Original subtitles

Good morning.

We're making a documentary for Dutch TV.

Do you know who Carlos Drummond de Andrade was ?

No idea, darling.

What did you say ? - I don't know.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade, you know who he was ?

I'm not interested. - No ?

Why should I be ?

Only my life interests me, each to his own.

Sir, do you know who Carlos Drummond de Andrade was ?

Who was he ? - I don‘t remember.

I heard that name before.

I don't remember anymore.

Girl, I don't know.

Thank you.

Hello, madam.

Do you know who Carlos Drummond de Andrade was?

Surely everyone knows who Carlos Drummond was.

I live in Copacabana and once bumped into him in Rua de Jamori.

I was so overawed I didn't dare ask for his autograph.

Later I ran after him, but he'd already gone.

I'll never forget that.

Did you know that he wrote erotic poems?

Yes, but they only found them after his death.

I read about it. Have they been published ? - Yes.

I read one or two in the Jornal do Brasil.

And ? - Wonderful.

He was in a class of his own, there's no one like him.

Would you read us a poem ?

Of course, but I don't have my reading glasses.

These are sunglasses.

I don't have my bag with me, otherwise I'd love to.

He was a great and sympathetic poet from Minais Gerais.

All Brazilians are in love with his poems.

Licurgo is an admirer and can better tell you.

Like all Brazilians who love literature,

I was also interested in the great Carlos Drummend de Andrade.

" The ass, how cute "

The ass, how cute.

Always smiling, never tragic.

Couldn't care less what's round the front.

The ass is self-sufficient.

ls there anything else ? The breasts perhaps.

Well - mutters the ass - those chaps still have a lotto learn.

The ass is two twin moons roundly rocking.

Moves by itself in love‘s cadence,

the miracle of being two in one, complete.

The ass has fun on its own. And loves.

In bed it stirs. Mountains swelling, sinking.

Waves breaking on an endless shore.

The ass smiles on.

Content in the sweetness of being and swinging.

Harmonious spheres over the chaos.

The ass is the ass. unsurpassed.

His disrespect is literary. - He departed from his own style.

Yes, that's true. Drummond is really amazing.

He undresses the woman with great fantasy,

just as we do every day. - That's true.

The woman has control over us, especially in an erotic sense.

Do you still do it ? - I do.

How old are you ? - 67.

And you ? - 82.

Surely you don't do it any more ? - How come ?

I won't ask if you want to experiment with me.

But I am not bad.

Sucking and being sucked by love

in the same instant/multipurpose mouth

the body two in one/a pleasure so deep

it is neither mine nor yours

blissful fusion diffuse transfusion

licking sucking and being sucked in the same spasm

just mouth mouth

sixty nine times moth-and-tongue.

Do you like it ?

It is half sexual.

It's a little sexual.

A little ?

What do you mean ?

He talks about...

...the sexuality of man and woman.

Why ?

Because without sex, there's no love.

And without love, no sex.

The floor is a bed for urgent love,

love that cannot wait for bed.

On hard floor, on carpet, rug,

our bodies weave the moist story's thread.

And to rest from love, we go to bed.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Who doesn't love something like that ?

We are old, but we're not dead.

Come on !

He's getting closer. Second.

Second, he almost passed him.

He went down well.

I never read these poems.

" O Amor Natural "

But I know that Drummond didn't want to publish these poems.

They only appeared after his death.

I think that Drummond was afraid

that they would be regarded as pornographic.

" Love - being an essential word "

Love - being an essential word -

begin this song, envelop it all.

Love guides my verse, and as it guides,

wed soul, desire, member and vulva.

Who'd dare say it's solely soul ?

Who does not feel in the body the soul expand

to erupt in the purest cry of orgasm,

an instant of infinity ?

The body in another entwined,

melted, dissolved,

twinned back in time to the womb, by Plato deemed complete:

we are one, perfect in two; two in one.

Union in bed or in the cosmos ?

Where ends the room and attains the stars ?

What force in our flanks transports us to that far-flung,

ethereal,

eternal ?

At the delicious touch of the clitoris,

all is transformed, in a flash.

Bunched within its tiny tip,

the fount, the fire, the honeydew.

Penetration tears clouds asunder

and breaks on through to fulgent suns

no human eye could ever stand,

yet, blinded by light, the coitus goes on.

And pushes on and draws out till,

beyond us, beyond life itself,

like quick abstraction made flesh,

the idea of enjoyment enjoys.

And suffering sweetly between words,

less than that, sounds, gasps, ahs,

a single spasm within us comes:

that's when love dies of love, divine.

How often we die in each other,

in the moist cavern of the vagina,

a death that is softer than sleep:

the senses pause, gorged.

Then peace is restored.

The peace of the gods, stretched out in bed,

statues sheathed in sweat,

giving thanks for earthly love's gift to a god.

ls that whisky ?

Yes, it's his custom.

He drinks that every day until about three o'clock.

It's good for my heart.

It's good fer his heart, he needs that.

He moves so little, but still loves whisky a lot.

How old is he ? - 85, isn't he ?

85 and a half.

He just loves that half. - He likes to tell the truth.

It's true, because his birthday is in December.

Hence the half, 85 and a half.

How old are you ? - 61.

I was born in 1935, so I'm 61.

Are you the wife of Gonalino ? - No, his daughter.

A daughter he loves. - A lot.

He loves me, but I have many brothers and sisters.

I want you to read a poem by Carlos Drummond.

You know him ? - Of course.

We know him, don't we, Dad ?

I want my daughter to read to me.

I can't read it. - His sight is so bad.

I see so little. - I'll read it to you.

Give me my glasses, because I'm hopeless without glasses.

" What goes on in bed. "

Listen to me. - I'm listening.

What goes on in bed is a secret shared by those that love.

Right.

A secret shared by these that love is to know

profound desire

conceived on earth

yet so unwordly

that the body, finding a body

and navigating by its touch,

attains a peace, a different place,

another world: peace as in death,

nirvana, the penis sleeps.

Oh, bed, lilting lullaby.

sleep little girl, sleep tight,

the jaguar sleeps.

the candid vagina sleeps,

the last sirene sleeps or the penultimate...

The penis sleeps.

puma, exhausted American beast.

Sleep, fulvous garland of your vulva.

And those that love are silenced,

between the curtain and the sheet

still wet with semen. by these secrets shared in bed.

Exactly.

Beautiful, isn‘t it Dad ? - Very beautiful.

Did you like it ? - I sure did.

Glad to hear it.

Tell me about the poem.

If I talk about my past...

...you ears will hurt.

Never mind, I'll put some cotton wadding in.

I liked a merry life.

You liked going out, Dad. Tell us about your adventures.

She knows that, surely?

Talk about your women, she's here for the first time.

I'll tell you.

I had a wild life at an early age.

I started when I was fifteen.

Now I am 85 and a half...

...and I can't do it any more.

I live off my former wild life.

On my memories.

Talk about your memories. - What ?

Tell us.

I have experienced wonderful things.

Lots of them.

Girl, many bad things and good things.

Such as ?

I also initiated him.

He arranged my first night.

I gave him his first lover.

Who was it ? - They don't know any more.

A lovely French girl. - An acquaintance of mine.

He initiated many ? - When I was fifteen.

She means you introduced many boys to sex.

Lots of them.

How long were you married ?

One month before our fiftieth wedding anniversary...

...my wife died.

Fifty.

She tolerated me for fifty years.

I was a fine husband, but also a ladies' man.

Were you unfaithful to her ? - You can say that again.

I had lots of affairs.

But you loved your wife ? - She accepted it from love.

Dad, but did you love Mum ? - A lot.

But did you love her ? - He says he was mad about her.

I loved her a lot, but I went out on the town tee.

That's how he lived.

Why those other women ?

To complement...

One woman wasn't enough for me.

Now he lives on his memories.

Now I do it by phone.

Now he does it by phone. - Who with ?

With an old girlfriend. - His last.

It's all on the phone with her. She's a friend of my daughter.

I was with my girlfriend at home when the phone rang.

She was in the bath and asked me to take the call. I did.

When I picked up the phone. my wife said :

" So you're there ? Are you happy ? ”

I had to say I was happy.

It was my mother who called.

I was sitting there quietly but she had found out.

Someone had given her the address, otherwise she couldn't know.

Silly of you to pick up the phone.

He picked it up, because she was in the bath.

She sat in the bath and said: “ Pick it up, Gonalino. “

He didn't expect my mother on the phone.

I couldn't know it would be her.

But indeed, very silly to pick it up.

Wasn't your wife jealous ?

Sure she was jealous.

She was jealous, but also reasonable and understanding.

She accepted my wild life. she loved me a lot.

She said : outside the door, you're a bachelor.

And inside the door, you're married.

Mama accepted it, because she was a calm person.

She was quiet and horny.

She looked after the suit I wore to go dancing.

She dressed me up when I Went to the ”Bela Preta”.

Yet I do not understand that she could tolerate it.

She tolerated it. - Because she loved me.

If you love someone...

...you sometimes accept things that you shouldn't tolerate.

She always forgave him everything.

But did you love her in bed too ?

A lot.

Why the other women then ? - For the variety.

I wanted to know whether other women were like her.

Ah, to compare them, what a clever dick!

Dad is clever, isn't he ?

And to think that he's 85 and a half.

He could write a book.

I cut the hair of seven presidents of the republic...

...of three kings and an emperor.

I cut the hair of Chacrinha and many personalities...

...among them many great artists from both Brazil and Portugal.

...the last or the penultimate... The penis...

Honeybum lilybum oolourbum lovebum

Rulingbum lustingbum anilbum breadbum

bum of a thousand forms, pluribum unibum

bum in flower, bum in two

lunar bum and luminary

fiddle-bum.

Magical and multi bum, bum beyond the unreal

arohbum sealed in the mystery of the occult

Opals-scent bum

incandescent bum

sweet honeycomb concealed between tenebrous tufts

unreached by the brimstone of lust

and where the global paleness of hyperborean zones

concentrates the unceasing music of the cosmic merrygobum.

Reelbum leanbum

bum that's more than bum

bum mutating/renovating

that adds a new harmony to the number.

With all those bums I can‘t shave.

One moment.

Keep on rocking and singing and enveloping in spasm

the arc of triumph, the bridge of sighs,

the suicide tower, the death of the Harpooner

tongue-bum, fuckbum

lovebum lovebum love-bum.

Difficult to shave when you hear this.

It reminds you of old times.

Did you used to visit the " Contilagem " ?

You went there ? - That was luxury.

It cost 20,000 Reis.

You remember those blond bombshells ?

It was full of nice blonds there.

Argentines. - And French.

He didn't fancy darker women.

Only blonds.

He caressed their thighs. - That was good import material.

You knew the French girls ?

The floor is a bed for urgent love,

love that cannot wait for bed.

On hard floor, on carpet, rug,

our bodies weave the moist story's thread.

And to rest from love, we go to bed.

Lovely, eh ? - You can say that again.

It's so spectacular the way he turns things round.

Usually you go to bed for it. - And do everything there.

But first there's the love that overwhelms you...

...that flame can flare up anywhere...

...on the floor, on the carpet, or even on the kitchen table.

Indeed. - Doesn't it ?

A full-contact fight of sweat, sperm and bodily fluids.

She knows all about it !

And only then to bed, to rest.

It's wonderful the things he thinks up.

Have you experienced anything like that ?

You want to know everything.

Don't be silly, I think you're that type of person.

It was so long ago.

Tell me about it, I'm curious.

I was with my boyfriend on a country estate.

He decided to go fishing.

I lay down on a rock.

Girl, I went completely crazy.

We had intercourse on that rook.

That was the most beautiful moment of my life.

Did it end well ? - It was perfect.

And when it was over, I lay down to rest on the bed.

Just like in the book.

A nice story ? - But not as poetic as this.

Much more poetic. Amazing.

But it was just once.

I want to do it more often. today, tomorrow, the day after.

But that isn't possible, everyday life doesn't allow it.

It makes my mouth water,

I can give you the address of the country estate.

I don't need to go to the estate, it's possible here too.

It's perfect there.

On the beach, among the waves.

Madam, how old are you ?

- 81

I was the first South American to take part in the Olympic Games.

In 1936 I took part again in the Olympic Games...

...this time in Berlin.

There I was honoured...

...to meet Leni Riefenstahl and even be filmed by her.

She was a pioneer in sporting and artistic film.

And in Berlin I was also the first woman...

...who swam the very modern butterfly stroke.

I have great admiration...

...for the poems of Carlos Drummond de Andrade.

I have a couple of books that have been signed by him.

I didn't yet know this new book...

...but I found a lovely poem here...

because this reflects my feeling for water very well.

It's called " Under the shower making love ".

Under the shower making love, soap and kisses,

or in bath, making love in water clothed,

slippery love, slips away, is caught,

flees again, water in the eyes, mouths,

dancing, navigation, diving, rain,

foam on our stomachs,

the triangular whiteness of the sex -

it's water, sperm, love dissolving,

or have we become a fountain ?

Very beautiful.

" Without me asking, you very kindly "

Without me asking, you very kindly

magnified my member.

Without me expecting you to, you knelt devoutly before me.

What is gone is not forgotten.

For ever and a day

my penis basks in the osculating devotion of your mouth.

Today you are not here, I know not where you are,

and there is no hope of gesture or communication.

I cannot see you, cannot hear you, cannot hold you

but your mouth is present, adoring.

I never thought I‘d have a god between my thighs.

Another one ? - Fine.

" When other desires speak "

When other desires speak

and the appetite is whetted more,

the petals of the anus unfold

as the long member is slowly introduced.

Advancing, retreating,

it makes the narow way into a place of sweet sojourn.

Woman, twofold woman,

your being shelters hidden Ovidian melodies.

Funny, that Carlos Drummond de Andrade.

In the first poem he has an incredible urge to strengthen his ego.

” Adoring ” - The adored penis.

He thinks he has a god between his thighs.

A real macho attitude.

And the woman always subjected. - In worship.

Magnifying the member, as he says.

The other poem is interesting.

It's true that man needs a change...

woman too, but man more...

...and hence to find other women in one woman.

Another ”approach” to the same woman.

Sorry, I don't understand what you mean.

To be with one woman, but to love her in different ways.

Maybe that is even a form of fidelity.

Maybe he finds different women in her.

It says: “ Woman, twofold woman “.

It is in fact many women.

Different facets of the same woman.

Everyone needs a change, not only the man.

Women too. - " When other desires speak. "

Let your desires speak.

All your desires.

There's such a lot of noise. - We have to stop.

Let's just read. - Some people think that

a microwave only serves...

...to defrost and warm up.

Rubbish !

It does almost everything for me.

It boils, roasts, grills and makes popcorn.

With the Sharp microwave everything goes faster.

You can spend your time on other things...

...such as SEX!

" It was a morning in September "

It was a morning in September

and, she was kissing my member.

Aeroplanes and clouds passed by

dark choirs...

thun...dering.

You should use your glasses.

Don't you need your glasses?

She was kissing my member.

My time as a boy my time yet to come...

In the commercial you apparently love sex.

I was brought up very strictly by my grandmother.

I lost my mother when I was three...

...and my father when I was one.

So my grandma brought me up.

She also brought up my brother and sister.

My sister died and so did my brother.

I am the only one still alive.

So far...

...I am winning from death.

Did she give you a good sex education?

No, she objected to that.

She said that when you got married...

...you didn't have to love your husband, but serve him.

He had to be waited on.

He wants, so you give.

You don't think of your own pleasure, that doesn't exist.

You don't think of yourself, you only have to satisfy him.

So sex was to get children and satisfy the husband ?

To satisfy the husband and get children. I got three.

But did you ever enjoy it ?

Only much later...

...at least ten years later...

...did I succeed in having any pleasure. Only a little,

because my conscience bothered me.

A girlfriend said: ” Don't ever say you didn't have an orgasm. ”

“ Lie, put on an act. “

So I played this role, just like in a film.

He was satisfied...

...but I didn't get any.

And we did it less often, because I didn't feel anything.

When he came, I was exhausted...

...sad and nervous.

You understand ?

As soon as he got close to me...

...he wanted to spurt right away.

Enjoy !

So it wasn't easy for me.

But did you think of sex ? Did you have fantasies ?

I sure did. My head was throbbing with fantasies.

It was full of fantasies.

There isn't a woman in the world who fantasised more.

Not I don‘t fantasise any more, because my carcass lets me down.

This is all terribly flabby.

What kind of fantasies did you have ?

Of an unknown man who took me with violence.

I wanted that violence.

That he forced me and taunted me.

I needed that.

None of that softy crap.

It had to be violent. because I am violent.

A woman walking naked through the house

clothes all around in softest peace.

No given, provocative nakedness this.

It's a walk that's clothed in nakedness,

sisterly innocence, a glass of water.

The body is not even perceived such is its rhythm.

Curves ripple in a state of purity,

bringing to life this name: chastity.

Hairs that fascinated do not perturb.

Breasts, buttocks (tacit armistice) rest from war.

And I rest too.

I think it's lovely. You too ?

Me too.

How long have you been married ?

49 years.

We are in the fiftieth year, we've passed the 49 year mark.

Only a month ago.

Never mind, we passed it.

It isn't easy.

If you think it's easy, you're mistaken.

Not only for you, for me too.

It means a series of qualities and weaknesses...

...a series of denials and gratifications.

In other words : life.

50 years of life...

50 years of life has everything a life can long for.

That's what I think.

I agree.

ls it true you made hats for Carlos Drummond de Andrade ?

That's right, it dates from the time when Rio de Janeiro was wonderful.

Quite different from Rio now.

It had charm and elegance.

The streets were lovely...

...such as Rua Sete, Largo Sao Francisco, Uruguaiana.

Largo da Carioca was enchanting, but everything is demolished.

After the coup, Rio was finished.

This is Sofia Loren.

You make hats for these celebrities ?

All of them, without me, no hats. I'm the only who made them.

For instance for Mastroianni.

The Queen of England, with breton hat.

Here is Diana.

Princess Diana with another hat.

You know which hat Carlos Drummond de Andrade wore ?

He only liked one kind of hat.

His straw and felt hats were this model.

He only loved ash grey and beige.

This was his favourite colour.

This was the “Carlos Drummond“ hat.

He often used ash grey and loved this colour.

I shall fetch his Panama hat too.

Teresa, get me a Panama 57.

How old are you ?

I'll be 85, I'm 84 and a half now.

You have lovely hands.

Madam ?

You have lovely hands.

Because I make hats.

I was a black-belt at karate and jujitsu.

I was boxing champion of Rio when I was fourteen.

But now I am weak.

In the summer he wore the Panama with his white suit.

This for the summer...

...and that in the winter.

He was a great poet.

A great poet.

If he was still alive now...

...he'd be over a hundred.

94. - So 94.

He was a flirt and very vain.

A remarkable man.

He also loved women.

They ran after him.

But he had style.

A lot of style.

We were busy together for a year with preparations.

I went to his house in the morning, we drank port and he read poetry.

It was wonderful, we talked about all kinds of things...

...and we became good friends.

After a year he was so practiced that he started exaggerating.

He started reciting grandiloquently.

I had to slow him down: " Calm down a bit. "

But the record was lovely.

How old was Drummond at the time ?

He was about 72.

When we got as far as the studio, things went very quickly.

We recorded the album and he thought it was wonderful.

Afterwards he was sad: " My life has no charm now ".

He liked being an artist.

There is a wonderful poem on it.

A crucial poem in his oeuvre that is known throughout Brazil.

Everyone learned it at school.

'In the middle of the road'

In the middle of the road there was a stone

there was a stone in the middle of the road

there was a stone

in the middle of the road there was a stone.

One moment.

In the middle of the road there was a stone

there was a stone in the middle of the road

there was a stone

in the middle of the road there was a stone.

I shall never forget that event

in the life of my so weary eyes.

I shall never forget that in middle of the road there was a stone

there was a stone in the middle of the road.

in the middle of the road there was a stone.

Lovely, isn't it ?

I'll play you another.

" Confidenoia do ltabirano " - Not that one.

" Those things "

You are too old to be hurt by those things.

So there is an age when you are hurt

and one when you are no longer hurt by those, those things ?

Things should only happen so you are hurt

at the right age for being hurt ?

Or you should not be hurt by things that hurt

as they have come at the wrong time, a time of calm ?

And if I am no longer at the age when I should be hurt

it is because I am dead,

and dead is the age when you no longer feel things, those things ?

It is my greatest love.

Your despair increases steadily.

Shall I give it to her ? - No, someone can fetch it.

I love you, more than any other...

...but it is impossible...

...to continue our affair...

...because...

Calm down. This is so terrible,

you can't do that.

...my mother managed to find an apprenticeship...

...at the maths faculty in London.

I'll get something calming.

He'll come back, really.

You my world my unwound clock : that forgets time.

You my walk my air my food my fasting.

My bright swords-d peace.

My joyous sleep my awakening between girandoles.

My hot warm cold hot scalding bath.

My wraparound skin.

My sharpened tempered angered nails.

My taste of poison.

My marked cards that break free and fly.

My torment.

My gentle leaping jaguar.

My saliva my roving possessive tongue

my stomach rubbing stomach.

My losing myself in hairs seaweed waters craving.

My penis submerged.

Tunnel cave cave cave ever deeper narower ever ever.

My groans screams howls moans sore-aches mewing panting

ah, oh, argh, mmm, uh

my evaporation my glorious blissful suicide.

Fantastic, it isn't indecent, but erotic.

That is an enormous difference.

Did you like it ?

You can feel the artistry.

Pure artistry.

And very sensual.

Sensual, but that's not how he seemed.

He was so shy and reserved.

What is the difference in poetry...

...between indecency and eroticism ?

Many will consider this indecent, but it is erotic.

The difference is that his language is art.

Because indecency + art becomes eroticism.

It is no longer indecency.

It is not vulgar because it is beautiful.

It doesn't aim to shock, but to make the loving Drummond tangible.

That is very important.

I was a close friend of his daughter Maria Julieta.

She told me he wrote such poems...

...but didn't want them published before his death.

He was very reserved, very discrete.

But then one day I saw him hand in hand with his great love.

Where ? - On General Os-rio Square.

He stood there with her.

I know her.

You know her ?

I think she kept all these poems.

This book is impressive !

A poem by Drummond : " It was a morning in September "

From his erotic anthology, I should put my glasses on.

" It was a morning in September "

It was a morning in September

and she was kissing my member

Aeroplanes and clouds passed by

dark choirs thundering

she was kissing my member

My time as a boy my time yet to come

together they blossomed as one

She was kissing my member

A small bird was sweetly singing

deep within the tree, inside the earth, inside me, in death

Death and spring unrefined

sparring for the crystal water

water that doubled my thirst

She was still kissing my member

Everything I'd ever been everything forbidden me

no longer made the slightest sense

Nothing but the puckered rose

the burning stalk, a licking flame

that ecstasy in the grass

She was still kissing my member

Of all kisses, the most chaste

in the naked purity belonging to things given

No tribute by a slave kneeling in the dark

but a gift from a queen

becoming part of me flowing in my blood

and sweet and slow and meandering

the way a saint might kiss in the most celestial rapture

and in solemn trembling she kissed and kissed my member

Thinking then of other men

I felt pity for them all imprisoned in the world

My empire streched before me across the deserted shore

and she, alert to every sense, kissed my member

The chapter of being the mystery of existence

the detachment of loving

all were soundless waves ebbing on some far-off quay

and a city arose radiant with precious stones

and quiet hatreds,

and the spasm came with the breeze to steal me away in secrecy,

or strip me clean, untangle me the way a lock of hair is smoothed

and scatter me in concentric circles

in the smoke of the universe

She was kissing my member kissing

and died kissing to be reborn in September

You can come now

Come and join in.

Come on.

Off you go, I'm giving an interview.

Are you a dance teacher ?

I am dance teacher and bandleader.

I lead the group of nearly 4000 people...

...for our carnival procession.

Can you remember the samba about Carlos Drummond de Andrade ?

I don't really remember that.

But Neuma knows all about it.

I'll take you to Neuma's house...

...so she can sing you the samba.

Dona Neuma !

You remember that samba ?

A little, but call my daughter.

Queza, come and sing that samba about Carlos Drummond.

Sing the samba about Carlos Drummond.

Have you already forgotten the samba ?

The Mangueira samba school... ...hand in hand with poetry...

brings to the ordinary people...

...this poetic genius...

...Carlos Drummond de Andrade.

His work comprises words...

...of great truth.

He always praised the town of ltabira in his verses.

Here is the Green Rose...

...it serenades in verse and prose...

that inspired the poet.

That is Charlie Chaplin...

...and ZZ" Pereira...

...to the rhythm of Mangueira...

It is Don Quiohote...

...and ZZ" Pereira...

...and Charlie Chaplin to the rhythm of Mangueira.

Look at the figureheads...

...in the Sao Francisco River.

Then row, row, row...

...Spring is coming...

...and inspires love.

The river becomes a samba...

was the poet imagined.

In the illusion of a samba I found...

...an elephant that I imagined.

That is the text, I can't sing.

I visited Carlos Drummond at home when he was very ill.

When was that ? - After the carnival.

I took him flowers but I didn't remember which year.

I don't remember the year. People, I am 74 now.

I am getting forgetful, my memory is in menopause.

But those who hear me talk of him, must remember it.

Because it was a successful song.

Everyone agreed that the procession was good.

He was a fine guy, I am happy can do something for him.

I brought flowers for him and he gave me flowers too.

We were welcomed by him and I gave him a kiss.

I visited him and could only give him a kiss.

Because he was already very ill.

He was already ill ? - Yes.

That was around 1986. - Not long after he died.

This is perfect sex.

I think it is really perfect...

...because you feel in your soul what real sex is.

It is described in this book...

...with the words and hands of Carlos Drummond de Andrade.

Carlos Drummond, I didn't know you were like that.

You also write things I don't know.

" At the delicious touch of the clitoris ", I don't know what that is.

What about you, Delegado ? - I wouldn't know.

The clitoris is the spot that gives a woman pleasure.

Aha, he gave the clit a surname ?

Then I understand.

Drummond, why don't you provide more details ?

Then we would understand.

Beautiful, I have never read anything so beautiful.

Listen Drummond, when I had all my children here at home...

...because I brought up 18...

How many ? - 18.

...I made them go to school.

But they didn't learn anything.

I took them to the Maracana every day and fetched them...

...until one day I got up in a bad mood and took action.

I woke up grouchy, took a piece of paper...

...and wrote a load of naughty words.

The children came for lunch, but they didn't want stale bread.

" I don't want stale bread ", there was nothing to be done.

Then they picked up the paper and read it.

They said: " Neuma, you wrote a naughty word here. "

I said it wasn't true.

" Yes, Neuma, and even the synonym. " - How do you know what it is?

" Because those three words mean the same. "

" This is all repeated, so they are synonyms. "

" And there are also plural words. "

I had written " dicks ".

They knew that was plural.

" Willies ", also plural.

Then I wrote:

" Mound, cunt, pussy, fanny, slit, orifice. "

They are all synonyms. If you use coarse words,

the children want to learn.

Even the conjugation.

They always did it wrong, like " I going go ".

I didn't like that, I wanted them to say it properly.

They asked for a verb.

I wrote down the verb " to shit ".

Everyone said: " Aunt, I'm going to shit ". Not poop but shit.

So we conjugated the verb " to shit ".

" I shit, you shit, he shits ".

As far as the conditional.

" I would shit, you would shit, " and the stink remained.

Would you read a poem ?

Of course I will.

Love - being an essential word -

begin this song, envelop it all.

Love guide my verse, and as it guides,

I hope you don't mind if I read it without punctuation ?

I am half blind at the age of 74, but I don't want to wear glasses.

wed soul, desire, member and vulva.

In this sentence he links the three really important things.

He writes here : desire, member and vulva.

You know what vulva means ? - No idea.

The mons pubis.

Who'd dare say it's solely soul ?

Who does not feel in the body the soul expand

to erupt in the purest cry of orgasm,

an instant of infinity ?

You know What orgasm means ? It means to come.

The body in another entwined,

melted, dissolved,

twinned back in time to the womb, by Plato deemed complete:

That crazy Plato knew all about it.

That man is wonderful, he felt it all.

We are one, perfect in two; two in one.

This is good fucking.

He describes in this book...

what we don't dare tell each other.

That's why we have to thank him.

He offers us what we would like to say ourselves.

Enjoy these words as you enjoy the whole of life.

Union in bed or in the cosmos ?

Where ends the room and attains the stars ?

What force in our flanks transports us

to that far-flung, ethereal

eternal realm ?

I read it and enjoy it, it's wonderful.

Congratulations, Carlos Drummond.

You remind me of my fucking sessions morning, noon and night.

I remember everything, because when I could still do it...

...I enjoyed my husband.

I killed him with all that fucking, I think.

Sex between the two of you is the best there is...

stuck to each other in bed and covered in sweat.

I have had my share.

I had sex for 34 years, that's an eternity.

I'm not nostalgic, because it's in the past.

I cry because I am nostalgic.

I am nostalgic, I lied when I said I wasn't.

Who isn't nostalgic...

...for those wonderful days and nights?

When the children were awake, the yard was our bed.

And it happened on the floor, I couldn't stop.

I wanted to fuck with all the bells and whistles.

I did a lot of fucking, you should do that too.

Do us that favour. Thanks, Drummond!

Thanks for the beautiful things you write in this book.

You free us from the burden of not being able to say this.

Love - being an essential word -

begin this song, envelop it all.

Love guide my verse, and as it guides,

wed soul, desire, member and vulva.

Who'd dare say it's solely soul ?

Who does not feel in the body the soul expand

to erupt in the purest cry of orgasm,

an instant of infinity ?

The body in another entwined,

melted, dissolved,

twinned back in time to the womb, by Plato deemed complete:

we are one, perfect in two; two in one.

Union in bed or in the cosmos ?

Where ends the room and attains the stars ?

What force in our flanks transports us

to that far-flung, ethereal, eternal realm ?

At the delicious touch of the clitoris,

all is transformed, in a flash.

Bunched within its tiny tip,

the fount, the fire, the honeydew.

Penetration tears clouds asunder

and breaks on through to fulgent suns

no human eye could ever stand,

yet, blinded by light, the coitus goes on.

And pushes on and draws out till,

beyond us, beyond life itself,

like quick abstraction made flesh,

the idea of enjoyment enjoys.

And suffering sweetly between words,

less than that, sounds, gasps, ahs,

a single spasm within us comes :

that's when love dies of love, divine.

How often we die in each other,

in the moist cavern of the vagina,

a death that is softer than sleep :

the senses pause, gorged.

Then peace is restored.

The peace of the gods, stretched out in bed,

statues sheathed in sweat,

giving thanks for earthly love's gift to a god.

Subtitles: @Dagomir for KG