vida é porosidade e comunicação.   And this alienation of what is porosity and communication
in life.

I´m fairly proficient in Portuguese, I think it´s a beautiful language - in spite of my Orkut nemesis that accused me of burying Portuguese because I write in English -  but I could never translate 'alheamento da vida' as poetically as Drummond wrote it. I´m sorry for that.

But he was so accomplished that he wrote the following pearl, this little glimpse of how a poet´s mind should work. 'Poema das sete faces'

Quando nasci, um anjo torto                       When I was born, a twisted angel
desses que vivem na sombra                      one of those who live in the shadows

disse: Vai, Carlos, ser gauche na vida.         said: Go, Carlos, be gauche in life.

No one resists a chat with him. Believe me, when at Copacabana beach, you wont´t either.

And that of course, brings me to Chico Buarque. 'Até o fim.'

Quando nasci veio um anjo safado                 When I was born, arrived a croocked angel
Um chato dum querubim                               A bore of a cherubin
E decretou que eu estava predestinado          And he established that I was fated
A ser errado assim                                      To be this wrong
Já de saída minha vida entortou                    Right from the start my life he twisted
Mas vou até o fim                                       But I´ll stick to it.

I was thinking about how to describe Chico to you and considered poet, excellent composer, mild singer, writer, romancist, political activist, etc, etc. And then it came to me. The remembrance of my bosses - four lady architects - on my best internship, Chico lovers. If it were today, they would say in unison: 'Little Moira... let me teach you: he is sexy, handsome, inteligent, cool, perfect! Unique and universal. Chico is our Colin Firth.'

Blue eyes

Of all his precious work, as big as the world, so inspirational, there´s a song I like the best and (oh, what a surprise, I found a song to fit this story...) totally fits this point of the story. Lizzy is opening up, Darcy is sure of what he wants. I give you Chico Buarque and his Future lovers.

Não se afobe, não                                Don´t rush, no don´t
Que nada é pra já                                'Cause nothing is urgent
O amor não tem pressa                         Love does not haste
Ele pode esperar em silêncio                  It can wait in silence
Num fundo de armário                           On the back of a closet
Na posta-restante                                On a post office's refused mail
Milênios, milênios                                  Millennia, millennia
No ar                                                  In the air

E quem sabe, então                             And who know, by then
O Rio será                                           Rio de Janeiro will be
Alguma cidade submersa                       A submersed city
Os escafandristas virão                        The scuba divers will appear
Explorar sua casa                                To rummage your house
Seu quarto, suas coisas                       Your rooms, your stuff
Sua alma, desvãos                              Your soul, garrets

Sábios em vão                                    Uselessly, wise men
Tentarão decifrar                                Will try to decode
O eco de antigas palavras                    Ancient words' echo
Fragmentos de cartas, poemas              Fragments of letters, poems
Mentiras, retratos                               Lies, pictures
Vestígios de estranha civilização            Traces of an odd civilization

Não se afobe, não                               Don´t rush, no don´t
Que nada é pra já                               'Cause nothing is urgent
Amores serão sempre amáveis               Love will always be lovely
Futuros amantes, quiçá                       Future lovers, maybe
Se amarão sem saber                          Will love each other without realizing
Com o amor que eu um dia                   That one day, this love
Deixei pra você                                  I had meant for you

Oh, Chico... this song is so perfect!

Don´t I know that?

Thanks for stopping by. Bj

Disclaimer.What´s due to me is the googling of all these pics. Everything else belong to the great people who originally posted them. Tks.

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