Текст и перевод песни César Oliveira - Ritual das Garças

Ritual das Garças

O sol potro colorado se emborca atrás
Das coxilhas
E a tarde exausta repousa na cama das
Maçanilhas

Silhuetas singram serenas povoando os
Olhos de graça
Aos poucos veste horizonte com o pala
Branco das garças

Ruflando as plumagens densas do céu
Derrama o efeito
De alvas pérolas vivas e as nuvens
Trazem no peito
Em revoada elas chegam adornando as
Amplitudes
E aportam nas copas altas da ilhazinha
Do açude Bis

(As garças são peregrinas pois são
Livres pra voar
Levam as gotas do orvalho trazem o sol
Pra se deitar
Nasceram pra ser teatinas com a sina de desbravar
Tem açudes como albergues e o mundo
Para morar, para morar)

Lambaris vem pra flor d′água os tahãs dão "buenas tardes!"
Saudando as viageiras que chegam fazendo alarde
E o orquestral afinado num babarél se prolonga
Ouvindo ao longe parece um talarear de milongas

O ermo dos amarillos é povoado de alegria
E o arrebol dos aguapés vem dormir com a sinfonia
Pra quem olha a natureza com a alma sobre a retina
Estes rituais são poemas escritos por mão divina Bis

Heron's Ritual

The sun, a red foal, plunges behind
The hills
And the exhausted afternoon rests on the bed of
Manchineel trees

Silhouettes sail serenely inhabiting the
Graceful eyes
Slowly they dress the horizon with the
White cloak of herons

Ruffling their dense plumage in the sky
They drop the effect
Of living, white pearls, and the clouds
Carry them in their chests
They arrive in flocks, adorning the
Expanse
And they land on the tall treetops of the small island
Of Bis Marsh

(Herons are pilgrims because they are
Free to fly
They take the drops of dew, they bring the sun
To lie down
They were born to be wanderers with the destiny of exploring
They have marshes as hostels and the world
To live in, to live in)

Silversides come to the water's surface, the dorados say "good afternoon!"
Greeting the travelers who arrive making a fuss
And the orchestra plays in a babble that goes on and on
Heard from afar, it sounds like a thousand milongas singing

The wasteland of yellow willows is filled with joy
And the sunset of the water lilies comes to sleep with the symphony
For those who look at nature with their soul on the retina
These rituals are poems written by a divine hand Bis