Toni Merchant’s blog

Translated from Spanish to English by Toni Merchant

Which is which
Which is the how?
Who knows how to behave?
How natural fish are!
They never seem out of place.

They are like hosts in the sea
And they dress correctly
Without sporting an extra scale,
Honored by the water.

I, everyday, put not only my feet in the plate
But my elbows, my kidneys
The lire, my soul, the rifle.

I do not know what to do with my hands
And I have seriously thought,
just to go without them
But where can I put my ring?
What a terrible uncertainty!

And on top of it, I do not know anybody
I do not remember their last names.
I think I remember you
Aren´t you a contraband dealer?

And you ma’m, aren´t you the lover
Of this alcoholic poet
Who rambled without a purpose
On the neighborhood roofs?

He flied because he had wings
And you still have your feet on the ground
I would have loved to offer you
As an Indian widow, to a big pile of fire
Could we burn you right now?
It would be really exciting!

Another time, on an embassy
I fell in love with a black woman
She did not want to take her clothes off
And I asked her strongly:
Are you crazy, wild statue
How can you dare to wear clothes?

They forcefully made me banish
Of this and other reunions,
If by mistake I wandered close
They would close windows and doors.

Then I joined the gypsies,
The magicians,
The seamen without a ship,
The fishermen without fish,
But everybody had rules,
Unimaginable protocols,
And my lamentable education
Brought me bad consequences.

This is why I do not come and do not go
I do not wear clothes, but I am not naked either
I threw my silverware to the well,
My spoons and knives.

I just smile by myself,
I do not ask indiscreet questions
And when someone comes to look for me
And with great honor, to the banquets
I send my clothes, my shoes,
My shirt, with my hat,
But despite of this, they are not happy:
My suit was there without a tie, they say.

This way, just to probe myself
I decided to have a honest life
One with the most active laziness,
I purified my intentions,
I went out to eat with myself,
And that way, I become mute.

Sometimes, I took myself out for a dance
But without great enthusiasm,
And then, I go to bed alone, with no hope
Just not to go to the wrong room.

Goodbye, because I just came
Good morning, I am in a hurry.
Whenever  you want to see me you know:
Look for me where you know I am not
And if you have extra time to spare, and something to say
You can talk to my portrait.

Sobre mi mala educación - Pablo Neruda

Cuál es cuál,
cuál es el cómo?_
Quién sabe cómo conducirse?
Qué naturales son los peces!
Nunca parecen inoportunos.

Están en el mar invitados_
y se visten correctamente_
sin una escama de menos,_
condecorados por el agua.__

Yo todos los días pongo_
no sólo los pies en el plato,_
sino los codos,
los riñones,_
la lira, el alma, la escopeta.__

No sé qué hacer con las manos_
y he pensado venir sin ellas,_
pero dónde pongo el anillo?_
Qué pavorosa incertidumbre!__

Y luego no conozco a nadie._
No recuerdo sus apellidos.__
—Me parece conocer a usted._
—No es usted un contrabandista?_

—Y usted señora no es la amante_
del alcohólico poeta_
que se paseaba sin cesar,_
sin rumbo fijo por las cornisas?_

—Voló porque tenía alas._
—Y usted continúa terrestre._
—Me gustaría haberla entregado_
como india viuda a un gran brasero,_
no podríamos quemarla ahora?_
Resultaría palpitante!__

Otra vez en una Embajada_
me enamoré de una morena,_
no quiso desnudarse allí,_
y yo se lo increpé con dureza:_
estás loca, estatua silvestre,_
cómo puedes andar vestida?__

Me desterraron duramente_
de ésa y de otras reuniones,_
si por error me aproximaba_
cerraban ventanas y puertas.__

Anduve entonces con gitanos_
y con prestidigitadores,_
con marineros sin buque,_
con pescadores sin pescado,_
pero todos tenían reglas,_
inconcebibles protocolos_
y mi educación lamentable_
me trajo malas consecuencias.__

Por eso no voy y no vengo,_
no me visto ni ando desnudo,_
eché al pozo los tenedores,_
las cucharas y los cuchillos._

Sólo me sonrío a mí solo,_
no hago preguntas indiscretas_
y cuando vienen a buscarme,_
con gran honor, a los banquetes,_
mando mi ropa, mis zapatos,_
mi camisa con mi sombrero,_
pero aún así no se contentan:_
iba sin corbata mi traje.__

Así para salir de dudas_
me decidí a una vida honrada_
de la más activa pereza,_
purifiqué mis intenciones,_
salí a comer conmigo solo_
y así me fui quedando mudo._

A veces me saque a bailar,_
pero sin gran entusiasmo,_
y me acuesto solo, sin ganas,_
por no equivocarme de cuarto.__

Adiós porque vengo llegando._
Buenos días, me voy de prisa.__
Cuando quieran verme ya saben:_
búsquenme donde no estoy_
y si les sobra tiempo y boca_
pueden hablar con mi retrato.
 

 
Word in Caló
Chilango                        Word in Spanish(Español)                                        Word in English Inglés

¡Ya chole!                         ¡Ya basta! ¡Estoy harto!                                       I am fed up!
Chango (a)                        Tipo (a)                                                              Guy (or girl), literally monkey.
Chafa                                De mala calidad, vulgar, corriente                        Low quality thing.
Chamba                            Trabajo, curro, laburo                                          Work, job.
Chutar (te chutas)              Actividad, ocurrencial,                                         Chutar comes from Shooting, and it is                                                                                                                   an activity, or something that someone                                                                                                                   does.
Tacuche                            Traje                                                                Suit
¡Chale!                                Expresión de enfado                                        Expression of disenchantment or being                                                                                                                 fed up!
Charola                          Credencial de la policía judicial.                             ID from the secret police. This is                                                                                                                             generally made of metal, that is why it is                                                                                                                 called “charola” which means “tray”.
Choncho                        Grande, Gordo                                                      Big, or fat (or both)
Chinche                          Insecto de las camas                                           Bed flies
Chueco o chocolate        Ilegal, no permitido, mal hecho.                              Twisted,  illegal, badly made.
Fayuca                          Contrabando                                                            Contraband
Fusca                            Pistola                                                                   Pistol, gun
Cachiporra                      Macana                                                                Battton
Te pasa                           Te gusta                                                              You like it
Guarura                            Guardaespaldas                                                    Body Guard
Chela                            Cerveza                                                                 Beer
Enchufo                        Conectar, conquistar, hacer el amor con..                To connect, to conquer, to make friends                                                                                                                 with, to make love with, depends on                                                                                                                     context.
Chava                            Chica, Tía, Muchacha                                            Girl
Chambendo (Chambear)    Trabajando, trabajar                                              Working
Chafirete                        Conductor, chofer                                                Chauffer, driver
Chupe                            Bebidas                                                              Drinks
Pachanga                        Fiestas                                                              Party
Bacha                         colilla del cigarro de mariguana.                 Colita of a mariguana cigarette. “Matar la bacha”                                                                                                     (to  kill the bacha) means to finish smoking the                                                                                                      cigarette.
Choya                               Cabeza                                                             Head
Chochos            Dulces pequeños o drogas.                                 Small candy. Also “Chochos” is the name given to                                                                                                  small drugs (pills) that look like candy.
Chemo (cemento)    Pegamento con aroma muy fuerte que usan los muchachos de barrios pobres para drogarse.     Very strong glue that poor kids use (inhale) to get drugged.

This is a song that I have promised to many people (about 2). Pure Mexico City slang (caló or caliche). This song was written by Jaime López, and interpreted by Café Tacuba. Translation to Spanish available below, to English, is coming up.

Chilanga Banda Author: Jaime López
Interpreted by Café Tacuba
Translation to Spanish (Toni Merchant)

Ya chole chango chilango (Ya basta tipo del DF)
que chafa chamba te chutas (que mal trabajo el que tienes)
no checa andar de tacuche (no te queda andar de traje)
y chale con la charola! ( y que feo traer credencial de policía)

Tan choncho como una chinche (tan gordo como una pulga)
mas chueco que la fayuca (mas ilegal que el contrabando)
con fusca y con cachiporra (con pistola y con garrote)
te pasa andar de guarura. (te gusta trabajar de guardaespaldas)

Mejor yo me echo una chela (mejor me tomo una cerveza)
y chance enchufo una chava (y tal vez me acuesto con una muchacha)
chambeando de chafirete (trabajando de conductor o chofer)
me sobra chupe y pachanga. (me sobran la bebida y las fiestas)

Si choco saco chipote (si me estrello y golpeo a otro coche)
la chota no es muy molacha (la policía no molesta tanto)
chiveando a los que machucan (extorsionando  a los que atropellan)
se va a morder su talacha. (se van a disfrutar lo que robaron)

De noche caigo al congal (en la noche voy al cabaret)
no manches dice la changa (no seas exagerado, dijo una mujer)
al choro del teporocho (a la plática del borracho)
en chifla pasa la pacha. (apresúrate a pagar)

PACHUCOS CHOLOS Y CHUNDOS, (Mafiosos, pandilleros y vagos)
CHICHINFLAS Y MALAFACHAS (lamebotas y delincuentes)
ACA LOS CHOMPIRAS RIFAN (acá los ladrones mandan)
Y BAILAN TIBIRITABARA. ( y bailan música tropical)

Mejor yo me echo una chela (mejor me tomo una cerveza)
y chance enchufo una chava (y tal vez me acuesto con una muchacha)
chambeando de chafirete (trabajando de conductor o chofer)
me sobra chupe y pachanga. (me sobran la bebida y las fiestas)

Mi ñero mata la vacha (mi amigo acaba el cigarro de mariguana)
y canta la cucaracha (y canta la cucaracha)
su choya vive de chochos (su cabeza vive con pastillas)
de chemo, churro y garnachas. (con inhalantes, cigarro de mariguana y frituras de la calle en el DF)

PACHUCOS CHOLOS Y CHUNDOS, (Mafiosos, pandilleros y vagos)
CHICHINFLAS Y MALAFACHAS (lamebotas y delincuentes)
ACA LOS CHOMPIRAS RIFAN (acá los ladrones mandan)
Y BAILAN TIBIRITABARA. ( y bailan música tropical)

Transando de arriba abajo (estafando en todas partes)
ahi va la chilanga banda (así son los de la Ciudad de México)
chinchin si me la recuerdan (me las van a pagar si me mientan la madre)
carcacha y se les retacha (y todo lo que deseen para mí, se les revierta)

Chilanga Banda

Fernpessoa1

Pessoa, Pessoa.....

I cannot think of other thing but Fernando Pessoa right now. Pessoa means: Person in Portuguese, and the Portuguese poet Fernando Antonio Nogueira Pessoa created about 70 different persons out of him. His creations  wrote in different publications, and even criticized and admired each other. He invented their lives, so even literary critics would comment on them. They even had each other mourn the death of some of his heteronyms!
The most amazing thing is that some of these heteronyms were not discovered until 50 years after Pessoa passed away in 1935!

Ricardo Reis, Alvaro dos Campos, and Bernardo Soares (all three heteronyms of Pessoa) admired Alberto Caeiro (another heteronym). While Caeiro published criticism to Pessoa´s writings in some magazines of the time. Pessoa is so interesting, that even Nobel Prize José Saramago (not, he is not an heteronym of Pessoa, he is his own person, and still alive) wrote a novel about the death of Ricardo Reis (which he argues happened one year later than Pessoa himself!).

What a Pessoa!

Jonathan Griffin, who extensively translated Pessoa to English,  said, with Fernando Pessoa sayings "noted this way", that:

Caeiro is what Pessoa longed "all the simplicity, all the grandeur the ancients had", all their "possession of things" and it is was Pessoa longed to be and could not. Reis is the nearest that Pessoa could come to being Caeiro. A disciple of Caeiro, Reis works paganism into an ethical doctrine, part epicurean, part stoic, yet conscious, and kept clear of, a human environment conditioned by Christianity Through Campos, Pessoa saved himself from settling down into Reis. He starts as an extrovert, ends as an introvert; starts determined "to feel all every way there is", and ends up obsessed, asking if he is real. As poet in his own name, Fernando Pessoa matured fully almost as soon as his heteronym poets appeared. Caeiro is ideal; Reis the good second best; Campos doing Pessoa's travelling for him: but no escape from coming home to the real exploring.

The following is extracted from an article on Technology and Culture for the Trenches, about the personalities of the heteronyms that Pessoa created.

Alberto Caeiro: Both Alvaro dos Campos and Ricardo Reis considered Caeiro a master writer. They both confessed that Caeiro's thoughts influenced their work. Alberto was a shepperd who lived outside Lisbon, agnostic who avoided the city and crowds, who lived barefoot in contact with nature and peace. Caeiro was what Pessoa longed to be and could not, he was "the Master."

Ricardo Reis was a poet of Sad Epicureanism, master of highly wrought, metaphysical and neoclassical odes. He was born in Porto and educated by Jesuits. He was a doctor by profession and monarchist by conviction. Reis sought exile in Brazil after the proclamation of the first Portuguese Republic in 1919. Antonio Tabucchi, one of the writer's foremost critics and translators, believes Reis to have died peacefully in exile at the end of 1935. Novelist Jose Saramago, however, speculated that Reis died in Lisbon one year later under mysterious circumstances, unwittingly entangled in the revolts which spilled over from the Spanish Civil war in Lisbon. Reis was the nearest that Pessoa could come to being Caeiro.

Alvaro dos Campos was born in the city of Taviras and was a naval engineer in Glasgow who travelled widely before settling in Lisbon and founding the avant-garde magazine Orfeu. His writings proclaimed the advent of a perfect and mathematical humanity. Impressed by the force and ambition of Campos' works, Mario de Sa Carneiro, ventured that Campos' poetry would outlast his own. Campos did Pessoa's travelling for him.

Bernardo Soares was a book-keeper who lived a humble life in Lisbon which book was only discovered in 1982. Soares was perhaps a close image of the darkest side of Pessoa.

You can follow this link and explore more about this fascinating poet, and more on his multiple personalities.

http://www.kuro5hin.org/story/2003/9/11/15138/9002

I found this poem by "Alvaro de Campos" one of the multiple 

personalities of one of my favorite poets: Fernando Pessoa. 

I love Pessoa, because he was able to create at least four different people 

out of his pen. Four different poets that wrote in different styles: 

Alberto Caeiro, Alvaro de Campos, Ricardo Reis and of course, Fernando Pessoa. 

All coming out of the same head, the same pen, the same sensibility. 

Sometimes I feel the same, because I seem to be interested 

in everything under the sun, and I am very hesitant about becoming 

"specialist" in something. This poem about tiredness is a good example 

of what extreme specialization can do to your well being. 

Maybe split-personalities is the solution to that dilemma. 

Toni

I Am Tired

Alvaro de Campos

I am tired, that is clear,
Because, at certain stage, people have to be tired.
Of what I am tired, I don't know:
It would not serve me at all to know
Since the tiredness stays just the same.
The wound hurts as it hurts
And not in function of the cause that produced it.
Yes, I am tired,
And ever so slightly smiling
At the tiredness being only this -
In the body a wish for sleep,
In the soul a desire for not thinking
And, to crown all, a luminous transparency
Of the retrospective understanding ...
And the one luxury of not now having hopes?
I am intelligent: that's all.
I have seen much and understood much of what I
	have seen.
And there is a certain pleasure even in tiredness
	this brings us,
That in the end the head does still serve for
	something.


	(24.06.1935) 

If you want to read more poems by Pessoa or his multiple personalities, 

you can look into this page: 

The topic of last party at Mayra´s house was the horrific: "getting old". I thought that it would not happen to me, that stuff was happening to everybody else, but me: the wrinkles, the tiredness, the lack of interest in what I have always been interested in, the stiffnes, the long reassuring speeches to young people. Boy, I was wrong. In this party,  I WAS THE ONLY ONE GETTING OLD. Everybody there was fashionable and pretty, and me, no matter how many songs of Hip-hop bands I have accumulated in my iTunes library, I was as unfashionable as ever. Still not getting the last band´s hit!