Group Title: CARIFESTA I - 1972
Title: Lyrics for Song to the man of the people ... Charlie Chaplin b
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 Material Information
Title: Lyrics for Song to the man of the people ... Charlie Chaplin b
Series Title: CARIFESTA I - 1972
Physical Description: Archival
Publication Date: 1972
Spatial Coverage: Guyana -- Georgetown
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00099697
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.

Full Text



It was necessary that a Brazilian poet,
Not one of the greatest, but one of the most exposed
to mockery,
Gyrating a little in your atmosphere--or aspiring
to live in it--
As in the poetic and essential atmosphere of lucid dreams,

It was necessary that this stubborn little singer
Of elementary rhythms, coming from a provincial little town
Where a tie is not always worn but where everybody is
extremely polite
And oppression is hated, though heroism is bathed in irony,

It was necessary that a former twenty-year old lad,
Tied to your pantomime by filaments of affection and
Laughter, dispersed in time,
Should come to recompose them and, as a mature man, to
visit you
To tell you somethings under the color of a poem.

To tell you how Brazilians love you
And that in this, as in everything else, our people
are like
Any other people of the world--including thelittle Jews
With their walking-sticks, tophats, long shoes and
melancholy eyes

Tramps the world has rejected, but who scoff and live
In the films, on the crooked streets with signs--Factory,
Barbershop, Police--
And overcome hunger, cheat brutality, prolong love
Like a secret spoken in the ear of a man of the people
Fallen in the street.

Well I know that the speech, a bourgeois lullaby, does
not puff you up,
And you are in the habit of sleeping whilst the vehement
Dedicate the statue.
And among so many words that scour the streets like cars,
Only the most humble, of abuse or kiss, affect you.

Neither the greetings of the devout nor that of the
Do I offer you.
They do not exist, but the greeting of the common man does,
In a common city.
Nor do I care so much about the matter of my song,
Now celebrating you.
Like a bunch of absurd flowers sent by mail,
To the inventor of gardeners.
Through me speak those who were soiled with sorrow and
Ferocious disdain for everything.
Who entered into the movie-house like afflicted rats
Escaping from life.

.../2 They

They are a two hour-long anesthesia: let us hear some music.
Let us visit in the dark some images --- they have
discovered you
And saved themselves.

Through me speak the deprived of justice, the meek-hearted,
The social outcast, the unsuccessful, the multilated,
the defective,
The repressed.
The oppressed, the solitary, the indecisive, the lyric,
The meditative.
The irresponsible, the puerile, the affectionate,the
mad and
The pathetic.
And speak the flowers which you love so much when they
are trampled on.
Speak the candlestubs, which you eat in extreme penury
Speak the table, the buttons,
The instruments of work and the thousand things
Apparently closed.
Every stuff, every garret.trifle, the: more obscure they
The louder they speak.

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