Things and Thoughts | The roses don't speak

Sometimes I wonder where this idea that women are more emotional and sentimental than men comes from. I wonder that, especially in light of how much feeling so many men have committed to the artistic legacy of mankind. Paint on a piece of canvas, shapes revealed from blocks of stone, dance moves captured on camera and words, above all words, meaningful verbal exchanges between people made of paper and ink. I feel a deeper kinship to these men than to any of the women I have met in my life. 

One such men is Cartola, composer from Rio, baluarte da mangueira. And this morning, as I made my way to the library, l thought of his song, "As Rosas Não Falam" (The Roses Don't Speak). Not because of the longing he feels for the girl in the song... I myself have never felt this particular brand of romantic pangs. But I understand the loneliness that drives one to share their secrets with roses. And my heart, like his, beats full of hope because the summer has finally ended. 

Isn't it a lovely day to be caught in the rain? I wanted a picture of roses, but couldn't find any on my path... I settled for listening to Cartola, and watching the wonderful "Is there in truth no beauty". It's not a bad way to spend a day...

 

The translation below is mine... I have sacrifice rhymes for meaning, but the number of metric syllables on each verse is largely mantained. It should be possible to sing it, or so I hope...

As Rosas Não Falam Bate outra vez Com esperanças o meu coração Pois já vai terminando o verão Enfim Volto ao jardim Com a certeza que devo chorar Pois bem sei que não queres voltar Para mim Queixo-me às rosas Mas, que bobagem As rosas não falam Simplesmente, as rosas exalam O perfume que roubam de ti, ah Devias vir Para ver os meus olhos tristonhos E, quem sabe, sonhavas meus sonhos Por fim

The Roses Don't Speak It beats again, My heart is beating now, full of hopes, For the summer is about to end, At last Back to the garden With the certainty that I must cry For I know you don't wish to come back Back to me (I'm) Crying to roses But, oh, how silly The roses don't speak Yes, quite simply, the roses exhale The perfume they have stolen from you, ah You should come So that you could see my saddened eyes And, who knows, you might dream my dreams At last