Poems by Carlos Marighella

Carlos Marighella (Salvador, December 5, 1911 – São Paulo, November 4, 1969) was a Brazilian Marxist-Leninist politician, writer and guerrilla fighter.

One of the main organizers of the armed struggle against the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964–1985), Marighella came to be considered the regime's "number one" enemy. He was co-founder of Ação Libertadora Nacional, a revolutionary organization.

In November 1969 he was assassinated by DOPS agents in an ambush.

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Freedom 

I will not remain alone in the field of art,

and, firm courage, lofty and strong,

I will do everything for you to exalt you,

serenely, oblivious to his own fate.

So that I can look at you one day

domineering, in fervent transport,

I will say that you are beautiful and pure everywhere,

for greater risk in which that audacity matters.

I love you so much, and in such a way, in short,

that there is no human strength

let this intoxicating passion tame.

And that I for you, if tortured,

may be happy, indifferent to pain,

die smiling murmuring your name

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Rondo of Freedom

You must not be afraid,

you have to have the courage to say it.

There are those who have a vocation to be a slave,

but there are slaves who revolt against slavery.

Don't get down on your knees

that it is not rational to renounce being free.

Even slaves by vocation

must be forced to be free,

when the shackles are broken.

You must not be afraid,

you have to have the courage to say it.

Man must be free...

Love does not stop at any obstacle,

and it can even exist when one is not free.

And yet he is himself

the highest expression of the freest

in all ranges of human feeling.

You must not be afraid,

you have to have the courage to say it.

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A Test in Verses

Doctor, I'm serious, allow me,

In verses scribble the written test.

Mirror is the surface that produces,

When polished, the reflection of light.

There are in the mirrors to consider

Two cases, when the image forms.

First case: one point is what you have;

The second object is suitable.

Be the figure below that you see,

The mirror is the beta ce line.

The point P is a given point that is,

As incident ray R(2) see.

The reflected ray comes after

And the luminous ray to point 2.

A normal was then drawn,

The angle I of incidence equals R.

Looking in the direction of R second,

The image is clear in the background,

In the prolonged, luminous ray,

That the reflected meets sideways.

Two triangles then in the mirror makes,

Rectangles both, both equal.

Equal because a collared peccary have in common,

Two equal angles forming one.

Equal too, because their complements

They will be equal, according to the arguments.

As for degrees, A + I has ninety,

B + J so many others presents.

By opposite vertices R and J

They are the same as R and I.

Shown and demonstrated what is mister,

I is equal to J as you want.

Equal triangles face up,

L2, P2, the same as that is expressed.

IMAGE OF A POINT

Behind the flat mirror so forms

The image, which is symmetrical by default.

IMAGE OF AN OBJECT

Symmetrical, straight and virtual,

And of the same greatness by the end.

Better explanation or safer

It is found below in the figure.

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Descriptive Ballad

Die, my God, the Descriptive,

this worthless matter,

which, in the afternoon, is untimely thing

subject to listen so boring.

In room B, living furnace,

how bad it makes me to be present!

Grant, O God, that the Descriptive

one day she dies suddenly.

What a harmful discipline!

How hot it is in the room!

Warmth that encourages

to a good, restful sleep.

Die, Jesus, the Descriptive

accompanied by the tangent,

of Projective Geometry

and the most that annoys us in the classroom.

Room B, the perspective

of your outline causes horror,

burns, Lord, the Descriptive,

throw it in the trash please.

Hours of pain, afflicted afternoon,

to see the lines drawn,

something that a brief stretch enlivens

in me boredom and burning anger.

Descriptive dies once and for all,

that no one feels her loss.

But if the "faggot" stays alive,

I die then, suddenly.

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Voices of Academic Youth

Swear! Where are you not answering?!

In what shady nook do you hide,

When they make fun of you?!

Two nights ago I sent you my cry,

That packs since then runs alarmed...

Where are you, Juraci?

Which Zigomar, you shut me up one day

In the vile cells of the endless gallery,

Provisional galley!...

By toxic - thou hast given me meager water!

And huge wafers – it was the mortar...

What did you connect to coffee...

The Sturdy Side of Assassin

Under the lash, the fine fur spreads

Made sore after all.

My back is bloodied, the pain oozes

When I happen to be lying down

In the hellish grabato.

My colleagues are lucky, they are fortunate...

Sleeps the C.P.O.R. in voluptuous

Beds in Acclamation,

Or in nets of elephant hides

Boys rock, good times,

In a huge hall.

By tent – they have the roofs of the Palace...

They don't eat buoy or sebaceous mush

With a taste of turpentine

Cigarette smoke from heaven ignites...

And arrange the night on the bed

Colossal pagodas.

The Legion is always the glorious one!...

The accursed and capricious unit,

Hound and courtesan.

Slut - has no shame in her face,

Pusillanimous – at night prepares

to escape tomorrow!...

The laurel always fits him in the pagoda...

Now a pinga, now a goat xinxim

It makes your belly happy.

Your Protector - Stupid Tunant

Follow captive delirious step

Of the great harlot.

But I, try!... I, sad, abandoned,

To the class of leveled inmates,

Lost cry in vain!...

If I protest... jail is imminent!...

Perhaps, why the protest, oh vile lieutenant!

Don't move into volcano.

And I don't even have a mattress for a party!...

Not a cloth remains to cover me

In the terrifying room...

When I hear the sound of the whistle,

Pack the Fachinetti in tears shout:

"Free me, sir!..."

Like the prisoner whom the cap covers,

I wear the same poor cap on my head

From the ferocious killer...

As soon as I am taken to the gallery,

The prisoners say: - "Here he is caged

Just like us..."

They don't even see that chess is my shroud.

That the horror goes lonely plowing

Over my chest.

From the old pavilion in the dark cell,

A lot of "chinchado" boy hides

From the day he was born.

From the collapsed ceiling and walls

Spiders peek over

The endless prison...

Where the wandering caravan appears,

Gagged by the clumsy gauntlet

From a bad lieutenant...

Is it not enough pain, terrible man?

It is, therefore, your inexhaustible swollen breast

Of revenge and grudge?

And what did I do, sir? what a terrible crime

I never committed that oppresses me like this

Your avenging glaive?...

It was after the speeches... A "secret",

Ideal symbol of concrete folly

Hurt a popular...

And I shouted to the heartless assassin:

- "I'll pierce you, thief, from side to side..."

And I started shooting...

Since that day of hate and disgrace,

The cookie, the students pass by

In cruel seclusion...

The sambas thunder through the night,

And the cleaning starts every hour

To sweep the paper.

I saw the gang surrender after seven...

I saw my people follow "marinetti"

Prison path...

Then I saw my wretched people,

By imprisoned militia members...

Filthy Hawk!...

Bahia!... in vain you demand freedom!

Your blood has not washed this city

The original stain.

They are still today, luckily

Donkey – HANNEQUIM, FACÓ – a feed...

JURACI – a boçal.

Today in your blood a robber is nourished,

With the pain of not being able to be more than a vulture,

Bird of bondage...

He joined the other fermented,

And thus lives the whole betrayed country,

Far from salvation.

Enough, sir lieutenant! of your belly

Squirt through the guts a fountain

Of Judas and Sandeus!

Two nights ago... I sob a scream...

Hear him calling from infinity

To death your crimes!

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The Vulture

Hovering through space wherever you feel

carrion, rot, decomposed matter

this original jet black color

the smell of filth happily braves.

Come down later. It's not a pint anymore

dark in the expanse of exposed firmament.

It comes down even more, more and more distinct,

until the ugly body touches the ground.

Since then begins the horrifying supper

and pinches the dung heap and grunts at every moment,

shaking all over, restless and frightened

Just like the vulture, there are many people at the top

powerful enough that, however, morally

can only live on carrion

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Wall

Wall is you, Soviet Union!

Wall of steel and human breasts,

not a standing wall, planted in the earth,

but vibrant wall, moving tirelessly.

Wall that Nazism once attacked

and that went back without breaking a piece,

until it could turn on itself, roaring

and running

over thousands of tank treadmills,

crushing, crushing the German invader.

It was with this wall resisting three years

that the great nations of the West created

its enormous power,

and wounded the side of the Hitlerite monster.

Today that the world breathes more freely,

I beg leave to simply say:

- You, yes, that is the wall, Soviet Union!

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Luís Carlos Prestes

Because you have the hardness and shine of a diamond

the people keep your name engraved

at the bottom of the heart.

Fascism tried to tear you to pieces

and dared to lock you up in an iron box,

thinking maybe dim your shine.

Withstood all blows though.

and even enclosed in an iron box

you flooded a suffocated people with light,

while the night of fascism lasted.

Those who are overshadowed are your jailers.

And your solitary prison was turned into a casket

which holds the most precious of all jewels.

When you rise among the people,

your steel temper and your perennial shine

will be stamped on the hero's halo,

that surrounds your name, Luís Carlos Prestes.

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To Prestes(On his Birthday)

O heroic Knight of Hope

exemplary son of the Brazilian people,

your immense figure more and more advances,

guides and illuminates the entire continent.

The glory of your name the world reaches,

daring liberator. you are the first

that inspires confidence in our people,

admiration, true affection.

The voice does not say, nor does the pen express

your pain in a prison, without crime,

away from the dear love of his daughter.

But your martyrdom contains a truth:

in the hearts of the people of this land

only your name shines and shines.

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The Joy of the People

A great move

on the right edge,

the leather balloon

as if stuck in the foot.

An impossible dribble...

Garrincha comes out on one side,

and the opponent crashes to the ground.

General laughter,

Maracanã shakes...

There goes the tip following,

the spotlights sweeping the lawn with light,

the white balloon rolling,

safe at the feet of the demonic attacker.

Fly Garrincha,

invades the opposite area,

going to the bottom line

to cross...

And the nets sway,

in goal delirium.

Garrincha! Garrincha!

The joy of the people,

in the dizzying ballet

of Brazilian football.

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Corner of the Earth

The earth has everything

and planting is what gives.

And they planted and they planted

or was already planted.

The Amazon forest,

the river and the fish

and the balacubau.

The caatinga existed

with the brauna,

the mandacaru

and the Cariango Gravatá.

The southern coxillas,

the Atlantic massif,

the Serra do Mar,

the tall pines,

the Amazon river,

the San Francisco River,

the Parana river...

Cane fields whistling,

extended green curtain

over immense expanse.

And they planted coffee

and cocoa and rubber...

And they planted yerba mate...

With the slave and the immigrant

everything was done.

Food my saint,

the mulata, the brunette...

and even the blonde appeared.

Indiigenous already had

the gringa came later.

who got in the way

it was people from outside

that didn't work.

I sing the earth...

Everyone knows that another

there is no more bold...

"Your smiles, beautiful fields have more flowers"...

Good! There were lilies,

but not now.

I sing the earth,

I sing the people...

sing the poets

and singing go...

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Song for Atabaque

Hey bum!

Qui bum-rum!

Quim bum-rum!

Bum! Bumba!

Hey lu!

Qui-lu-lu!

Qui-lu-lu!

Lumumba!

Hey Brazil!

Hey bumba meu-boi!

“Mansu, manseba,

bring the razor

to shave

of this handle.”

Here comes drunkard,

here comes Bastion,

playing bladder

in everything that is people.

The engineer measuring,

empath-samba stalemate,

Seahorse

dancing, dancing.

The ox squirming,

the ox is dying,

the ox raising,,,

Hey Brazil-African!

My grandmother was a Hausa black woman,

she came from africa,

on a slave ship.

My father came from Italy,

immigrant worker.

Brazil is mixed,

mixture of Indigenous, black, and white.

Boom! Thurs boom! Thurs boom! Butt!

Who made Brazil

it was black work,

of a slave, of a slave,

with string, without string,

but there in the slave quarters,

the vein of Brazil

came from there was from Africa.

Hey bum!

Qui bum-rum!

Qui bum-rum!

Bum! Bumba!

Hey lu!

Qui-lu-lu!

Qui-lu-lu!

Lumumba!

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Capoeira

Capoeira who sent you,

capoeira, was your godfather.

The berimbau clanging

on the tight rope,

marked cadence

the ginga of the game.

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom,

capoeira kills one.

The right leg

thrown forward,

the weight of the body balanced on the left,

the arms throwing

from side to side...

Capoeira who taught you?

Suddenly a fall

capoeira on earth,

the aú,

upside down,

legs in the air,

the sweeping sweep

like a scythe on the ground,

the grass cutter, the stingray tail,

and the enemy falling

suddenly,

to the puller

from Bahia.

African wrestling

that the mestizo took over,

that the warriors of the forest,

Quilombos, Palmares,

knew how to play.

That the Angolan brought us,

that Mestre Pastinha knew how to teach us.

Choreography. People's Game.

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom

capoeira kills one.

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Confraternization

Arms down

No more the nervous hands of weavers

touching the

looms,

putting splices in the wire

no more the rattling of looms

hitting

in a monotonous, deafening noise

Just drooping arms,

Workers thinking about their children

hungry

Then came the soldiers,

Packaged rifles,

Defend the property of the owner of the

factory

But they also had children,

Mothers, brides, sisters

Hunger was the same in their homes

also

And the weavers hailed them as brothers

Now in the factory there are arms raised

acclaiming

And there are hands clasping

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The Country of One Note

I don't intend anything

nor flowers, praises, triumphs.

nothing at all.

Just a protest,

a breach in the wall,

and make it echo,

with a deaf voice,

and without other value,

what hides in the chest,

deep in the soul

of millions of suffocated.

Something I can filter my thoughts through,

the idea they put in jail.

The pass went up,

the milk ran out,

the child died,

the meat is gone

the IPM arrested,

the DOPS tortured,

the deputy gave in,

the hard line vetoed,

censorship prohibited,

the government gave

unemployment rose,

the scarcity increased,

the Northeast has shrunk,

the country slipped.

Everything hurts

everything hurts,

everything hurts...

And across the country

echoes the tone

one note...

one note...

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The perfume

For every woman there is always a perfume

that pleases your taste

or the desire that inspires it,

and which is revealed to him by the gift of instinct.

Every woman brings in herself,

embedded in her body,

a perfume.

With every kind of love

a perfume is a must,

be pure love,

unfaithful,

sacrosanct,

carnal.

There is an eternal quest for woman...

And who knows this quest

comes down to

looking for something,

something strange, unfathomable,

who knows a perfume.

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The vacancy

Gently, the vacancy arises.

It comes lightly from a sea wrinkle that the wind rehearses

push and roll. And rolls and soon

in a halo of foam encircles the beach.

And it is majestic and beautiful whether it rises

expanding all or contracting,

rise in snow-white ridges

or roaring scalloping falls.

As the vacancy is my love for you

fervent, impetuous — what I felt

in the heart with more ardor vibrate.

Love that gives my verses among the foam

bubbles and swells and swells

like the vagancy rolling over the sea.

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Notes:

-Rondo: The rondo is a form of sectioned musical composition, structured from a main theme and several secondary themes (usually two or three), always interspersed by the repetition of the main theme.

-C.P.O.R:Centro de Preparação de Oficiais da Reserva (Reserve Officers Training Center)

-Luís Carlos Prestes:Brazilian communist military and politician of the 20th century, he led the Coluna Prestes, the National Liberation Alliance (ANL) and the Communist Intent of 1935.

-Garrincha:Garrincha was a Brazilian national team player who played as a right winger, participated in the 1958, 1962 and 1966 cups.

-Balacubau:Piracuru, an Amazonian fish, jump in the water

-Caatinga:Exclusively Brazilian biome, with a biodiversity at high temperatures and lack of water

-Mandacaru: Cactus

-Cariango Gravatá:"Cariango" is an indigenous word that defines a bird, while "Gravatá" is the common name of a plant

-Serra do Mar:Mountain chain that goes from the state of Rio de Janeiro and goes to the north of Rio Grande do Sul. According to the constitution, this chain constitutes national heritage along with the Amazon, the Atlantic Forest, the Pantanal of Mato Grosso and the Coastal Zone.

-Atabaque: African percussion instrument. This instrument is widely used in rituals of Afro-Brazilian religions, such as Candomblé and Umbanda, to summon entities such as Orixás, Inquices and Voduns.

-Bumba Meu-Boi:Brazilian Popular Folklore Festival predominant in the north and northeast of the country that revolves around the death and resurrection of an ox

-Marighella was the son of a Hausa woman, an ethnic group of black people of Muslim origin who were kidnapped from northern Nigeria to be enslaved in Brazil, she worked as a maid in a French house. Marighella's father was an Italian immigrant, worker and anarchist militant. That's why he says that his grandparents came from the slave ship and that his father came from Italy.

-Capoeira:Capoeira is an Afro-Brazilian sport and cultural expression that involves martial art, dance and music.

-Berimbau:Jew's harp, only much bigger, instrument used in capoeira. This instrument originated in Angola and was brought by enslaved people to Brazil.

-Aú:Capoeira coup that consists of the capoeirist, with the hands resting on the ground, throws the body in the air and turns it slowly.

-Quilombo:Communities formed by enslaved blacks and/or their descendants during the colonial period in Brazil, the largest of which is Quilombo dos Palmares, which is also mentioned in the poem.

-Mestre Pastinha:Brazilian master of capoeira.

-IPM:Inquéritos Policiais Militares (Military Police Inquiries)

-DOPS: Departamento de Ordem Política e Social (Department of Political and Social Order)

References