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 ?
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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 p*rn.
" 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 vag*na,
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 vag*na 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 d*ed.
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 d*ck!
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 su1c1de 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 d*ed
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 v*olence.
I wanted that v*olence.
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 w*r.
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 su1c1de.
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 sl*ve
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 d*ed 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 d*ed.
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, c**t, p*ssy,
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 sh*t ".
Everyone said: " Aunt, I'm going
to sh*t ". Not poop but sh*t.
So we conjugated the verb
" to sh*t ".
" I sh*t, you sh*t, he shits ".
As far as the conditional.
" I would sh*t, you would sh*t, "
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 f*cking.
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 f*cking
sessions morning, noon and night.
I remember everything,
because when I could still do it...
...I enjoyed my husband.
I k*lled him with all
that f*cking, 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 f*ck
with all the bells and whistles.
I did a lot of f*cking,
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 vag*na,
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.
O Amor Natural (1996)
Moderator: Maskath3