Chapter 4 - Carnival in Brazil
Iara:
The sound of samba sounds from afar / Colors / Dances / Heat
the days even more / Carnival in Brazil / Looking for you in my dreams /
Letters / Memories / I find only snow in pictures / Covering everything
Ze'ev:
The samba is an excellent subject for a poem, because it is
something closer to you than to any Israeli. What exactly do you hear? Drums?
Whistles?
Iara:
Drumming sounds with surprising pauses / Inviting to dance /
Thick voice singing out from a loudspeaker / Attracting other sounds / From far
away the whistles are not heard / Just the explosion of fireworks / Towards
another Samba school / that enters the boulevard
Ze'ev:
How does this affect you?
Iara:
Another year passed / The city is empty / I do not dance / I
do not play music/ Just hear from afar / But when you approach it is impossible
to be unhappy / it is impossible not to sing or not to dance / Drums rhythm and
voices / Pull the legs the hands and the whole body.
Ze'ev:
A year has passed
An empty year
And again, the drums attack me
With their surprising pauses
A raspy voice sings
Out from the loudspeaker
And distant fireworks explode
Another Samba-school
Enters the boulevard
And I'm already dancing in bed
Iara:
The Carnival Is Over / The Samba voice is not heard / The
Skies are trembling / Helicopters fly / Return the Residents / Buses and Cars /
Knocking and saws' whistling at the construction sites / Now All is Rock and
Roll
Ze'ev:
The carnival is over
And the samba sound is replaced by
All that rock and roll
Iara:
I dreamed about Passionfruit and Ginger / I added some oil
salt and honey / hot pepper and cachaça/ parsley for decoration / everything is
hot on the soft fish / and here is a new dream for those who ate it
Ze'ev:
I dreamed of passion fruit and ginger
Oil, salt and honey
Hot pepper, cachaça and parsley
Let it be beautiful
The hot fish that melts in the mouth
Iara:
It really happened to me yesterday: I got up with a
passionfruit flavor with ginger on my tongue, and then I made the sauce for the
fish. it was great. Now I have the recipe in the poem!
Iara:
Coffee/ small Coffee / invitation / for a conversation /
meeting / joke / kiss / stay a little longer / return / in all Brazil / um
cafezinho por favor
I dream poems!!! cafezinho excites me. I'll try to explain:
Anyone who comes to Brazil learns quickly to call the Coffee, cafezinho.
"You drink cafezinho?", "come in just for cafezinho" … And
so, they come, go in, stay for hours, for endless conversations, and when they
are about to leave, "maybe you'll only drink one more cafezinho?" ...
cafezinho is the diminutive form of Coffee. So, it's temptation, seduction,
it's hard to say no, it's something small, cafezinho. And then, the smell that
comes from the kitchen is also tempting ... stimulating, we are staying, time
passes ... just one more ...
Ze'ev:
A poem is usually something private that only you have seen.
Iara:
When I see the stones of Jerusalem in your photographs, the
anemones and the cyclamens, when I smell cardamom somewhere, I feel
homesickness ... I do not know why. The familiar cafezinho reassures me that I
have myself. And when I invite you to cafezinho, it may be an invitation to
feel my feelings. Perhaps this cafezinho is homesickness.
Ze'ev:
The stones of Jerusalem
Cardamom
Anemones
Cyclamens
Cafezinho
Remind me of me
Iara:
When I translate then the whole Hebrew sounds like a poem to
me. Within each word more than one word is identified, so it is difficult to
choose which one is more appropriate, without losing the taste.
Iara:
Autumn brings songs from distant friends / who color my
imagination / in Yellow orange red / Teach me about seasons / which are
changing only for me / On the calendar / On the wall
Ze'ev:
I know that there is a difference between Israel and Brazil
in the seasons, because you explained it to me, but is it clear to the reader?
Iara:
Brazil is too large, and there are some countries that have
different seasons. San Paolo also has, but we feel them more than we see them.
In the winter, for example, there are a few days that are colder, it rains, but
less than the summer rain, and the rain is different. In the winter, it is thin
and falls for hours, in the summer it's a flood, sometimes in a few minutes.
The summer days are longer and the winter days are shorter, but unlike you, we
always have a lot of light. The trees are always green, and there are different
flowers in the season. I always get confused, because for me, Iara, personally,
I have Passover in the spring and Chanukah in the winter, so I always think the
opposite, and I have to concentrate in order to know what season we are in. Now
I also have Tu Bishvat. My mother died two days before that, and so I search
and I cannot find the blossoming almond trees.
Ze'ev:
In the Diaspora
there is no
Spring on Passover
Winter at Hanukkah
In Tu Bishvat
I search
For almond blossom
In vain
Iara:
Spring blooms in your photographs / Bring me the autumn /
cool wind in the morning / and the sounds of bem te vi squeaks: / bem te vi!!
The bird bem te vi is so called because its chirping sounds like this sentence:
bem te vi (I saw you well). I have no idea if you hear it more in the fall, but
suddenly I noticed, so maybe yes. Because of the poems and because of your
photographs, which I see on the Internet, I am more aware that the changes
between the seasons are not so great.
Ze'ev:
When you have spring, I have autumn
And the chirp of the Bem-te-vi bird
translates into Portuguese the
I saw you well
Well I saw you
You - I saw well
See me
Iara:
I read somewhere a story that they tell about Jesus, that he
tried to hide, and then he could not, because that bird would appear and say:
Bem-te-vi, I saw you well!
Iara:
We have a spoiled flower that opens up at an exact hour, and only
if the sun shines / "Eleven o'clock" it is called / but it does not
always answer / when the light starts to weaken / it closes / grumpy / silent
Ze'ev:
>Eleven o'clock< - how is the name in Portuguese?
>Its name is … but it does not always answer< - it's a
nice joke, but the poem looks better without it.
Why did this flower touch your heart?
Iara:
I saw this morning / in the garden / at my work / a new
flower / so closed / that it looked dead / the gardener explained: / at eleven
it will wake up / if the sun will shine / Onze horas / eleventh hour / is its
name/ It cannot be, I thought / flower clock like this / At noon I came back
home / a colorful garden I met / cheerful flowers / white flowers reds and
yellows / blessed me
Ze'ev:
I saw this morning
At work in the garden
A new flower
Closed
Maybe dead
The gardener explained
At eleven it will open
If the sun rises
And when the light weakens
It will close
Onze horas
Eleven o'clock
That's its name
It's impossible, I thought
Such a clock flower
At midday
The garden was full of
White, red and yellow
Iara:
Sixty-three thousand people/ were shouting and singing/
Painted everything in red, black and white / In honor of Luis "O
Fabuloso" who returned to the
group/ Rogerio The goalkeeper guarded his house like a lion / Ronaldinho on the
other side / served in the tray balls to
kick / wonderful defenses / miracles / Until suddenly, when the god may have
gone out for a drink of water / the ball went in/ 0-1 / after a few attempts
our Dagoberto / sent a bomb from a distance / we barely got to see the ball in
the net / 1-1 / flood then dropped / wet body and soul / nerves have conquered
players and fans / I do not remember anymore / But in the end /(It is impossible to have everything) / Goal / 1-2 /
Sometimes you win / Sometimes you lose / That's life!
Ze'ev:
Sixty-three thousand
Shouting and singing
Paint the stands in red, black and
white
In honor of Luis "O
Fabuloso" who
returned to the group
Rogerio, the goalkeeper, guarded his
house like a lion
Ronaldinho on the other side served
in the tray
Balls to kick until suddenly –
Maybe when God went out for a drink
of water
The ball went in.
After a few attempts, our Dagoberto
Sent a bomb from afar
We barely had time to see
"Golaço"
1-1.
Then came a flood
Wet body and soul
Players and fans
Ze'ev:
To the rhythm of tens of thousands of
lunatics
A white ball on shiny green grass
Dancing between agile legs
Flying between hard heads
Passing between sturdy bodies
Finding its way to the net
Goal.
Iara:
The white spot on the green ... In Brazil, I would not be
able to live with these colors. They are the colors of certain teams. In Sao
Paulo, these colors belong to the enemies of my team ;-) My team is Sao Paulo
and our colors are black, red and white.
Iara:
I see a great football game at the moment ... / Through the
window I heard / Goal / I turned on the TV / which is an electronic window /
And from now on / The game is inside the house / The shouting outside
There is a football stadium near my house, and it's fun to
hear the shouts ...
Ze'ev:
From the nearby stadium
Goal shouts
I open the electronic window
To see
Is it like their outcry?
The situation you described reminded me of Genesis 18-21: And
the Lord said: " The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great … that
I will go down and see if … it is as bad as the outcry that has reached
me. " It is a good direction to combine the religion of the Bible with the
religion of football.
Iara:
The game was exciting to the end, the shouting did not stop!
There were forty thousand spectators-that's a lot!
Iara:
I went to the stadium today, to see a big, classic game. What
excitement!! We arrived and I could not find the right place to buy the
tickets, and then I heard the first goal from the outside ... a strange
feeling, a disappointment. The rest of the game was great, really a poem. There
were other goals besides the first one, I saw these.
At the entrance to the stadium / the clock tells that it is
already late / Voices shout: Goaaaal / And I just hear / not see /
Ze'ev:
A beautiful story - where is the poem?
Iara:
The game is the poem / Written in cooperation / Improvisation
/ One-time / Goal is a rhyme / waited for excitedly / The one I did not see /
Like life / You cannot bring back
Ze'ev:
It does not sound accurate that the goal is a rhyme, because
the game is a poem even if there are no goals. The video can bring back the
goals as much as you want. <Life is impossible to bring back> is a
cliché.
Iara:
The goal is the most predictable rhyme, the most special, of
course the whole game is full of other rhymes. The video does not bring back
the excitement and surprise of seeing live. When you're on the field, yelling
and biting your nails, standing up, excitedly, it's as if you're also taking
part in the rhyme ... You can see and see again. (When I got home I saw in the
video the one goal that I lost.) But it was all over already, it's not the
same. When you're there, you climb onto the bright green lawn, kicking along
with the player. There is a smell of popcorn, and hot dog, and wind, and sun,
sometimes rain, curses and applause. In the chair next to you, your neighbor
becomes your intimate friend, hugging and kissing when the goal appears. It may
seem to me an opera, more than a poem, but it's improvisation with great
musicians. You also decide where and on who to look, and see the whole lot, not
just what they choose for you. There's no video that would get it back to you.
Maybe it's not a poem, but it's exciting. I lost a goal rhyme. There were other
goals, beautiful, but that one exist not and will not exist ...
Ze'ev:
Did you see something that others did not see?
Iara:
I saw myself turning into someone I do not really know.
Shouting, jumping, cursing the judge. The heart that explodes at certain
moments, when I notice the beauty of the grass, the dancing boys with the ball,
the people wearing the same colors, filling the stadium with joy and
excitement. Entering another world as in a dream or a poem. Life looks special.
Maybe even what I did not see ... the goal ... at the beginning of the game.
(It was really sad). Life was simpler if we were sad just because of such
things! We have no poem, never mind, maybe only for me it was special. I saw
Neymar playing, and this I will tell to my grandchildren!! And Lucas who was
charming. They are both children.
Iara:
Helicopters flying / explosions / shouting / empty streets /
everybody is trembling / final football championship / beginning / Brazil is
awake
That's the atmosphere. The championship is in points.
Everyone plays with everyone, wins whoever has more points. Today is the last
game of all teams. All games all over the country at the same time. Stadiums
are full, anyone who is not in the stadium sits at home in front of the TV. The
bombs began yesterday. The tension is great!!
Ze'ev:
Helicopters flying / explosions / shouting / empty streets /
stadiums full / finals of the football championship begin / Brazil /
Iara:
All the tension is reminiscent of war and in the end, it's
football. And I live on a high floor, the helicopters that come to photograph
the stadium stop right in front of my balcony. The noises make me nuts. The
team that has the most fans in Brazil, Corinthians, won the championship. Their
game was near my house. There was a great noise until almost midnight.
Whistles, explosions, songs ... Everyone went out into the street! This is
Brazil! In India there is no football ...
Ze'ev:
In the wake of what you have just written, I have improved
the poem into something I am already beginning to love; - now, only in the last
word, you understand the poem backwards, and that is something to remember.
Helicopters hover overhead
Explosions
Shouts
Songs
The streets are empty
The stadiums are full
This is Brazil
In India, there is no football
This reinforces your psychological preparations for the
journey. You begin to compare Brazil to India.
Iara:
That's it, the trip has already begun ... Today I received
two lovely notebooks, one yellow and one orange.
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