Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Biography of Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Carlos Drummond de Andrade Poems
Souvenir Of The Ancient World
Clara strolled in the garden with the children. The sky was green over the grass, the water was golden under the bridges, other elements were blue and rose and orange,
Apparition Of Love
Sweet ghost, why do you visit me as in other times our bodies visited each other? Your transparency dampens my skin
Don'T Kill Yourself
Carlos, keep calm, love is what you're seeing now; today a kiss, tomorrow no kiss,
What now, José? The party’s over, the lights are off, the crowd’s gone,
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.
Who had the idea of slicing time into pieces, which were given the name of year, was a genius person.
Shoulders Support The World
There comes a time when we no longer say: my God. A time of absolute purity. A time when we no longer say: my love. Because love proved useless.
Quadrilha -- With English Translation
João loved Teresa who loved Raimundo who loved Maria who loved Joaquim who loved Lili who loved nobody.
When I was born, a crooked angel, the kind who live in shadows, said: Go, Carlos! Be gauche in life.
Sentiment Of The World
I have only two hands And the sense of the world, But I am full of slaves, My memories flow
To Wake, To Live
How to wake up without hurt? Restart without horror? My sleep carried me
I create an elephant of my scarce resources. Some pieces of wood taken of old furniture
Beach - Palm - Peace
Peace tries to land in Vietnam, but only after a cautious examination. Day after day, month following month, flutters, runs away, hovers again.
I spent one hour thinking of a verse my pen does not want to write. Yet, it is here inside restless, alive.
Boy Crying In The Night
In the warm, humid night, noiseless and dead, a boy cries.
His crying behind the wall, the light behind the window
are lost in the shadow of muffled footsteps, of tired voices.
Yet the sound of medicine poured into a spoon can be heard.
A boy cries in the night, behind the wall, across the street,
far away a boy cries, in another city,
in another world, perhaps.