quarta-feira, 27 de agosto de 2014

O Pato

I've just received Jóquei. And it was like this again. I was retrieving the voice of my songs (only to say that here I speak of music) as the sun was pointed to me. And I was seeing again. The pleasure of communicating. The blood clinging to my poetry. I go back to being me. Concerned about the joy that flows in my veins. My joy so great. The rest? At the edge of the dish. And what runs in the other people's blood? I don't care about the big lake of the world. I wish everyone to be happy. And «the duck was dancing by the water, quack, quack, quack».


The duck was quacking.
The duck was laughing.
The duck was dancing by the water, quack, quack, quack
The rhythm made him think he oughta quack, quack
He was dancing to the samba, the samba, the samba
Oh, goose, oh.

The goose was gaining passing by, honk, honk, honk
He stopped and gave the dance a try, honk, honk
The bossa nova had him dancing
The new thing. The new swing.

The a lovely swan swam by, in all her majesty,
and she loosened up.
Hoochy-coochy-coo did that swan.
She joined the duck and goose and did the samba too.
You should have seen the kind of samba she could do.
They did the samba so long, they all fell right in the water.
While they were singing away,
quack quack quack, quack quack quack
O PATO.

O pato vinha cantando alegremente, quém, quém
Quando um marreco sorridente pediu
Pra entrar também no samba, no samba, no samba
O ganso gostou da dupla e fez também quém, quém
Olhou pro cisne e disse assim "vem, vem"
Que o quarteto ficará bem, muito bom, muito bem
Na beira da lagoa foram ensaiar
Para começar o tico-tico no fubá
A voz do pato era mesmo um desacato
Jogo de cena com o ganso era mato
Mas eu gostei do final quando caíram n'água
E ensaiando o vocal
quém, quém, quém, quém
quém, quém, quém, quém
O PATO


| Pt |

Chegou o Jóquei. E era assim outra vez. Eu a recuperar a voz das minhas canções (só por falar que aqui eu falo de música) como se o Sol me apontasse a mim. E eu a ver outra vez. O prazer da comunicação. A poesia agarrada ao meu sangue. Eu a voltar a ser eu. Preocupada com a alegria que me corre nas veias. A minha alegria tão grande. O resto? Na beira do prato. E o que vai no sangue dos outros? Que me importa o grande lago do mundo. Gostava que todos fossem felizes. E «o pato estava a dançar junto à água, quack, quack, quack».