Renaissance Man

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    By Kirsten Weinoldt

    In the middle of the 60’s, when all my girl friends had Paul McCartney, John Lennon,
    and Mick Jagger as pin-ups, I already had Vinicius on my side table. I was
    "introduced" to his lyrics and poetry by my mother—a poet herself—and
    I was devastated by his poems. Vinicius created a revolution in the way lyrics and poetry
    were written in Brazil and had a tremendous influence on the generation that followed and
    adored him (Chico, Caetano, and Gil to mention the three greatest). He created a
    revolution in my life, in my way of seeing the world and in my demeanor. He led his life
    following his poems, and he lived a true poet’s life. Nothing was fake about him. In the
    middle of the 70’s, I had the chance to meet him in London, and the man was even greater
    than the poet. A wonderful friendship began, and in 1978 we married. He taught me nearly
    all I know about life. He gave me confidence, happiness, knowledge, and love, love, love.
    In spite of the difference in age (he was 38 years older than I), he was my
    "sort" because he wasn’t afraid of life, and I took care of him. His life was
    pure love that he spread among family, thousands of friends and women in general and
    especially to the nine elected to be by his side. I thank God that Vinicius saved some
    love to give me at the very end of his life. Saravá, Vinicius!

    Gilda Mattoso, widow of Vinicius (who graciously agreed to write her tribute especially
    for this article. At the same time, she clarified the question of accent in Vinicius’
    name. There is none.)

    Marcus Vinicius da Cruz de Mello Moraes was born on October 19, 1913 in Rio de Janeiro.
    The name was inspired by the protagonist of the novel Quo Vadis, and it was the way
    in which his father, Clodoaldo Pereira da Silva Moraes, paid homage to this character. As
    it turned out, the life of the poet was in many ways a restless and turbulent one, like
    that of the character of the most famous version of the movie—the 1951 release in
    which the role was portrayed by Robert Taylor.

    Vinicius’ father used to recite poetry in the home, and his mother, Dona Lydia, played
    guitar during family reunions. The son followed both vocations of poet and musician,
    composing his first songs while still at the Santo Ignácio School with the Tapajó
    Brothers. And young Vinicius wrote his first poem at the age of 7. Since childhood, he was
    a fanatic about the magic of moving images: One of his favorite diversions was to project
    images onto a sheet hung on a wall in his parents’ house. This interest of his would later
    turn into one of his many careers.

    In the early thirties he earned a bachelor’s degree in language and literature. He
    attended law school, and it was during this time that he published his first book, O
    Caminho para a Distância (The Road to the Distance). In 1935, he published another
    work, Forma e Exegese (Form and Literary Interpretation). It was followed in 1936
    with Ariana—the Woman, which is the height of his first phase filled with
    mystical sensation. Then he began using a more popular syntax, and his poetry was charged
    with sensuality in Cinco Elegias (Five Elegies). It was also around this time that
    he worked as a film censor.

    In 1938, he departed for Oxford University on a scholarship to study English
    literature. His studies there, however, were interrupted by the onset of World War II, and
    he was forced to return to Brazil. While in Oxford, he was influenced by poets such as
    Rimbaud, Verlaine, Leopardi and even Shakespeare—probably the principal source of
    stimulus for his sonnets. He also admired the work of Spaniard Federico Garcia Lorca and
    Brazilian writers such as Octávio de Faria and Lúcio Cardoso. His Catholic upbringing
    was responsible for the eternal conflict between the flesh and the spirit present in his
    poetry. During the Second World War, he cultivated sympathies for Nazism until he met Luiz
    Carlos Prestes who contributed to his transformation into a man of the left.

    In 1941, he embarked on a career as a journalist. His first assignment was with the
    newspaper A Manhã (The Morning) as a film critic. Although he defined himself as
    simply a "fan of the seventh art," he possessed, already then, a more refined
    vision of cinema, a consequence of his close friendship with writer Otávio de Faria,
    erudite expert on the subject and one of the founders of Chaplin Club, in whose sessions
    Vinicius learned to adore "Carlitos" (Charles Chaplin) above all else and to
    consider talkies heresy.

    In his first column, he published a mimicry of a prayer—his cinematographic credo,
    which began as follows: "I believe in Cinema, silent art, daughter of image, original
    element of poetry and infinite visual arts, simple cell of ephemeral duration and freely
    multiplicative."

    He was a great admirer of the classic silent-film makers, Eisenstein, Dreyer, and
    Murnau and fought a holy war against the talkies, which he considered a "diversion
    for the ignorant masses." In fact, Vinicius was not crazy about silent films with
    subtitles of any kind, nor even music—even the kind that occurred when a lone pianist
    accompanied the showing of the film. An important ingredient of being a renaissance man
    is, of course, to constantly learn and grow—and Vinicius was nothing if not that.
    Thus, from being adamantly opposed to talkies, a controversy Orson Welles found very
    entertaining, he did a 180. During his diplomatic assignment in Los Angeles (the
    alternative was Moscow, which Vinicius turned down), he quickly became a citizen of
    Hollywood. All his purism vanished. Soon, he was on a first name basis with Donald Duck!

    This assignment in Los Angeles as vice consul started in 1946, and the
    "party" lasted for almost five years. From the diplomatic mansion on Redondo
    Boulevard, as often as he could, he would get away to go to the movies. He also went to
    the private showings of Alex and Elza Viany on Highland Avenue. Viany was the president of
    the Foreign Correspondents’ Association in Hollywood, had access to collections of films,
    and Vinicius had the chance to watch, again and again, his favorite movies by D.W.Griffith
    and Buster Keaton.

    Vinicius also edited the only two issues of the magazine Filme. One of his great
    passions, Charles Chaplin, was on the cover of the first issue. He also got to attend the
    shooting of Orson Welles’ The Lady From Shanghai with Rita Hayworth. Vinicius, who
    loved women, was only too happy to keep company with such goddesses as Marlene Dietriech,
    Greta Garbo, Ingrid Bergman, Paulette Goddard, Ava Gardner "the antithesis of the Ten
    Commandments", and Lana Turner, "for whom nature rounded all the edges."

    At some time during his stay in Los Angeles, he had time to write and publish Poemas,
    Sonetos e Baladas (Poems, Sonnets, and Ballads). His style of poetry had by now become
    enriched with a sense of social consciousness. He also wrote some of his most famous works
    Livro do Sonetos (Book of Sonnets), Procura-se um Amigo (Looking for a
    Friend), and Para Viver um Grande Amor (To Live a Great Love). His lyricism was
    written in the sensual style which had become his trade mark.

    Vinicius spent the next couple of years in Brazil. He liked having a good time and
    spent much of his time "hanging out" with friends at a popular Rio bar, Casa
    Villarino. Nobody would ever go as far as saying that so many thoughts and ideas would not
    have seen the light of day but for the existence of Casa Villarino, but it became almost a
    sacred place the way Mecca is to those of the Islamic faith.

    Ruy Castro in his book about bossa nova, Chega de Saudade (No More Blues)
    has the following to say about it:

    "If all the great ideas that you find around a bottle of whiskey came to life at
    the last drop, Casa Villarino on the corner of Avenida das Calógeras and Presidente
    Wilson, then in safe, potable, and civilized Rio, should be on the list of national
    monuments. In and around the fifties, a valiant pack of Bohemians planned the best radio
    programs, the definitive poems, the plays which would make posterity drool, the most
    devastating sambas-canção, the overthrow of some presidents and, with or without
    just motive, the destruction of the purest reputations. It is true that almost all of this
    happened only in the imagination of those frequenting the place—not that they didn’t
    have the talent, but because they were more interested in going on drinking to, in
    reality, put their plans into practice. It is almost unbelievable that the partnership
    between Vinicius and Tom Jobim could have been born in Casa Villarino."

    Ronaldo Bôscoli, one of the central players of bossa nova, was not happy when
    he became aware that Vinicius, then 38, was hanging around his sister, Lila, 19. He was
    still of the school of thought that a sister needed brotherly protection. For the
    passionate Vinicius, such amorous incidences were commonplace. In this case, however, he
    was still with his first wife, Tati. Vinicius and Tati, together 13 years, appeared to be
    inseparable. She exercised great influence over Vinicius. It was she, along with American
    socialist Waldo Frank, who was responsible for swaying Vinicius from his decidedly
    pro-Hitler and Mussolini sympathies. Up until that time he had rooted for that alliance in
    the war in the same way he rooted for Botafogo in soccer. His wife’s influence, however,
    caused such a radical turnabout that in 1946, he was enamored of the idea of joining the
    Communist Party. He was dissuaded from doing so. It was probably just as well. Vinicius
    had a horror of bureaucrats and likely would not have stood for the discipline of the
    party.

    Dear Helenice

    Having convinced Bôscoli that his intentions were honorable where it came to Lila, he
    separated from Tati and started living with Lila. The salary of diplomats stationed in
    Brazil was meager, and they lived in an apartment without light or refrigerator on Rua
    Francisco Otaviano. Bôscoli was at that time a reporter for the paper Última Hora.
    The publisher, Samuel Wainer, offered Vinicius some added income for being a film critic
    and gave him a daily chronicle. He was also put in charge of a "Dear Abbey"
    column, responding to the lovelorn, female readers under the pseudonym Helenice, something
    that amused him a great deal.

    His "suffering" at Última Hora lasted two years. In 1953, he left
    behind his life as a film critic, columnist, and lonely hearts advisor, took Lila, and
    went to his new diplomatic assignment in Paris, where Orfeu da Conceição (Orpheus
    of the Conception)—the Carioca favela version of the Greek myth of Orpheus and
    Eurydice, first saw the light of day.

    Upon his return from Paris in 1956, Vinicius was ready to put music to Orfeu. It
    was a natural thing for him to turn to his brother-in-law, Ronaldo Bôscoli for advice on
    a composer. Bôscoli had his finger on the pulse of the Carioca music scene and
    hung out at the right places. Vinicius let it be known that he was looking for someone
    "modern" to score the play. Vinicius also relied on Bôscoli for proper slang
    expressions for his play.

    He did not consider himself very "up" on current street language. For one
    thing, at this time, Vinicius was still somewhat conservative, but he had also lived
    outside Brazil for some time. When Bôscoli suggested Tom Jobim as the composer for Orfeu,
    Vinicius tended to accept his judgment. Bôscoli and his friend, Chico Feitosa, who became
    Vinicius’ secretary, showed up to help with the preparations, and Lila made figurines of
    the characters.

    Tom Jobim was finishing up an engagement at the Odeon on Avenida Rio Branco and could
    not join Bôscoli and Feitosa at Vinicius’ house. Journalist Lúcio Rangel set up the
    meeting at Casa Villarino, and after Tom Jobim had inquired if there would be any money, (dinheirinho,
    a little money) in the project, the rest became history.

    Most of the work with Orfeu took place at the house on Rua Nascimento Silva 107,
    Tom Jobim’s house. Vinicius’ own house was impractical for work, as it soon became an
    "open house" for all the friends of Vinicius and Lila who wandered in and out at
    will.

    Vinicius and Tom worked—and drank. Vinicius liked his whiskey, though he did not
    drink while writing poetry. Orfeu, however, was popular music, which changed
    things. Tom was a beer drinker, but at the advice of Vinicius, he exchanged the barley for
    malt. As Vinicius said, "Beer is a waste of time."

    Orfeu da Conceição débuted at the Teatro Municipal on September 25, 1956 with
    set designs by architect Oscar Niemeyer—the genius of Brasília—which caused a
    great stir. There was a ramp leading to a platform—Niemeyer’s image of a morro
    (hill, like the ones found in Rio), home of many favelas (shantytowns).

    Candinho was supposed to play the guitar, but he couldn’t read music. Tom had suggested
    Luiz Bonfá, and so it was. Tom Jobim, who suffered from stage fright, should have
    conducted the orchestra, but his fear won out, and Léo Peracchi picked up the baton. Orfeu
    played for full houses, but only for a week. Vinicius must have been unsure of the
    potential of his play and had reserved the theater for merely a week.

    The black cast, consisting of Haroldo Costa, who played Orfeu, Léa Garcia, Mira, and
    Dirce Paiva, Eurídice, was beautiful. It was said at the time that it was the first time
    an all black cast had performed at the Teatro Municipal. That was not quite true, however,
    as a production of O’Neill’s Emperor Jones had been produced there before.

    Teatro República had no prior engagement, and the play moved. A couple of days into
    the performance, Abdias do Nascimento, who played Aristeu, accused Vinicius of taking
    advantage of the black actors. Vinicius, who just a few years later would be known as
    "the blackest white man in Brazil," was offended and fired him. Instead, he
    hired Chico Feitosa, whose handicap for playing the role was that he was white. No
    problem. He appeared in blackface—and the crowds did not seem to mind. Out of the
    stage lights Chico was courting Eurídice (Paiva). Having been a great success in Rio, the
    play was to move to Teatro Municipal in São Paulo. The set was dismantled and
    shipped—and was never seen again.

    The Orfeu score, which consisted of a number of beautiful songs, was somewhat
    overshadowed by Se Todos Fossem Iguais a Você (If everyone were like you).

    At Casa Villarino, Tom Jobim had asked if there would be "a little money" in
    the project. As it turned out, that became a prophecy, as they went on to be very
    successful, and bossa nova became the craze.

    Without a doubt, the start of bossa nova and one of the most played songs of
    that era and the next was Chega de Saudade with music by Tom Jobim. Vinicius and
    Tom had created it and then put it in a pile of songs, where it remained for more than a
    year.

    Tom had composed the song while visiting his family in Petrópolis. He arrived at the
    house of Vinicius, who was on his way out the door, leaving for Paris. He took a look at
    the song—and stayed a few more days to write the lyrics.

    Nobody could have known that ground had been broken for a revolution. In fact, the
    reaction of the people who heard it ranged from disdain to indifference. Lila had a
    comment, "How silly, trying to rhyme peixinhos with beijinhos (pois
    há menos peixinhos a nadar no mar, do que os beijinhos que eu darei na sua boca—for
    there are less little fishes swimming in the sea, than the little kisses I will give in
    your mouth). Vinicius’ response was, "Oh stop being sophisticated."

    Years later, Vinicius acknowledged that one of the greatest thrashings his work had
    received, had been bestowed on this song. Fortunately, it was dug out of potential
    oblivion and recorded, first by Elizete Cardoso and then, with thundering success, by
    João Gilberto.

    In 1959, French film maker Marcel Camus in a French-Brazilian production, put Orfeu on
    celluloid in the now classic Orfeu Negro (Black Orpheus)—later to become the
    first—and lasting—impression of Brazil for many foreigners all over the world,
    including this author. It went on to win several awards, among them the Golden Palm in
    Cannes and the Academy Award for best foreign film. It starred Breno Mello as Orfeu and
    Marpessa Dawn as Eurídice. It also put bossa nova on the world map.

    In 1962 Vinicius was in his first big show with Tom Jobim and João Gilberto at the Bon
    Gourmet nightclub. During this period, he participated in film festivals in Cannes,
    Berlin, Locarno, and in Venice, and in 1966 he was on the international film jury at the
    Cannes Film Festival. In the 70’s, he embarked on an extensive partnership with Toquinho
    that took him on many travels and university tours. In particular, Italian and Argentine
    audiences adored him.

    In 1980, on the 9th of July, at the age of 66, Vinicius died in his beloved
    Rio in the bathtub where he loved to spend time and from where he had conducted interviews
    and meetings. Brazil and the world had lost a unique renaissance man. And, as is always
    the case when a man like that passes, everybody steps up to the plate and offers their
    evaluation of his life, his loves, likes and dislikes, in fact, every facet that shone its
    light on the survivors.

    The Poet

    It is as a poet, of course, that Vinicius is most well known and loved. To this day,
    more than 40 years after the start of bossa nova, his songs are still heard on the
    radio and in the heart of the Brazilian people. Those words of strong emotion and
    overwhelming love have never lost their power. His passion has always rung true, which
    accounts for the staying power of the lyrics. His poetry denotes a certain religious
    impregnation, in long poems with biblical emphasis, which he abandoned little by little in
    favor of his natural tendency: intimate, personal poetry with a return to physical love,
    with a language at the same time realistic, colloquial, and lyrical.

    Established in the movement of bossa nova, composed with Tom Jobim The Girl
    from Ipanema, the symbol of an era. He formed many wonderful partnerships with other
    composers such as Baden Powell, Carlos Lyra, Ary Barroso, and his "inseparable
    friend" Toquinho, about whom he used to say that he had the best possible
    relationship, and they "just didn’t have sex." And in the bathtub, where he
    died, he used to let himself feel lazy, chat with friends, and always have that
    indispensable glass of whiskey. He had a habit of saying that whiskey was a man’s best
    friend, "a bottled dog."

    "Luciana’s Page" on the Internet has this to say about his poetry:

    "In his work, Vinicius expresses with intense anguish, the constant opposition
    between matter and spirit, from which results a sensation of sin. The earthly existence
    for him takes shape as chaos, the abyss. He looks in mysticism for the solution for that
    clash. This is the predominant vision of the world in O Caminho para a Distância (The
    Road to the Distance).

    In that context, love, by the fact of linking man to the earthly world—has a
    negative connotation, from the start. In the following book, Forma e Exegese (Form
    and Literary Interpretation), however, love begins to assume the role of strength which
    would permit uniting the material and the spiritual, especially in the figure of the
    idealized woman. The poet begins to distance himself from the mystical plane and searches,
    in the reality of daily life, a way out of his anxiety. In "Ariana, the Woman,"
    long poem published as a book, and New Poems, emerge the first signs of sensuality
    and eroticism which later will characterize his work."

    Other themes, however, also permeated his work. Death was one of those, as almost all
    poets, especially in the pieces he produced between the forties and fifties. In addition,
    he was also a poet with social worries, as he demonstrated after the poem Operário em
    Construção (Construction Worker) and the play As Feras (The Beasts).

    The Film Critic

    Vinicius’ original purist view of silent films vs. talkies was well known, and there
    would come a time when his words would come back to haunt him. Journalists would question
    him on his militant stance against talkies and the turnabout after his stay in Los
    Angeles. He decided to once and for all put his cinematographic conservatism to rest and
    told the world in his usual and sometimes self deprecating manner, "I was and
    continue to be, not a cinematographic mute, as many think, just a little bit of a
    stutterer."

    And it was this humor, paired with his keen insight into and enthusiasm for film that
    prompted him to put together a futebol, soccer, team consisting of the best
    filmmakers of that time:

    Chaplin on goal, Griffith and Stroheim as fullbacks, Eisenstein, Pudovkin, and Dovjenko
    in midfield, and in the offense Flaherty, Gance, Vigo, Dreyer, and King Vidor. His team of
    actors again found Chaplin along with John Barrymore and Harry Baur, Werner Krauss, Emil
    Jannings and Fritz Kortner, Raimu, Orson Welles, Nicolai Cherkassov, Laurence Olivier, and
    Walter Huston.

    In April 1945 in an article for Sombra—apart from that, overshadowed by an
    ingenuous evaluation of Soviet cinema ("never made concessions in the way it shows
    life and reality of the people.")—gave his list of preferred classics: The
    Gold Rush, City Lights, and The Great Dictator by Chaplin; Birth of a
    Nation, Intolerance, and Broken Blossoms, by D.W.Griffith; Napoleon by
    Abel Gance; Variety by Dupont; Greed and The Wedding March by Stroheim; The
    Crowd, Hallelujah, and The Big Parade by Vidor; The Battleship
    Potemkin and The General Line by Eisenstein, among others.

    Adept at culinary metaphors and audacious parallels, such as comparing Hitchcock to
    Mallarmé and Carol Reed to Paul Valéry, Vinicius was, like any and all critics guilty of
    some injustices. The most blatant related to the musical film genre, which he detested,
    "Gershwin is perhaps the best of the three worst musicians in the world," and
    John Ford, whose artistic death he proclaimed in 1951, well before at least three prime
    works: The Quiet Man (1952), The Searchers (1956), and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
    (1962).

    Was Vinicius a good film critic? If you had asked him, he would have told you that he
    was not, nor intended to be a great film critic, but rather just a columnist, whose
    material people would find enjoyable. Enjoyable until today, especially when he set aside
    a certain edifying tone. Every so often, the movies served him as a mere pretext for
    speaking on other topics, such as the art of making out in semi darkness without
    attracting attention. Even a bike trip with Rubem Braga was explored in his column.

    He was intimate with the esthetic of cinema, he was cultured, sensitive, intelligent,
    and inventive, but he did not appear to bring much seriousness to his trade, perhaps
    because he did not take it seriously. And with good reason, what with the bulk of the
    cinematic productions submitted for his scrutiny.

    His major deficiency as a critic, according to Paulo Emílio Salles Gomes, was not to
    be able to put one argument after another and draw a conclusion, and that his major virtue
    was his humor.

    José Castello of daily O Estado de S. Paulo writes:

    "The relationship of Vinicius with the movies is usually reduced to three aspects.
    The first, his hard fought battle against the talkies, which is treated much as an oddity.
    The second, his intimacy, more or less intense, with the celebrities of Hollywood, is
    considered a worldly sin. Finally, there is an aspect considered somewhat negative, his
    dubious taste and the soft arguments in his "reviews"—and here the
    quotation marks are fundamental, because they indicate the nonsense of this
    classification.

    "Vinicius, the poet, continues to be equally misunderstood. His relationship with
    the movies was always, moreover, that of a passionate spectator, the kind who, in
    principle, likes everything and when he does not like it, it is more because of a bad mood
    than conviction. His chronicles, of a rambling style, in which the cinema sometimes is
    only a pretext, never had the intention of rigor nor of a theoretical exercise, but was
    just the expression of a passion. Passion: a word that always returns when one speaks of
    Vinicius."

    In another context, José Castello says:

    "It is nonsense, therefore, to take Vinicius’ relationship to the movies very
    seriously—and there is nothing belittling in this. On the contrary, the poet, who
    always had a tense relationship with the verse, and an exalted one with music, had with
    the movies a bond of pure affection, disinterested, full of romanticism, like that of
    those little girls who, in the stuffy afternoons of summer, lock themselves in a movie
    theater to refresh themselves and to cry.

    There is an aspect which, apparently, could contradict all that: The time Vinicius
    worked as a film censor. But that was just the bread winning efforts of a young guy
    starting out, and in addition, under the argument of backbiting, had the chance to see all
    the films he wanted. Vinicius de Moraes was a lover of the cinema, and it is like
    that—as love letters—full of quarrels, but also of exaltation, that his
    "critiques" should be read today."

    Vinicius as Seen
    by Others

    "In spite of the multiplicity of his talent, Vinicius de Moraes was never well
    accepted by the critics of academia. Extremely popular, incorrigible Bohemian—in the
    most explicit sense of the word—he wrote in a bubbly manner. Even so, he was admired
    by Manuel Bandeira, João Cabral de Melo Neto, Carlos Drummond de Andrade, and Rubem
    Braga. To repay the critics who turned on him, he gave himself the luxury of not
    recognizing the genius of Guimarães Rosa: "He just wants to be the Brazilian Joyce,
    that’s not writing."

    "As a diplomat, he angered many conservatives with his appearance in the 100,000
    person protest march in 1968, when a young student was shot to death by police in Rio. At
    the same time he offended academics by showing up in black tie. Neither side could accept
    the non-conformist ways of Vinicius. And when his colleagues were sipping champagne with
    foreign dignitaries, he preferred sharing a bottle of whiskey with personalities of the
    artistic world such as the poets Pablo Neruda and Nicolás Guillén, film maker Orson
    Welles, and musicians Louis Armstrong and Astor Piazzola.

    "During one of the first performances of Astor Piazzola’s self-described
    "little opera" Maria de Buenos Aires in 1968, a voice rose from the
    audience, repeatedly emitting profane exclamations. Backstage, after the show, the culprit
    was discovered. It was the Brazilian poet, Vinicius de Moraes, paying homage in his
    paradoxical way to the composer’s astonishing achievement."

    Pablo Zinger, New York Times, October 4, 1998

    Everyone, who knew Vinicius, has his or her own story or opinion about him, and one
    would be remiss if one did not mention some of those diverse opinions and anecdotes about
    him. After all, just as beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so is a person’s entirety
    the sum of all the many facets.

    "Who is right is Tia Zulmira, when she says, that if Vinicius de Moraes were only
    one person, he would not be Vinicius de Moraes, but Vinicius de Moral." Thus ends the
    chronicle "The Vinicius de Moraes’es" by columnist Stanislaw Ponte Preta
    (or Sérgio Porto as they like).

    Singer Toni Garrido of the group Cidade Negra is the protagonist in the remake
    of Orfeu Negro and declares his admiration for the author: "Vinicius is
    illuminating me and filling my life with poetry. I have the objective of making this Orfeu
    more beautiful because I know how he (Orfeu) was important to Vinicius." You could
    say that the poet continues to be present in the cultural life of Brazil.

    "I remember Vinicius in Ouro Preto (baroque town in Minas Gerais). He was staying
    at the house of Chico Rei. I arrived with guitar in hand and he received me, listened to
    me, and adopted me. He was very important in my career. Through him, I got to know the
    true MPB (Música Popular Brasileira, Brazilian Popular Music), in a much more acute form.
    He began writing lyrics for my songs. From that meeting on, I started dreaming about a
    much more definitive form of music. To do that, having besides the observations and advice
    of Vinicius, is something which left its mark on me."

    João Bosco, singer and composer.

    "Vinicius was a great poet. A very happy person who, in spite of being a diplomat,
    left it all behind to live as a Bohemian. He spoke several languages, was an intellectual
    and never let that, his great culture extrapolate the capacity for communication with
    people of all kinds. Among the phrases he always used with me, I remember one: "To
    drink beer is a waste of time, let’s drink whiskey right away." The most beautiful
    phase in his career, in my opinion, is the partnerships with Carlos Lyra and Tom Jobim. He
    was a very likable figure, charismatic and always in a good mood. In addition, he was a
    great jokester."

    Luiz Carlos Vinhas, pianist.

    "Vinicius is a person about whom you don’t forget anything. We had a great and
    constant friendship. Sometimes, people forget that he died. When he went away, there was a
    void which will never be filled. He was a happy person, pleasant, and we spent many
    Carnavals together. Living with him was always very good."

    Olívia Hime, singer and composer.

    "Vinicius was a person in love with the movies, a splendid columnist, the two
    things came together in his reviews, which resulted in a valuable whole. He is one of the
    most important critics in the country, next to Octávio Faria and Paulo Emílio Salles
    Gomes."

    Alexei Bueno, author of Vinicius de Moraes, poesia completa e prosa

    "An author, very interesting, very rich, very present in the soul of the Brazilian
    people." Alexei Bueno

    Vinicius spoke and sang about love in numerous forms and with the sensitivity of few.
    Perhaps, it was the close connection between romanticism and the feminine figure, which so
    fascinated him. "The ugly will pardon me, but beauty is fundamental," was one of
    the phrases which became famous on the exaltation of feminine beauty by the poet. The
    passion, the suffering, the unconditional surrender. To him, love meant more than just a
    feeling, it was a state of spirit.

    "The work of Vinicius has been compared to one of those Russian dolls that come
    apart in the middle and reveal a similar, but smaller doll inside, which also comes apart
    and so on and so forth. But the comparison, which at the beginning is tempting, because
    Vinicius was a poet who multiplied himself with impressive speed, fails in two aspects.
    First, unlike the Russian dolls, the work inside the hollow of the one before is not
    necessarily smaller than the one that preceded it. Another difference from the Russian
    dolls, is that it is not always the same inside, in fact, it is always different and
    surprising.

    "It is the great feat of the organizer, Alexei Bueno, that he did justice to a man
    who lived in abundance and with paradox, who never was afraid to err and to correct
    himself, and who never was totally happy inside himself. But it was because he never fled
    from conflicts, never dodged them, that Vinicius became the great poet that he was."

    From review of Bueno’s Vinicius de Moraes, poesia completa e prosa from the
    magazine Bravo, July 1998

    Vinicius Today

    Although it has been 19 years since Vinicius left this world, he is barely forgotten.
    Last year, Nova Aguilar issued a collection of his his work Vinicius de Moraes, poesia
    completa e prosa (Vinicius de Moraes, complete poetry and prose) organized by Alexei
    Bueno. It contains practically everything "The Little Poet" wrote along with
    film critics and other pieces, which had been lost or misplaced. It is a mammoth work of
    over 1500 pages and sells for around $70. It was received well by the critics, and
    although a work like that is only for those serious about reading Vinicius, it is no
    longer available—sold out in its first printing.

    Orfeu Today

    Back in the late fifties, when Orfeu Negro was on everybody’s lips and a
    lifelong love affair was begun between Brazil and many people around the globe, Brazil was
    the only country in which the movie was not a success. That, however, is not the case with
    the new version, directed by Cacá Diegues and under the musical direction of Caetano
    Veloso. On May 5th, Salvador’s A Tarde reported that the newly released Orfeu
    do Carnaval was the most watched movie of the past week. The soundtrack was released
    about a month earlier by Natasha Records.

    Asked about his new version juxtaposed with the original, the director says the
    following: "It is understandable that the first version was less popular in Brazil.
    It offered a certain utopian vision of the reality in a Brazilian favela, and
    perhaps people of that era could not identify with it. Perhaps prejudice had something to
    do with it as well. And if middle class people of today associate poverty with crime,
    imagine in the fifties, when the film by Camus was released."

    Cacá Diegues goes on to say that unlike the French production, his new version is
    faithful to the social reality of today’s favela. Orfeu is portrayed by Toni
    Garrido, who is a composer for Carnaval, and drug traffickers are among the other
    characters. "My version is much closer to the play by Vinicius, whose plot was part
    of the social context of Brazil. The favela is a Brazilian synthesis: a social
    horror and a boundless cultural treasure."

    The soundtrack is a combination of some of Tom Jobim and Vinicius’ classics A
    Felicidade and Se todos fossem iguais a você and some brand new songs
    composed, in part, by Caetano, O enredo de Orfeu, co-written with Gabriel o
    Pensador and Sou você, both sung by Toni Garrido. "We are including two
    sambas which were not even in the play. Cacá chose Cântico à Natureza (Song to
    Nature) and I chose Os cinco bailes da história do Rio (Five dances of the history
    of Rio)," says Caetano. "The samba-enredo by Dona Ivone Lara is my
    favorite of all times. I attended the parade of Império Serrano, in 1965, and I learned
    the song in the street."

    Clearly, a man so capable of creating poetry, prose, plays, reviews, music as well as
    the cultural atmosphere of his time, will not go quietly into oblivion. Here’s to you,
    Vinicius!

    Kirsten Weinoldt was born in Denmark and came to the U.S. in 1969. She fell in love
    with Brazil after seeing Black Orpheus many years ago and has lived immersed in
    Brazilian culture ever since. E-mail: kwracing@erols.com

    Partners

    After leaving the diplomatic service, Vinicius threw himself into music and soon became
    the "guru of bossa nova." He collaborated with a number of luminaries of
    Brazilian music and went on to author, compose and write lyrics of some of the best-loved
    Brazilian songs to date.

    The following lists a few of those songs.

    As Lyricist:
    with Baden Powell:
    Berimbau
    Canção do Amor Ausente
    Canto de Ossanha

    with Carlos Lyra:
    Pode Ir
    Coisa Mais Linda
    Você e Eu
    Sabe Você
    Minha Namorada

    with Tom Jobim:
    Chega de Saudade
    O Amor em Paz
    Brigas, nunca mais
    Insensatez
    O Nosso Amor
    A Felicidade
    Eu Sei que vou Te Amar
    Canta Mais
    Chora Coração
    Derradeira Primavera
    Modinha
    Por Toda a Minha Vida
    O que Tinha de Ser
    Canção de Amor Demais
    Soneto de Separação
    Água de Beber
    Ela é Carioca
    Só Danço Samba
    Garota de Ipanema

    with Toquinho:
    Tarde em Itapoã
    Canto de Oxum
    Maria, Vai com as Outras
    Um Homen Chamado Alfredo
    Sei Lá
    O Poeta Aprendiz
    Testamento
    Samba da Volta
    Regra Três
    As Cores de Abril
    O Filho que Eu Quero Ter
    Cotidiano no. 2
    A Benção Bahia
    Tatamirô
    Meu Pai Oxalá
    O Velho e a Flor
    Veja Você
    Mais um Adeus
    Como Dizia o Poeta
    Para Viver um Grande Amor
    Morena Flor
    São Demais os Perigos Desta Vida
    Samba de Orly (with Toquinho and Chico Buarque)

    As Composer:
    Medo de Amor
    Serenata do Adeus
    Valsa de Eurídice

    In addition to these above mentioned composers and lyricists, Vinicius also had
    partnerships with Francis Hime, Tapajós Brothers, Pixinguinha, Garoto, Ary Barroso,
    Ernesto Nazareth, and Adoniram Barbosa. Even Johan Sebastian Bach became a partner,
    however unknowing, in that Vinicius transformed Jesus, Alegria dos Homens into Rancho
    das Flores.

    Poetry and Prose


    A Casa

    Era uma casa muito engraçada
    não tinha teto, não tinha nada
    ninguém podia entrar nela, não
    porque na casa não tinha chão
    ninguém podia dormir na rede
    porque na casa não tinha parede
    ninguém podia fazer pipi
    porque penico não tinha ali
    mas era feita com muito esmero
    na rua dos Bobos, número zero

    The House

    It was a very funny house
    it didn’t have a roof, didn’t have anything
    nobody could enter it, no
    for the house had no floor
    nobody could sleep in the hammock
    for the house had no walls
    nobody could pee
    for there was no potty
    but it was made with much care
    on Fool Street, number zero

     

    Deixa
    music Baden Powell

    Deixa
    fale quem quiser falar, meu bem
    deixa
    deixe o coração falar também
    porque ele tem razão demais quando se queixa
    então a gente deixa, deixa, deixa, deixa
    ninguém vive mais do que uma vez
    deixa
    diz que sim pra não dizer talvez
    deixa
    a paixão também existe
    deixa
    não me deixe ficar triste

    Allow

    Allow
    to speak, those who wish, my dear
    allow
    allow the heart to speak as well
    for it is quite right when it complains
    so people allow, allow, allow, allow
    no-one lives more than once
    allow
    say yes in order not to say maybe
    allow
    passion also exists
    allow
    don’t allow me to be sad

     

    Eu Sei Que Vou Te Amar
    music Tom Jobim

    Eu sei que vou te amar
    por toda a minha vida eu vou te amar
    em cada despedida eu vou te amar
    desesperadamente, eu sei que vou te amar

    E cada verso meu será
    prá te dizer que eu sei que vou te amar
    por toda minha vida

    Eu sei que vou chorar
    a cada ausência tua eu vou chorar
    mas cada volta tua há de apagar
    o que esta ausência tua me causou

    Eu sei que vou sofrer a eterna desventura de viver
    à espera de viver ao lado teu
    por toda minha vida

    I Know That I Will Love You

    I know I will love you
    all my life I will love you
    with every farewell I will love you
    desperately, I know I will love you

    And each verse of mine will be
    to tell you that I’ll love you
    all my life

    I know I will cry
    with each absence of yours I will cry
    but each return will erase
    what your absence caused me

    I know I’ll suffer the eternal unhappiness of living
    waiting to live beside you
    all my life

     

    Procura-se Um Amigo

    Não precisa ser homem, basta ser humano, basta ter sentimento, basta ter coração.
    Precisa saber falar e calar, sobretudo saber ouvir. Tem que gostar de poesia, de
    madrugada, de pássaro, de sol, da lua, do canto dos ventos e das canções da brisa. Deve
    ter amor, um grande amor por alguém, ou então sentir falta de não ter esse amor. Deve
    amar o próximo e respeitar a dor que os passantes levam consigo. Deve guardar segredo sem
    se sacrificar.

    Não é preciso que seja de primeira mão, nem é imprescindível que seja de segunda
    mão. Pode já ter sido enganado, pois todos os amigos são enganados. Não é preciso que
    seja puro, nem que seja de todo impuro, mas não deve ser vulgar. Deve ter um ideal e medo
    de perdê-lo e, no caso de assim não ser, deve sentir o grande vácuo que isso deixa. Tem
    que ter ressonâncias humanas, seu principal objetivo deve ser o de amigo. Deve sentir
    pena das pessoas tristes e compreender o imenso vazio dos solitários. Deve gostar de
    crianças e lastimar as que não puderam nascer.

    Procura-se um amigo para gostar dos mesmos gostos, que se comova, quando chamado de amigo.
    Que saiba conversar de coisas simples, de orvalhos, de grande chuvas e das recordações
    de infância. Precisa-se de um amigo para não se enlouquecer, para contar o que se viu de
    belo e triste durante o dia, dos anseios e das realizações, dos sonhos e da realidade.
    Deve gostar de ruas desertas, de poças de água e de caminhos molhados, de beira de
    estrada, de mato depois da chuva, de se deitar no capim.

    Precisa-se de um amigo que diga que vale a pena viver, não porque a vida é bela, mas
    porque já se tem um amigo. Precisa-se de um amigo para se parar de chorar. Para não se
    viver debruçado no passado em busca de memórias perdidas. Que nos bata nos ombros
    sorrindo ou chorando, mas que nos chame de amigo, para ter-se a consciência de que ainda
    se vive.

    Looking For a Friend

    You don’t have to be a man, it’s enough to be human, it’s enough to have sentiment, it’s
    enough to have heart. You have to know how to speak or be quiet, more than anything you
    have to know how to listen. You have to like poetry, dawn, a bird, the sun, the moon, the
    song of the winds and the music of the breeze. You must have love, a great love for
    somebody, or feel a void of not having that love. You must love your neighbor and respect
    the pain the passer-by carries with him. You must keep a secret without sacrificing.

    You don’t have to be first-hand or even second-hand. You may already have been deceitful,
    for all friends are deceitful. You don’t have to be pure, nor totally impure, but you
    shouldn’t be vulgar. You should have an ideal and fear of losing it and, in case you are
    not like that, you should feel a great vacuum which that leaves. You must have human
    resonances, your principal objective should be that of a friend. You should feel pity for
    sad persons and comprehend the immense emptiness of the lonely. You should like children
    and lament those who could not be born.

    Look for a friend to like the same tastes, who is moved when called a friend. Who knows
    how to converse about simple things, the dew, the great rains, and the recollections of
    childhood. You need a friend so as not to go mad, to talk about what transpired, beautiful
    and sad things during the day, of the yearnings and realizations, the dreams and reality.
    You should like deserted streets, puddles of water and wet roads, the edge of the street,
    the countryside after the rain, to lie down in the grass.

    One needs a friend who says it’s good to live, not because life is beautiful but because
    he has a friend. One needs a friend to stop crying. In order not to live leaning on the
    past in search of lost memories. Who slaps us on the shoulder smiling or crying, but who
    calls us friend in order to have the consciousness of what we are still living

       

    Soneto Do Amor Total

    Amo-te tanto meu amor … não cante
    o humano coração com mais verdade…
    amo-te como amigo e como amante
    numa sempre diversa realidade.

    Amo-te enfim, de um calmo amor prestante
    e te amo além, presente na saudade
    amo-te, enfim, com grande liberdade
    dentro da eternidade e a cada instante.

    Amo-te como um bicho, simplesmente
    de um amor sem mistério e sem virtude
    com um desejo maciço e permanente.

    E de te amar assim, muito e amiúde
    é que um dia em teu corpo de repente
    hei de morrer de amar mais do que pude.

    Sonnet of a Total Love

    I love you so much my love—don’t sing
    the human heart with more truth
    I love you as a friend and as a lover
    in an always diverse reality

    I love you, finally, with a calm, giving love
    and I love you, furthermore, present in the longing
    I love you, finally, with great freedom
    within eternity and every instant

    I love you like an animal, simply
    with a love without mystery and without virtue
    with a solid and permanent desire

    And to love you thus, a lot and often
    is to one day, in your body, suddenly
    die of loving more than I could.

     

    A Casa Materna

    Há, desde a entrada, um sentimento de tempo na casa materna. As grades do portão têm
    uma velha ferrugem e o trinco se encontra num lugar que só a mão filial conhece. O
    jardim pequeno parece mais verde e úmido que os demais, com suas palmas, tinhorões e
    samambaias, que a mão filial, fiel a um gesto de infância, desfolha ao longo da haste.

    É sempre quieta a casa materna, mesmo aos domingos, quando as mãos filiais se pousam
    sobre a mesa farta do almoço, repetindo uma antiga imagem. Há um tradicional silêncio
    em suas salas e um dorido repouso em suas poltronas. O assoalho encerado, sobre o qual
    ainda escorrega o fantasma da cachorrinha preta, guarda as mesmas manchas e o mesmo taco
    solto de outras primaveras. As coisas vivem como em preces, nos mesmos lugares onde as
    situaram as mãos maternas quando eram moças e lisas. Rostos irmãos se olham dos
    porta-retratos, a se amarem e compreenderem mudamente. O piano fechado, com uma longa tira
    de flanela sobre as teclas, repete ainda passadas valsas, de quando as mãos maternas
    careciam sonhar.

    A casa materna é o espelho de outras, em pequenas coisas que o olhar filial admirava ao
    tempo em que tudo era belo: O licoreiro magro, a bandeja triste, o absurdo bibelô. E tem
    um corredor à escuta, de cujo teto à noite pende uma luz morta, com negras aberturas
    para os quartos cheios de sombra. Na estante junto à escada há um Tesouro da
    juventude com o dorso puído de tato e de tempo. Foi ali que o olhar filial primeiro
    viu a forma gráfica de algo que passaria a ser para ele a forma suprema da beleza: o
    verso.

    Na escada há o degrau que estala e anuncia aos ouvidos maternos a presença dos passos
    filiais. Pois a casa materna se divide em dois mundos: o térreo, onde se processa a vida
    presente, e o de cima, onde vive a memória. Embaixo há sempre coisas fabulosas na
    geladeira e no armário da copa: roquefort amassado, ovos frescos, mangas-espadas,
    untuosas compotas, bolos de chocolate, biscoitos de araruta—pois não há lugar mais
    propício do que a casa materna para uma boa ceia noturna. E porque é uma casa velha, há
    sempre uma barata que aparece e é morta com uma repugnância que vem de longe. Em cima
    ficam os guardados antigos, os livros que lembram a infância, o pequeno oratório em
    frente ao qual ninguém, a não ser a figura materna, sabe porque queima às vezes uma
    vela votiva. E a cama onde a figura paterna repousava de sua agitação diurna. Hoje,
    vazia.

    A imagem paterna persiste no interior da casa materna. Seu violão dorme encostado junto
    à vitrola. Seu corpo como que se marca ainda na velha poltrona da sala e como que se pode
    ouvir ainda o brando ronco de sua sesta dominical. Ausente para sempre de sua casa
    materna, a figura paterna parece mergulhá-la docemente na eternidade, enquanto as mãos
    maternas se fazem mais lentas e as mãos filiais ainda mais unidas em torno à grande
    mesa, onde já agora vibram também vozes infantis.

    The Maternal House

    There is, from the entrance, a feeling of time in your mother’s house. The bars on the
    gate are rusty, and the latch is in a place which only the filial hand knows. The small
    yard seems more green and humid than the rest, with its palms, ornamental plants, and
    ferns, which the son’s hand, faithful to a gesture from childhood, defoliates along the
    stem.

    The maternal house is always quiet, even on Sundays, when the son’s hands rest on the
    table full of lunch, repeating an old image. There is a traditional silence in its rooms
    and a sad rest in its armchairs. The waxed, wooden floor, on which the ghost of the little
    white dog still slips, is keeping the same stains and the same loose parquet block of
    other springs. The things live as in prayers, in the same places where the maternal hands
    put them when they were girlish and smooth. Brothers’ faces look from the photo frame to
    be loved and understood silently. The closed piano, with a long flannel strip over the
    keys, still repeats past waltzes, from when the maternal hands needed to dream.

    The maternal house is the mirror of others, in little things which the filial glance
    admired of the time when all was beautiful: the slim carafe-set, the sad tray, the absurd
    ornament. And there is a crawlspace from whose ceiling hangs a dead light, with black
    openings to the rooms full of shadow. On the bookcase next to the stairs there is a Treasure
    of youth with its back worn by touch and time. It was here that the son’s glance first
    saw the graphic form, which would come to be, for him, a supreme form of beauty, the
    verse.

    On the stairs is the step that creaks and announces to the maternal hearing the son’s
    footsteps. For the maternal house is divided into two worlds: the ground floor, where the
    present life goes on, and that of above where the memories live. Below there are always
    fabulous things in the refrigerator, and in the cupboard: mashed roquefort, fresh
    eggs, cut mango, rich fruit in syrup, chocolate cake, araruta biscuits, for there
    is not a better place for a nocturnal supper than the maternal house. And because it is an
    old house, there is always a cockroach, that appears and is killed with a repugnance that
    comes from far away. Upstairs are the guarded antiques, the books which remind you of
    infancy, the small oratory in front of which nobody, except the maternal figure, knows why
    there sometimes burns a votive candle. And the bed where the paternal figure would rest
    from his agitation of the day. Today, empty.

    The paternal image persists in the interior of the maternal house. His guitar sleeps
    leaning against the victrola. It’s as if his body is still leaving its mark in the old
    armchair and as if one can still hear the gentle snore of his Sunday nap. Absent, forever,
    from the maternal house, the paternal figure seems to immerse itself sweetly into
    eternity, while the maternal hands work more slowly and the son’s hands, still more united
    around the big table, where already now vibrate childlike voices.

     

    Insensatez
    music by Tom Jobim

    Ah, insensatez que você fez
    coração mais sem cuidado
    fez chorar de dor o seu amor
    um amor tão delicado
    ah, por que você foi fraco assim
    assim tão desalmado
    ah, meu coração, quem nunca amou
    não merece ser amado

    Vai meu coração, ouve a razão
    usa só sinceridade
    quem semeia vento, diz a razão
    colhe sempre tempestade
    vai, meu coração, pede perdão
    perdão apaixonado
    vai, porque quem não pede perdão
    não é nunca perdoado.

    Folly

    Oh what folly you committed
    heart very much without care
    your love makes me cry with pain
    a love so delicate
    ah, why were you so weak
    so cruel as this
    ah, my heart who never loved anybody
    does not deserve to be loved.

    Go my heart, hear the reason
    use only sincerity
    who sows the wind, says reason,
    always gathers the storm
    go my heart, beg pardon
    passionate pardon
    go, because he who doesn’t beg pardon
    is never pardoned.

     

    Onde Anda Você

    E por falar em saudade
    onde anda você
    onde anda seus olhos
    que a gente não vê
    onde anda esse corpo
    que me deixou morto de tanto prazer
    e por falar em beleza
    onde anda a canção
    que se ouvia na noite
    nos bares de então
    onde a gente ficava
    onde a gente se amava em total solidão
    Hoje saio na noite vazia
    numa boemia sem razão de ser
    na rotina dos bares
    que apesar dos pesares
    me trazem você
    E por falar em paixão
    em razão de viver
    você bem que podia me aparecer
    nesses mesmos lugares
    nas noites nos bares
    onde anda você

    Where Are You Going

    And to speak of longing
    where are you going
    where are your eyes going
    which people don’t see
    where does that body go
    which left me dead with so much pleasure
    and to speak of beauty
    where is the song going
    which was heard at night
    in the bars of back then
    where people stayed
    where people loved in total solitude
    Today I go out in the empty night
    as a Bohemian without reason to be
    in the routine of the bars
    which despite everything
    bring me you
    And to speak of passion
    as a reason to live
    you could well appear to me
    in those same places
    in the nights at the bars
    where are you going

     

    Carta ao Tom
    Music Tom Jobim

    Rua Nascimento Silva, cento e sete
    você ensinando prá Elizete as canções de "Canção de Amor Demais"
    Lembra que tempo feliz, ai que saudade, Ipanema era só felicidade
    Era como se o amor doesse em paz
    Nossa famosa garota nem sabia
    A que ponto a cidade turvaria neste Rio de amor que se perdeu
    Mesmo a tristeza da gente era mais bela e além disso se via da janela
    Um cantinho de céu e o
    Redentor
    É, meu amigo, só resta uma certeza, é preciso acabar com essa tristeza
    É preciso inventar de novo o amor

    Rua Nascimento Silva, cento e sete
    Eu saio correndo do pivete tentando alcançar o elevador
    Minha janela não passa de um quadrado, a gente só vê Sérgio Dourado
    Onde antes se via o Redentor
    É, meu amigo, só resta uma certeza, é preciso acabar com a natureza
    É melhor lotear o nosso amor

    Letter for Tom

    Rua Nascimento Silva a hundred and seven
    You teaching Elizete the songs of "Song of Too Much Love"
    You remember a happy tune, oh what longing
    Ipanema was just happiness
    It was as if love hurt in peace
    Our famous girl didn’t even know
    At what point the city would darken in their Rio
    of love that was lost
    Even the sadness of the people was more beautiful
    and moreover was seen in the window
    A little corner of Heaven and the Redeemer (statue of Christ in Rio)
    It is, my friend, there only remains one certainty,
    it is necessary to finish with this sadness
    It is necessary to invent love again.

    Rua Nascimento Silva a hundred and seven
    I go out running from the street kid trying to reach the elevator
    My window doesn’t overlook a block, people only see Sérgio Dourado
    Where before they saw the Redeemer
    It is, my friend, there remains only one certainty
    it is necessary to finish with nature
    It is better to divide one love

     

    Dialética

    É claro que a vida é boa
    E a alegria, a única indizível emoção
    É claro que te acho linda
    Em ti bendigo o amor das coisas simples
    É claro que te amo
    E tenho tudo para ser feliz

    Mas acontece que eu sou triste

    Dialectics

    It is clear that life is good
    And happiness, the only indescribable emotion
    It is clear that I find you beautiful
    In you I praise the love of simple things
    It is clear that I love you
    And I have everything to be happy

    But it happens that I am sad

     

    Serenata do Adeus
    Music and Lyrics by Vinicius

    Ai, a lua que no céu surgiu
    não é a mesma que te viu
    nascer dos braços meus…
    cai a noite sobre o nosso amor
    e agora só restou do amor
    uma palavra: adeus

    Ai, vontade de ficar
    mas tendo de ir embora
    ai, que amor é se ir morrendo
    pela vida afora
    É refletir na lágrima
    o momento breve
    de uma estrela pura
    cuja luz morreu…

    Ó mulher, estrela a refulgir
    pane, mas antes de partir
    rasga o meu coração
    crava as garras no meu peito em dor
    e esvai em sangue todo o amor
    toda a desilusão

    Ah, vontade de ficar
    mas tendo de ir embora…
    ai, que amar é se ir morrendo
    pela vida afora
    É refletir na lágrima
    o momento breve
    de uma estrela pura
    cuja luz morreu
    numa noite escura
    triste como eu…

    Serenade of Farewell

    Ah, the moon, which rose to the sky
    is not the same that saw you
    to be born of my arms
    the night falls on our love
    and now remains only, of the love,
    one word—goodbye

    Ah, willing to stay
    but having to go away
    ah, love is to go and die
    throughout life
    it is to reflect in the tear
    the brief moment
    from a pure star
    whose light died

    Oh woman, star shining
    break down, but before you go away
    tear out my heart
    drive the talons into my breast in pain
    and vanishes in blood all our love
    everything an illusion

    Ah, wanting to stay
    but having to go away
    ah, how loving is to go and die
    throughout life
    it is reflecting in the tear
    the brief moment
    from a pure star
    whose light died
    in a dark night
    sad like me…

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