Gregório de Matos was the main poet of the Brazilian Baroque, known as “Mouth of Hell”. He was known for his satirical sonnets, in which he mostly attacked the Bahian society of his time.
sad Bahia
Sad Bahia! Oh how dissimilar
You are and I am from our old state!
Poor I see you, you committed to me,
Rich I see you already, you me abundant.
You exchanged the merchant machine,
That in your broad bar has entered,
It changed me, and it has changed,
So much business and so much dealer.
Have you given so much excellent sugar
For the useless drugs, how nosy
Simple accepted from the shrewd brichote.
Oh if God willing that suddenly
One day you'd dawn so earnest
Make your coat out of cotton!
Gonçalves Dias was part of first generation of Brazilian romanticism. His main poems were produced following the Indian theme.
I-Juca Pirama
Amidst the tabas of mild greens,
Surrounded by trunks - covered with flowers,
The roofs of the proud nation rise;
There are many children, in strong spirits,
Fearful in war, that in dense cohorts
They haunt the immense expanse of woods.
They are loud, severe, thirsting for glory,
Already prizes incite, already sing victory,
Tender already respond to the singer's voice:
They are all Timbiras, brave warriors!
His name flies in people's mouths,
A wrath of wonders, glory and terror!
The neighboring tribes, without strength, without pride,
The weapons breaking, throwing them into the river,
The incense aspirated from their maracas:
Fearful of the wars that the strong ignite,
Costly ignoble taxes there yield,
To tough warriors subject to peace.
In the center of the taba there is a terrace,
Where the war council now takes place
From the lady tribe, from the servile tribes:
The seated old people practice in the past,
And the restless young men, who love the party,
They pour around an unhappy Indian.
Who is it? – no one knows: your name is unknown,
Your tribe does not say: – from a remote people
It certainly descends – from a kind people;
So there in Greece to the island slave
made distinct from the vile Muslim
The correct lines of the noble profile.
For cases of war he was taken prisoner
In the hands of the Timbiras: – in the extensive yard
The roof was devastated, which had him in prison;
Tribes from your surroundings are invited,
Caregivers incubate the color vase,
Of the various provisions for the honorable function.
Collect the firewood from the vast bonfire
The rope of the light embira is tightened,
The apple is adorned with gentle feathers:
At cost, among the vacancies of the village people
Walks the Timbira, which the mob surrounds,
Gorgeous in feathers of various hues.
In so far as women with a big figure,
Accustomed to the rite of barbaric use,
Indian already want to end captive:
The coma cuts him, his limbs stain him,
Brilliant enduape in the body encircle him,
Shades her gentle brow,
[…]
Casto Alves was a very important writer of the Third Generation of Romanticism in Brazil. His poems represent Castro Alves' personal indignation with the social problems of his time, such as slavery. That is why he became known as a slave poet.
the slave ship
We are in the middle of the sea… Doudo in space
Moonlight plays — golden butterfly;
And the vacancies after him run... they get tired
Like restless infant mob.
‘We are in the middle of the sea... From the firmament
The stars leap like foams of gold...
The sea in turn lights up the ardentias,
— Constellations of Liquid Treasure…
‘We are in the middle of the sea… Two infinities
There they close in an insane embrace,
Blue, gold, placid, sublime…
Which of the two is heaven? which ocean...
‘We are in the middle of the sea.... opening the candles
In the hot panting of seas,
Brigue sailboat runs to the flower of the seas,
How the swallows graze the wave...
Where do you come from? where you go? of the errant ships
Who knows the direction if the space is so big?
In this sahara the steeds the dust raises,
They gallop, fly, but leave no trace.
Very happy who can there right now
Feel the majesty of this panel!
Below — the sea above — the firmament...
And in the sea and in the sky — the immensity!
Oh! what sweet harmony the breeze brings me!
What soft music in the distance sounds!
My God! how sublime is a burning song
For the endless waves floating aimlessly!
Men of the sea! O rude sailors,
Toasted by the sun of the four worlds!
Children that the storm had cherished
In the cradle of these deep pelagos!
Wait! wait! let me drink
this wild, free poetry
Orchestra — it's the sea, which roars from the bow,
And the wind, which whistles on the strings...
Why are you running away like that, light boat?
Why do you flee from the fearless poet?
Oh! I wish I accompanied you to the mat
What a resemblance to the sea — mad comet!
Albatross! Albatross! ocean eagle,
You who sleep in the clouds among the gazas,
Shake your feathers, Leviathan from space,
Albatross! Albatross! give me these wings.
Cruz e Souza was a significant poet for the brazilian symbolism. His works are marked by musicality, pessimism, subjectivism and individualism.
In addition, his main poems address death, religion, death and spirituality.
guitars that cry
Ah! dormant, lukewarm guitars,
Sobbing in the moonlight, crying in the wind...
Sad profiles, the vaguest outlines,
Mouths muttering with regret.
Nights beyond, remote, that I remember,
Nights of solitude, remote nights
That in the fancy blues board,
I go on constellation of unknown visions.
Subtle palpitations in the moonlight.
I look forward to the most homesick moments,
When they cry in the deserted street there
The live strings of weeping guitars.
When the sounds of the guitars are sobbing,
When the sounds of guitars on the strings moan,
And they go on tearing and delighting,
Tearing the souls that tremble in the shadows.
Harmonies that puncture, that lacer,
Nervous and agile fingers that run
Strings and a world of ailments generate,
Moans, cries, who die in space...
And dark sounds, sighed sorrows,
Bitter sorrows and melancholies,
In the monotonous whisper of the waters,
Nightly, between cold remakes.
Veiled voices, velvety voices,
Volupts of guitars, veiled voices,
wander in the old fast vortexes
From the winds, alive, vain, vulcanized.
Everything on the guitar strings echoes
And it vibrates and writhes in the air, convulsing...
Everything in the night, everything cries and flies
Under the feverish flutter of a pulse.
That these foggy and dreary guitars
They are islands of atrocious, funereal exile,
Where they go, tired in the dream,
Souls that were immersed in mystery.
Mario de Andrade he had various interests, becoming a musicologist, folklorist, literary critic and cultural activist. In addition, he marked Brazilian literature as a first stage modernist writer.
With this, the author can work on valuing Brazilian culture and acted in the organization of the modern art week.
Meditation on Tietê
Water from my Tietê,
Where do you want to take me?
─ River that enters me through the land
And that you keep me away from the sea...
It's night. And everything is night. under the admirable arch
From the bridge of Bandeiras to the river
He mutters in a bath of heavy, oily water.
It's night and everything is night. A round of shadows,
Gloomy shadows, fill such vast night
The river breast, which is as if the night were water,
Night water, liquid night, drowning in apprehensions
The tall towers of my exhausted heart. Suddenly
The oil of the waters takes in shimmering lights in full,
It's a scare. And in a moment the river
Splendid in innumerable lights, homes, palaces and streets,
Streets, streets, where dinosaurs squawk
Now, brave skyscrapers from which they spring
The blau bugs and the punishing green cats,
In songs, in pleasures, in jobs and factories,
Lights and glory. It's the city... It's the tangled form
Corrupt human of life who moans and applauds.
And it acclaims and fakes and hides. And it dazzles.
But it's just a moment. Soon the river goes dark again,
It's black. The heavy and oily waters calm down
In a moan. Flower. Sadness that stamps a path of death.
It's night. And everything is night. And my devastated heart
It is a rumor of unhealthy germs through the sleepless and human night.
My river, my Tietê, where are you taking me?
Sarcastic river that contradicts the course of the waters
And you turn away from the sea and into the land of men,
Where do you want to take me?…
Why do you forbid me beaches and sea like that, why
Do you keep the fame of the Atlantic storms from me
And the beautiful lines that talk about leaving and never coming back?
River that makes earth, humus of the earth, animal of the earth,
Inducing me with your insistence turrona paulista
For the human storms of life, river, my river!…
Cora Coraline she is considered a very important writer in Brazil. Most of her works had an everyday theme.
In addition, the writer produced very remarkable poems and also wrote short stories for children's literature.
My destiny
in the palms of your hands
I read the lines of my life.
Crossed, sinuous lines,
interfering with your destiny.
I didn't look for you, you didn't look for me -
We went alone on different roads.
Indifferent, we crossed
You passed with the burden of life...
I ran to meet you.
Smile. We talk.
that day was scheduled
with the white stone of the head of a fish.
And since then, we've walked
together for life...
Manuel Bandeira he served as a teacher, literary historian and art critic.
In addition, he produced his literary career with his poetic lyricism and marked the first modernist generation in Brazil. With this, the author was in favor of the use of verse in language and colloquial language, opposing the ideal that poetry has to follow predetermined rules and aesthetics.
Its main themes address melancholy and everyday life.
I'm leaving for Pasargada
I'm leaving for Pasargada
I'm a friend of the king there
There I have the woman I want
in the bed i will choose
I'm leaving for Pasargada
I'm leaving for Pasargada
Here I am not happy
There existence is an adventure
so inconsequential
May Joana the Madwoman of Spain
Queen and false insane
Comes to be the counterpart
daughter-in-law I never had
And how will I do gymnastics
I will ride a bike
I will ride a wild donkey
I'll climb the tallow stick
I will bathe in the sea!
And when you're tired
I lie on the riverbank
I send for the mother of water
to tell me the stories
that in my time as a boy
rose came to tell me
I'm leaving for Pasargada
In Pasargada it has everything
It's another civilization
It has a secure process
to prevent conception
It has an automatic telephone
Have alkaloid at will
have beautiful whores
for us to date
And when I'm sadder
But sad that there is no way
when at night give me
will to kill me
— I am a friend of the king there —
I will have the woman I want
in the bed i will choose
I'm leaving for Pasargada.
Carlos Drummond he was part of Brazilian modernism, being considered one of the greatest writers of Brazilian literature and the most influential of his time.
The writer used popular language and the most concrete and objective poetry to produce his texts. In addition, he brought a sarcastic tone and ironic verses to his productions.
shoulders support the world
There comes a time when it is no longer said: my God.
Absolute debug time.
Time when it is no longer said: my love.
Because love was useless.
And the eyes do not cry.
And the hands weave only the rough work.
And the heart is dry.
In vain women knock on the door, thou shalt not open it.
You were left alone, the light went out,
but in the shadow your eyes shine huge.
You're all for sure, you don't know how to suffer anymore.
And you don't expect anything from your friends.
Never mind old age, what is old age?
your shoulders support the world
and he weighs no more than a child's hand.
Wars, famines, discussions inside buildings
just prove that life goes on
and not everyone is free yet.
Some, finding the spectacle barbaric
they would rather (the delicate ones) die.
There is a time that dying does not worth it.
There has come a time when life is an order.
Life alone, no mystification.
Jorge de Lima was part of the second phase of modernism in Brazil, writing poems and prose with social and religious aspects.
Furthermore, he was considered the “Prince of Alagoas Poets”. In addition, he became involved with the plastic arts, relating to the artistic vanguard of surrealism.
The invention of Orpheus
A appointed baron
no coat of arms, no edge and fame
fulfills only its fate:
love, praise your lady,
day and night to sail,
which is from here and beyond
the island you seek and love you love.
Noble only from memories,
remember her days,
days that are the stories,
stories that are strife
of pasts and futures,
shipwrecks and other predicaments,
discoveries and joys.
discovered joys
or even found, there you go
to all alert ships
of various rigs,
poles that point ways
to countries of other wines.
This is the drunken vessel.
Drunken baron, but baron,
of decorated spots;
between the sea, the sky and the ground
speak without being heard
to fish, men and birds,
mouths and spouts, with keys,
and he without keys in hand.
[…]
Vinicius de Moraes he was well known for his co-authorship, together with Antônio Carlos Jobim, of the song Garota de Ipanema.
Furthermore, it was very important for the second phase of modernism. His poetic works cover everyday and social themes of his time.
The rose of Hiroshima
think about the children
telepathic seedlings
think about the girls
inexact blind
think about women
changed routes
think about the wounds
like warm roses
But oh don't forget
from the rose from the rose
From the rose of Hiroshima
the hereditary rose
the radioactive rose
stupid and invalid
the rose with cirrhosis
the atomic antirose
no color no perfume
No pink no nothing.
Cecília Meireles he brought strong psychoanalytic influences to his works. In addition, he made strong use of social, religious and individualism themes.
Her works have symbolist characteristics, but the author stood out in the second modernist phase with the poets of “Poetry of 30”.
speak to the dead inconfidents
night darkness,
woolen cover
in the curved shoulders
from the high mountains
clusters...
now everything
lies in silence:
love, envy,
hate, innocence,
in immense time
if they are taking...
thick gravel
of human life...
proud blacks,
naive audacity,
and pretending
and cowards
(and cowards!)
go around
in immense time,
– to relentless water
of the immense time,
running loose,
with your rude
exposed misery…
Stop at night,
suspended in mist:
no, don't see each other
the deep beds…
But on the horizon
what is memory
of eternity,
refer the clash
from olden times,
of old facts,
of ancient men.
and here we stay
all contrite,
listening in the fog
the nonconformist,
submerged course
of this torrent
from purgatory…
Which ones fall,
in exhausted crimes,
which ones go up,
purified?
João Cabral de Melo Neto he is one of the representatives of the generation of 45, in the Second Generation of Modernism in Brazil.
The writer has a great mastery of technique and accuracy of the word, so he masterfully controlled sentimentality and subjectivity.
His poem Morte e Vida Severina consolidated him as one of the great Brazilian poets.
Death and Severe Life
My name is Severino,
as I don't have another one from the sink.
As there are many Severinos,
who is a pilgrimage saint,
then they called me
Severinus of Mary.
As there are many Severinos
with mothers named Maria,
I was Maria's
of the late Zechariah.
But that still says little:
there are many in the parish,
because of a colonel
who was called Zechariah
and which was the oldest
lord of this allotment.
how then to say who i'm talking
Pray to Your Ladies?
Let's see: it's Severino
from Maria do Zacarias,
from Serra da Costa,
limits of Paraíba.
But that still says little:
if at least five more there were
with Severino's name
children of so many Marys
women of many others
already dead, Zechariah,
living in the same mountain
skinny and bony where I lived.
We are many Severinos
equal in everything in life,
we died the same death,
same severe death:
which is the death that one dies
of old age before thirty,
ambush before twenty,
hungry a little a day
(of weakness and illness
is that severe death
attacks at any age,
and even unborn people).
Mario Quintana he is considered the master of the word, working with simple languages, analogies to social issues and constant wordplay.
the poems
The poems are birds that arrive
no one knows where and land
in the book you read.
When you close the book, they take flight
like a trapdoor.
they have no landing
no port
feed for a moment on each pair of hands
and depart. And look, then, at these empty hands of yours,
in the amazed amazement of knowing
that their food was already in you…
olavo bilac is the main representative of the Brazilian Parnassianism, always valuing composition rules and rich rhymes.
His favorite theme was love and sensuality. In addition, Olavo Bilac was the famous writer of the lyrics of “Hino à Bandeira”.
Milky Way
“Now (you shall say) to hear stars! Right
You've lost your mind!" And I will tell you, however,
That, to hear them, I often wake up
And I open the windows, pale with astonishment...
And we talked all night while
The Milky Way, like an open canopy,
Sparkles. And, when the sun came, homesick and in tears,
I still look for them in the desert sky.
You will now say: “Mad friend!
What conversations with them? what a sense
Do you have what they say, when they're with you?"
And I will tell you: “Love to understand them!
Because only those who love can have heard
Able to hear and understand stars.”
Augusto dos Anjos he is considered one of the most critical poets of his time. Despite being portrayed as a poet of the premodernism, one sees relationships with symbolism.
In addition, he declared himself as “Singer of the poetry of all that is dead”, as he had a taste for the theme of death and anguish.
The Schisms of Destiny
Recife. Buarque de Macedo Bridge.
Me, going towards Agra's house,
Haunted by my thin shadow,
I thought of Fate, and I was afraid!
In the austere high vault the target match
From the stars shone… The pavement
Saxe, with hard asphalt, atro and glassy,
It copied the politeness of a bald skull.
I remember it well. The bridge was long,
And my huge shadow filled the bridge,
like a rhinoceros skin
Extended throughout my life!
The night fertilized the egg of vices
Animals. From the coal of the immense darkness
A damned air of illness fell
On the general face of the buildings!
Such a ferocious horde of hungry dogs,
Crossing a deserted station,
It howled inside me, with its mouth open,
The Amazed Pack of Instincts!
It was as if, in the soul of the city,
Deeply lecherous and revolting,
Showing the meats, a beast loose
Let out the scream of animality.
And deepening the obscure reasoning,
I saw it then, in the light of golden reflections,
The genetic work of the sexes,
Making the men of the future at night.
