To my Moscow comrades I leave here a poem that according to my internet researches is carved in some Moscow's Red Square monument or landmark.
I don’t know if it’s translated there. But, it was made by an honorable Brazilian poet, named Rogaciano Leite.
So I did this non official translation.
I hope you like. And please comment. I would love to see it on live. Who knows someday…
Do you have waves for surf in Russia?
THE WORKERS - Rogaciano Leite
A huge wobbly tongue of smoke
Goes licking the infinity – thick and fatigued
It’s the smoke that goes out of the tanned chimney
And turns into clouds through the space above
One would call it an angry serpent
That, crawling back to its lair, blear and menacing,
Rising... rising... like this, from curve to curve,
Would curl the tail on horizon dorsum!
But, no! It’s the hillock factory's chimney
This giant cigar that blows through the ampleness
Generating monsters across the sky
Covering, with fume, that whole neighborhood
In the shop, the anvil's echo is listened
The metal's hiccup and the hammer yell
Like brutal tigers in a frightening duel
The machines roar in the plant’s cellar
It’s the den where, from iron, the tainted dregs
Become a shiny star under the light of a Golden powder!
It’s the work uterus where a son is generated
Which shows his blond face to the arms of the future
Someday, from one idea, a seed sheds
Slips, fertile, joining herself to the soil
Stands up… Flowering… and, there she is, holding on her lap
The fruits that had not - while was inert
Was the light germen, the flower of Thought
Multiplying the action of the small strength
- From a bronze morsel a workshop!
- From a lime mat grew a monument!
Work! Because work is the saint sacrifice.
Shipyard of love that the souls purifies
Where the pollen fecundates, the bread multiplies
And in flowers become the tears that roll over the face
But the working rush is not worth
When the road is filled of injustice and crimes
And instead of sweet fruitage, sublime,
Generates deadly berries of bitter taste
Go and stare how many hero, how many human crane
Under the exhaustive dust and the tiring heat
The iron's muscles, the sturdy appearance
Mixing the own sweat to its quotidian meal
Its force is a miracle! The blessed redemption!
Its stiff arm is the energic lever
The miraculous chisel, the unlocking wrench
The Progress kingdom where the greatness lives
Without this hero's feet the Evolution doesn’t goes ahead!
Without the mothers of this brave, the nation doesn’t grow!
The industry production fails! The field does not flourishes!
The commerce decays! The exportation scatters!
However, take a good look! These heroes without a name,
Doomed animals that the gold still enslaves
Dragging – how unfair! – the treasure's carriage
Bound to sickness, to hunger, to pain!
How many imponent building of value sumptuary
Raised to the sky, set on infinity
Unconcerned with the hurt, Unconcerned with the scream
Of disgrace that invades the shacks of the working men
By day, is the labour! Exposed to sun and rain!
By night, is the infection of a dark hut
Where soon one daughter will become impure
And a starving woman will become a widow
Not even sleep rests the tired eyelids!
Milk is the humidity of the fetid shelter!
Bread is scarce and hard! Clothes are scraps!
And the boot is the storehouse of the dirt streets!
There, the medicine is a strange prodigy!
Never a book will be opened to smiles of hope
To fill, with vivacity, the eyes of the child
Pointing her the firmament... Showing one vestige!
Everything is darkness and unbelief! The own God is sad
Hearing the craving of these human hearts
And the Law - happy woman who sleeps for so long
Does not wake up to see how much injustice exists.
Where is this love which the priests preach?
Where are these laws which the Parliament prints?
The Code can’t open its breast to crime,
Defaming the modesty which the Courts segregate!
Observe the red flame escaping from the furnace
Look at the fume that slides by the sides of the chimney
This is the blood... Is the sweat of the poor who agonizes
While the law dozes off over silk sofas
What is made of this hero? No one knows where he comes from!
The power never entered through his roof straw
Only, the ailing wife, the son illiterate
And, there in the cabarets, – the daughter... who was virgin!
There is a legion of these incredulous martyres
In every street end, in each poor neighborhood!
It’s too much disgrace in a so noble country
Which had a Tolstoy and gave a Lenin
Will be necessary the blood tainting the spear?
And the corpses of popular rotting on the corners?
Don’t you see, oh Law, thy own daughters?
Then, die cruel mother, under the wrath of revenge!
But I can feel that the time is coming
When the voice of the unfortunate will be free – and loud!
Because I know that this God who sings in the palaces
Is the same God who cries in the slum quarters
Lots of laughs inside here! Lots of shouts outside there!
How many berths made of silk! How many feet in awful conditions!
Since men don’t see these false decrees
Tear thy mantle, Christ! Protects the underdog wretches!
quinta-feira, 23 de fevereiro de 2012
sábado, 21 de janeiro de 2012
sexta-feira, 13 de janeiro de 2012
Raging wasp pupa
Raging Wasp Pupa
(At your service)
By Russian Darwin
Is deeply rooted on people,
In this country or anywhere,
A wish of harming,
For always take advantage,
At any circumstances, for any price...
Guiltless, the anyone thinks:
"In first place,
Comes me!
In second, who pays my bills.
And I don't care about your problem.
Never expect for my help!"
"You have to accept!
This is the way of the world, handsome...
There's no use to fight. Do yours!"
Would say the careful mother,
Praying for the son's bend,
In the face of the gloomy truth
So, she does not suffer...
When I was a kid,
Used to be sorry for beggars.
And, generous, used to give
A yield that wasn't mine.
Today,
Before anything,
From who interpellates me, I feel angry,
Because even the miserable man,
Certain day, has offended me.
For some reason that wasn't my fault;
By the same rage that myself destroys;
Because of the nonsense
Of the daily toil...
At least,
Though unfair,
He was sincere and coherent;
Quite different from whom stabs us,
With a smiling "how are you"...
Behind all the acts of these persons
There is a financial concern.
In harsh times,
When nothing's left over,
Their soup comes first.
And who are you to doubt their smile?!
Will have a motivation, the noble lady,
As well as that distinct gentleman,
To make gush their venom,
Loaded and precise since the beginning.
The sting waiting for the right moment
To be them selves
What always have been:
Lovers soldiers of the system
Wich profits with the suffering of others.
They are, unfortunately, the majority,
Making from innocence a commerce,
Ravaging the dreams of who I was.
When direct dealing with these scorpions
There's no such thing as good faith...
And this greed affects all things:
Leisure, transit, congress, education,
Family, government, tv, church,
Hospital, finances, market, audience
Press, work, me and you...
"What matters is to take advantage..."
For instance, the property
Where my public school
Was formerly located
Today is a dealership
Of imported cars from Asia...
Announced by a stupid obese
Who yells with no restriction
His obscure business in my ears
That everybody consider a grace!
I wonder:
How does it happen
A repulsive absurdity as this?!
LET'S BE PREPARED!
The result is not an issue.
Quality is not their lemma
(The contractor is always a burden
That slows the desired payment).
Since, in appearance,
Have fulfilled,
In a glimpse, their meaningless duty
(Anyway, as always sloppy,
Useless, barren, unfinished),
Like the recently installed asphalt
Of the new cities of the new rich,
That is lacerated in the day after,
Like any other service or product
Of public or private character,
Like the TV show
Of that obese stupid,
Light, telephone, water, sewer,
Banks, transportation, fine restaurants,
Security, mechanic,
Food supplies,
Futilities
And life insurance...
You ca'nt trust in anything
Nor in anybody
Everything precarious,
Everything worthless,
Everything wrecked
(Like the eggs after easter...)
And very expensive,
Defective, deficient,
Deleterious,
MONETARILY INFLATED,
In the venal form determined
By the admirable employers,
Followed by the horde of outcasts
Who crave, one day, the pinnacle,
Enjoying, millionaries,
As the heads, the glory:
Proud Explorers
Of the needs and miseries!
Even if these lackeys receive only
A paltry exchanged
That will never make them rich...
(HOW PASSIONATE SELF-CONSUMING! (?))
And it's no case for revolution
(For what?!),
You gonna be arrested.
Try to sue the powerful
And you will listen a laugh!
"How much do you want in the agreement?"
It was all predicted.
They already won their causes,
But your choler is another...
Although the ads
Say they love me
(Is there anyone that still believe on this?!),
"Eco friendly",
Or "social responsible",
Their single target is my pocket.
And so, they invent
That I cannot live
Without that lot of bullshit:
One more car, one more shirt
One more happening, one more bait...
While, for me, the most important
Is a cozy home and a health plan
Impossible desires, if I don't give my life
In a restricted economy of the scanty income
Obtained on the drudgery, forced, captive,
Since nothing is gain without money.
Afflicted and unskilled,
Despite my muscles
That a steady roof, easily, would build,
I conclude that will never be free.
Worse than the eight hours a day,
Along with people who actually hate me,
Only the most dirty dungeon.
I have no time for sports.
I can't even solve
My quotidian problems.
I do not eat healthy.
The little time I have left,
Anxiously, I spend in traffic.
Unlike the utopic Eden,
Simulated, mean and methodical,
That is propagated,
With a false laughter,
By the shallow media.
Isn't it a contradiction?
And, how would I do it?!
Since I'm not a robot,
Nor a military idiot...
Totally aware about my efforts
That won't ruin the perverse frame
I interpret the hermit inside my shelter
Walk around as the severe character
With sword and shield for my enemies
Or for anyone that can bother me
With a weepy staging of panhandling.
Yes, I became tough!
A "little grown man" as the world wanted...
And my wings are also growing (?!),
In the filthy reality that surrounds all of us
With turpitude and misfortune,
I've been interested in the stock market,
The sublimation of today's self.
In any case, I won't smile
For those who think I'm merely a piece
Of the huge machine that crushes souls
In exchange for fetishes and dirty notes
With drawings of animals or personalities,
Which, dead or close to extinction,
Have not the slightest value
For the ones who desire them.
I think,
Thus,
Convicted,
As anyone, in my case, would do,
After surpassed the cynicism,
The hypocrisy
The coarse polishing
(Therefore I am
For I'm not better or worse than anybody):
"In first place,
Comes me!
In second,
Who's by my side
And I don't care about your problem
When your conscience fail,
At night,
Do not wait for MY help."
I don't make honey.
I'm not your pal.
I won't give you a hand.
I won't let you rest.
But, I can make you fear.
I'm very dangerous.
A person cold as ice.
And the more this wound ignite,
The more I'll set fire!
If we do a rigorous analysis,
As the raging wasp pupa,
The humanity of today
Have no other option...
(At your service)
By Russian Darwin
Is deeply rooted on people,
In this country or anywhere,
A wish of harming,
For always take advantage,
At any circumstances, for any price...
Guiltless, the anyone thinks:
"In first place,
Comes me!
In second, who pays my bills.
And I don't care about your problem.
Never expect for my help!"
"You have to accept!
This is the way of the world, handsome...
There's no use to fight. Do yours!"
Would say the careful mother,
Praying for the son's bend,
In the face of the gloomy truth
So, she does not suffer...
When I was a kid,
Used to be sorry for beggars.
And, generous, used to give
A yield that wasn't mine.
Today,
Before anything,
From who interpellates me, I feel angry,
Because even the miserable man,
Certain day, has offended me.
For some reason that wasn't my fault;
By the same rage that myself destroys;
Because of the nonsense
Of the daily toil...
At least,
Though unfair,
He was sincere and coherent;
Quite different from whom stabs us,
With a smiling "how are you"...
Behind all the acts of these persons
There is a financial concern.
In harsh times,
When nothing's left over,
Their soup comes first.
And who are you to doubt their smile?!
Will have a motivation, the noble lady,
As well as that distinct gentleman,
To make gush their venom,
Loaded and precise since the beginning.
The sting waiting for the right moment
To be them selves
What always have been:
Lovers soldiers of the system
Wich profits with the suffering of others.
They are, unfortunately, the majority,
Making from innocence a commerce,
Ravaging the dreams of who I was.
When direct dealing with these scorpions
There's no such thing as good faith...
And this greed affects all things:
Leisure, transit, congress, education,
Family, government, tv, church,
Hospital, finances, market, audience
Press, work, me and you...
"What matters is to take advantage..."
For instance, the property
Where my public school
Was formerly located
Today is a dealership
Of imported cars from Asia...
Announced by a stupid obese
Who yells with no restriction
His obscure business in my ears
That everybody consider a grace!
I wonder:
How does it happen
A repulsive absurdity as this?!
LET'S BE PREPARED!
The result is not an issue.
Quality is not their lemma
(The contractor is always a burden
That slows the desired payment).
Since, in appearance,
Have fulfilled,
In a glimpse, their meaningless duty
(Anyway, as always sloppy,
Useless, barren, unfinished),
Like the recently installed asphalt
Of the new cities of the new rich,
That is lacerated in the day after,
Like any other service or product
Of public or private character,
Like the TV show
Of that obese stupid,
Light, telephone, water, sewer,
Banks, transportation, fine restaurants,
Security, mechanic,
Food supplies,
Futilities
And life insurance...
You ca'nt trust in anything
Nor in anybody
Everything precarious,
Everything worthless,
Everything wrecked
(Like the eggs after easter...)
And very expensive,
Defective, deficient,
Deleterious,
MONETARILY INFLATED,
In the venal form determined
By the admirable employers,
Followed by the horde of outcasts
Who crave, one day, the pinnacle,
Enjoying, millionaries,
As the heads, the glory:
Proud Explorers
Of the needs and miseries!
Even if these lackeys receive only
A paltry exchanged
That will never make them rich...
(HOW PASSIONATE SELF-CONSUMING! (?))
And it's no case for revolution
(For what?!),
You gonna be arrested.
Try to sue the powerful
And you will listen a laugh!
"How much do you want in the agreement?"
It was all predicted.
They already won their causes,
But your choler is another...
Although the ads
Say they love me
(Is there anyone that still believe on this?!),
"Eco friendly",
Or "social responsible",
Their single target is my pocket.
And so, they invent
That I cannot live
Without that lot of bullshit:
One more car, one more shirt
One more happening, one more bait...
While, for me, the most important
Is a cozy home and a health plan
Impossible desires, if I don't give my life
In a restricted economy of the scanty income
Obtained on the drudgery, forced, captive,
Since nothing is gain without money.
Afflicted and unskilled,
Despite my muscles
That a steady roof, easily, would build,
I conclude that will never be free.
Worse than the eight hours a day,
Along with people who actually hate me,
Only the most dirty dungeon.
I have no time for sports.
I can't even solve
My quotidian problems.
I do not eat healthy.
The little time I have left,
Anxiously, I spend in traffic.
Unlike the utopic Eden,
Simulated, mean and methodical,
That is propagated,
With a false laughter,
By the shallow media.
Isn't it a contradiction?
And, how would I do it?!
Since I'm not a robot,
Nor a military idiot...
Totally aware about my efforts
That won't ruin the perverse frame
I interpret the hermit inside my shelter
Walk around as the severe character
With sword and shield for my enemies
Or for anyone that can bother me
With a weepy staging of panhandling.
Yes, I became tough!
A "little grown man" as the world wanted...
And my wings are also growing (?!),
In the filthy reality that surrounds all of us
With turpitude and misfortune,
I've been interested in the stock market,
The sublimation of today's self.
In any case, I won't smile
For those who think I'm merely a piece
Of the huge machine that crushes souls
In exchange for fetishes and dirty notes
With drawings of animals or personalities,
Which, dead or close to extinction,
Have not the slightest value
For the ones who desire them.
I think,
Thus,
Convicted,
As anyone, in my case, would do,
After surpassed the cynicism,
The hypocrisy
The coarse polishing
(Therefore I am
For I'm not better or worse than anybody):
"In first place,
Comes me!
In second,
Who's by my side
And I don't care about your problem
When your conscience fail,
At night,
Do not wait for MY help."
I don't make honey.
I'm not your pal.
I won't give you a hand.
I won't let you rest.
But, I can make you fear.
I'm very dangerous.
A person cold as ice.
And the more this wound ignite,
The more I'll set fire!
If we do a rigorous analysis,
As the raging wasp pupa,
The humanity of today
Have no other option...
Who am I?
Bruno "The Russian Ape" Moreira Lima is a soviet born in Brazil that sailed beside the son of Erik the Red, Leif Eriksson, in the conquer of Newfoundland, few centuries after one of the invasions of Rome, under Caracala government. He was in the First World War, in the World Cup Soccer of 1970, in the Latin American Junior Rowing Championship of Mar Del Plata, Argentina, in 1995, and in the Olympic Winter Games of 2006, this time in Turin, Italy, finally returning, after this last adventure, to his hometown, the Rio de Janeiro of the unbearable heat, of the slums and of the filthy outfalls, ready for the games of 2014 and 2016 (if the world not end in 2012, december, 21).
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