Skip to main content
Feature

African Lusophone Poetry in Translation

slideNumber:

A Selection by Frederick G. Williams

“A long and ambivalent history of the Portuguese language in Africa lies at the heart of lusofonia”1 wrote Russell G. Hamilton, a former dean of graduate studies and professor of Spanish and Portuguese at Vanderbilt University. Today, notable writers such as Mia Couto, who was born in Mozambique and was a finalist for the 2015 Man Booker International Prize, represent the vanguard of writers, musicians, filmmakers, and poets throughout the Portuguese-
speaking African world. “Luso refers to a tribe of people present in the western part of the Iberian Peninsula, Lusitani, during the centuries preceding the Common era” which leads to Lusophone, a term meaning “Portuguese-speaking.”2

Poetry in this issue of Bridges Alumni Magazine was selected by Frederick G. Williams,3 best known in Portugal for his work on Jorge de Sena and in Brazil for his work on Sousândrade. Williams has also written numerous articles and books and won many awards. He began his prolific academic career at UCLA, taught at University of California, Santa Barbara, and in 1999 came to BYU as the Gerrit de Jong Jr. Distinguished Professor of Luso-Brazilian Studies. He also taught at the Pontifical Catholic University of Rio de Janeiro in Brazil and One World University in Maputo, Mozambique.

These selections come from Williams’s five bilingual anthologies, which contain 589 poems. Selections were chosen for their literary merit and include a range of topics, racial and ethnic backgrounds, and political viewpoints.

  • Poets of Mozambique: A Bilingual Selection / Poetas de Moçambique: uma seleção bilingue (Provo: BYU Studies, 2006)
  • Poets of Angola / Poetas de Angola: uma seleção bilingue (Provo: BYU Studies, 2014)
  • Poets of Cape Verde: A Bilingual Selection / Poetas de Cabo Verde: uma seleção bilingue, (Provo: BYU Studies, 2010)
  • Poets of São Tomé and Principe: A Bilingual Selection / Poetas de São Tomé e Principe: uma seleção bilingue (Provo: BYU Studies, 2015)
  • Poets of Guinea-Bissau: A Bilingual Selection / Poetas da Guiné-Bissau: uma seleção bilingue, (Provo: BYU Studies, 2015)

Maternidade

Glória de Sant’Anna (1925–)

Olho-te: és negra.
Olhas-me: sou branca.
Mas sorrimos as duas
na tarde que se adianta.

Tu sabes e eu sei:
o que ergue altivamente o meu vestido
e o que soergue a tua capulana,
é a mesma carga humana.

Quando soar a hora
determinada, crua, dolorosa
de conceder ao mundo o mistério da vida,

seremos tão iguais, tão verdadeiras,
tão míseras, tão fortes
e tão perto da morte . . .

Que este sorriso de hoje,
na tarde que se esvai,
é o testemunho exacto
do erro las fronteiras raciais.

Dos nossos ventres altos,
os filhos que brotarem
nos chamarão com a mesma palavra.

E ambas estamos certas
—tu, negra e eu, branca—
que é dentro dos nossos ventres
que germina a esperança.

Um denso azul silêncio, 1965

Maternity

Glória de Sant’Anna (1925–)

I look at you: you are black.
You look at me: I am white.
But we both smile
in the advancing afternoon.

You know and I know:
that which proudly raises my dress
and that which lifts your capulana,
is the same human cargo.

When the time calls
determined, raw, painful
to concede to the world the mystery of life,

we will be so alike, so true,
so miserable, so strong
and so close to death . . .

That today’s smile,
in the waning afternoon,
is the perfect witness
to the error of racial boundaries.

From our elevated wombs,
the children who’ll appear
will call us by the same name.

And both of us are sure
—you, black, and I, white—
that it is from within our wombs
that hope germinates.

Um denso azul silêncio, 1965

Naus sem rumo

Amílcar Cabral (1924–1973)

Dispersas,
emersas,
sozinhas sobre o Oceano . . .
Sequiosas,
rochosas,
pedaços do Africano,
do negro continente,
as enjeitadas filhas,
nossas ilhas,
navegam tristemente . . .

Qual naus da antiguidade,
qual naus
do velho Portugal,
aquelas que as entradas
do imenso mar abriram . . .
As naus
que as nossas descobriram.

Ao vento, à tempestade,
navegam
de Cabo Verde as ilhas,
as filhas
do ingente
e negro continente . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

São dez as caravelas
em busca do Infinito . . .
São dez as caravelas,
sem velas,
em busca do Infinito . . .
À tempestade e ao vento, caminham . . .
navegam mansamente
as ilhas,
as filhas
do negro continente . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

—Onde ides naus da Fome,
da Morna,
do Sonho, e da Desgraça? . . .

—Onde ides? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sem rumo e sem ter fito,
Sozinhas,
dispersas,
emersas,
nós vamos,
sonhando,
sofrendo,
em busca do Infinito! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[Mindelo, 1943]

Ships Without Direction

Amílcar Cabral (1924–1973)

Dispersed,
immersed,
alone on the Ocean . . .
Thirsty,
rocky,
bits of African notions,
from the black continent,
the abandoned daughters,
our island yachters,
navigate with sad countenance . . .

Like ships from long ago,
like ships
from old Portugal,
those whose entries
opened passage ways through the immense sea . . .
The ships
that ours discovered silently.

Into the wind, into the storm,
they navigate
Cape Verde are these island yachters,
the daughters
of the immensely prominent
and black continent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They are ten caravels
in search of the Infinite . . .
They are ten caravels,
without sails,
Into the storm and into the wind,
they go . . .
they navigate somnolent
these island yachters,
the daughters
of the black continent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

—Where are you going ships of Hunger,
of Mornas,
of Dreams, and of Tragedy? . . .

—Where are you going? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Without direction or vision guiding it,
All alone,
dispersed,
immersed,
we go,
dreaming,
suffering,
in search of the Infinite! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[Mindelo, 1943]

A Billie Holiday, cantora

Noémia de Sousa (1926–2002)

Era de noite e no quarto aprisionado em escuridão
apenas o luar entrara, sorrateiramente,
e fora derramar-se no chão.
Solidão. Solidão. Solidão.

E então,
tua voz, minha irmã americana,
veio do ar, do nada, nascida da própria
escuridão . . .
Estranha, profunda, quente,
vazada em solidão.

E começava assim a canção:
“Into each heart some rain must fall . . .”
Começava assim
e era só melancholia
do princípio ao fim,
como se teus dias fossem sem sol
e a tua alma aí, sem alegria . . .

Tua voz irmã, no seu trágico sentimentalismo,
descendo e subindo,
chorando para logo, ainda trémula, começar rindo,
cantando no teu arrastado inglês crioulo
esses singulares “blues”, dum fatalism
rácico que faz doer
tua voz, não sei por que estranha magia,
arrastou para longe a minha solidão . . .

To Billie Holiday, Singer

Noémia de Sousa (1926–2002)

It was at night and in the room imprisoned in darkness
no sooner had the moonlight entered, surreptitiously,
and it was diffused upon the floor.
Solitude. Solitude. Solitude.

And then,
your voice, my American sister,
came from the air, from nothing, born from the darkness itself . . .
Strange, profound, sultry,
oozing with solitude . . .

And the song began this way:
“Into each heart some rain must fall . . . ”
Thus it began
and it was pure melancholy
from beginning to end,
as though your days were without sun
and your soul there, without joy . . .

Your voice, sister, in its tragic sentimentalism,
descending and rising,
crying then quickly, still trembling, beginning to laugh,
singing in your drawled English creole
those singular “blues,” of a race’s
fatalism that brings pain
your voice, I don’t know by what strange magic,
chased away my solitude far from me . . .

A emigração

A propósito da emigração para S. Tomé e Príncipe
Eugénio Tavares (1867–1930)

Como é triste e é desolador,
Ver partir, aos magotes, esta gente,
Entregue ao seu destino, indiferente
A tanto sofrimento, tanta dor!

Se a sorte ainda a traz à terra amiga,
Macilenta, tristonha, depaup’rada,
Com a doença do sono, já minada,
Ao cemitério um só coval mendiga!

Mas porque ides, assim arrebanhada,
A essa maldita terra de desterro?
É a fome que vos leva acorrentada?

Aproveitai melhor a mocidade
E ide mais distante, ide à América
A terra do trabalho e liberdade!

Emigration

In regards to the emigration to São Tomé and Príncipe
Eugénio Tavares (1867–1930)

How sad it is and how disheartening,
To see these people leave, so wretched, spent,
They trust in destiny, indifferent
To so much sorrow, so much suffering!

If fortune takes you to a friendly land,
You’ll still be sad, undone, and still need care,
You’ll still be weak, there’s sleeping sickness there,
For you they’ve but one beggar’s grave on hand!

So why is it, like penned-up sheep, you go
To that accursed land of your sad exile?
Is hunger what is driving you so low?

Make better use of your virility
And travel farther, to America
The land of work, the land of liberty!

1619

Francisco José Tenreiro (1921–1963)

Da terra negra à terra vermelha
por noites e dias fundos e escuros,
com os teus olhos de dor embaciados,
atravessaste esse manto de água verde
—estrada de escravatura
comércio de holandeses

Por noites e dias para ti tão longos
e tantos como as estrelas no céu,
tombava o teu corpo ao peso de grilhetas e chicote
e só ritmo de chape-chape da água
acordava no teu coração a saudade
da última réstia de areia quente
e da última palhota que ficou para trás.

Ejá os teus olhos estavam cegos de negrume
já os teus braços arroxeavam de prisão
já não havia deuses, nem batuques
para alegrarem a cadência do sangue nas tuas veias
quando ela, a terra vermelha e longínqua
se abriu para ti
—e foste 40 L esterlinas
em qualquer estado do Sul—

1619

Francisco José Tenreiro (1921–1963)

From the black land to the red land
deep and dark nights and days,
with your eyes dulled with pain,
you crossed that green mantle of water
—the highway of slavery
the commerce of the Dutch

By night and by day which for you were so long
and as many as the stars in the sky
your body fell under the weight of the manacles and whip
and only the rhythm of the lap-lap of the water
awoke in your heart the nostalgia
of the last bit of warm sand
and the last straw hut that remained behind.

Already your eyes were blinded by the darkness
already your arms were black and blue from the prison
there were no more gods, nor drums
to enliven the cadence of the blood pulsating in your veins
when she, the red and distant land
opened her arms to receive you
—and you were 40 £ sterling
in any Southern state—

Mãe Humanidade & do Mundo

Kardo Bestilo (1976–)

Oh! Mulher!
Excelência da vida, és a rainha da sociedade Geradora da vida!
Mas! Micróbios Musculados atrevem-se a insultar-te!

És quem vejo quando penso

Na minha Mãe—Mulher,
Na minha Irma—Mulher,
Na minha Esposa—Mulher,
Na minha Filha—Mulher,
Na minha Avó—Mulher!

Mulher é tudo e está em tudo!

Sem mulher não há vida,
Sem mulher ou mãe não há educação,
Sem mulher ou esposa não há estabilidade social,
Sem mulher ou irmã não há amiga mulher,
Sem mulher ou filha não há ciúmes de consciência,
Sem mulher ou avó não há mimos de meninice!

Mesmo assim as fazemos sofrer,
Mesmo assim conseguimos trai-las,
Mesmo assim conseguimos Espancá-las Agredi-las,
Violá-las . . .
Que espécie de seres somos nós? Micróbios Musculados!
Mulher é base da sociedade,
Quando frágil: sociedade frágil as influências e destruição.

Oh! Mulher, és a razão da nossa existência e gira o mundo!
Mesmo assim por abundares com tuas curvas doces
Micróbios Musculados esquecem teu valor,
Tudo que fazemos é por ti, alteza, tudo para conquistar-te
Guerras acontecem, carros são comprados, casas são adquiridas,

Mesmo assim Micróbios Muscalados conseguem abusar-te . . .
Mas tua fragilidade me fortalice,
Teu sorriso me dá Felicidade,
Teu amor faz meu mundo girar,
Tua existência faz que eu exista!
A ti mulher Eu respeito e amo!
As imitações de homens! Micróbios Musculados,
Vamos educá-los com o tempo e peço desculpa, minha alteza

És um ser sem igual, no entanto
Teu preço é Amor, Tua etiqueta Compreensão,
Teu forro Carinho, Teu interior Minha Origem,
Nenhuma tristeza apaga isso, nenhum dinheiro paga isso,
Aqui me ajoelho, aqui te agradeço, minha alteza,
A ti mulher, Mãe da Humanidade & do Mundo!

Mother of Mankind & of the World

Kardo Bestilo (1976–)

Oh! Woman!
Excellence of life, you are the queen of society Generator of life!
But! Muscle-bound Microbes dare to insult you!

It’s you I see when I think of

My Mother—Woman,
My Sister—Woman,
My Wife—Woman,
My Daughter—Woman,
My Grandmother—Woman!

Woman is everything and is within everything!

Without woman there is no life,
Without woman or mother there is no education,
Without woman or wife there is no social stability,
Without woman or sister there is no woman friend,
Without woman or daughter there is no jealousy of conscience,
Without woman or grandmother there is no pampering in childhood!

Nevertheless we make them suffer,
Nevertheless we succeed in betraying them,
Nevertheless we succeed in Beating them, Assaulting them,
Violating them . . .
What manner of beings are we? Muscle-bound Microbes!
Women are the basis of society,
When fragile: fragile society the influences and destruction.

Oh! Woman, you are the reason for our existence and the world turns!
Nevertheless because you abound with your sweet curves
Muscle-bound Microbes forget your worth,
Everything we do is for you, your highness, everything to conquer you
Wars happen, cars are purchased, houses are acquired

Nevertheless Muscle-bound Microbes succeed in abusing you . . .
But your fragility strengthens me,
Your smile brings me Happiness,
Your love makes my world go round,
Your existence makes possible my existence!
To you woman I respect and love!
The imitations of men! Muscle-bound Microbes,
We will educate them in time and I beg your forgiveness, my highness,

You are an incomparable being, nevertheless
Your price is Love, Your label is Understanding,
Your cover Kindness, Your interior My Origin,
No amount of sadness extinguishes this, no amount of money pays for this,
Here I kneel, here I thank you, my highness,
To you my woman, Mother of Mankind & of the World!

Notes


1. Russell G. Hamilton, “Lusophone Literature in Africa: Lusofonia, Africa, and Matters of Languages and Letters,” Callaloo 14, no. 2 (Spring 1991): 324–35, doi.org/10.2307/2931627.
2. University of Wisconsin–Madison Libraries Research Guides, s.v. “Lusophone,” researchguides.library.wisc.edu/lusophone; see also Simon J. Keay “Lusitania,” Oxford Classical Dictionary, eds. Simon Hornblower, Anthony Spawforth, and Esther Eidinow (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2012).
3. Reprinted by permission of Frederick G. Williams.