Translation: Saudade
My translation of a Mark Rico poem from English into Portuguese, in both languages entitled "Saudade".
Today I had the pleasure of reading Mark Rico’s poem Saudade. The poem is light and yearnful.
“Saudade” in one of those words that comes up whenever lovers of words discuss untranslatability, like wabi-sabi or fernweh, or concepts that must keep their name across languages, like wanderlust or ennui.
Saudade (n., Portuguese): A deep, melancholic longing for an absent person, place, or experience, often tinged with nostalgia and bittersweet affection; a poignant yearning that acknowledges the unlikelihood of fulfillment, deeply rooted in Portuguese and Brazilian culture.
I asked AI for the above definition, and it felt compelled to add that bit at the end. Its previous answer had started with the phrase “defies a simple, direct translation.”
As an instructor of languages, mostly having worked with adults, I tend to think that poetic untranslatability is made too much of, not because it’s not a thing, but precisely because it is, because it’s too much of a thing to be contained. All translation is veiled. So I tell friends who ask that “longing” is the best translation for saudade and move on, even though it’s so much more than that.
Anyway, I got permission from Mark to translate his poem into Portuguese. I’ll post the original and my translation here, and include an audio reading of mine. If you click through to his Substack, you can hear his reading.
I’m proud of two plays on words in the translation. “They’re quick as birds” I translated as “são piscos alados”, and “pisco” means either “wink” or “robin”. I like the idea of a winged wink.
“Batidas ao alto” was my version of “blown aloft”. “Bater” can refer to the wind blowing, but it is also the action of a bird beating its wings, so it does double duty.
I know most of you don’t speak Portuguese. Maybe you like languages, or orthography, or puzzles, or maybe you would simply like to hear me read a poem in Portuguese.
Enjoy.
Saudade by Mark Rico We don’t dream of words or rather—they’re quick as birds that fly from astral trees litter cloudless sky like leaves blown aloft by the breeze variegated eddies teasing memory’s fumbling fingers. Hold on, hold on. Linger on the limb a while. Adhere your witless prophecies to waking ears that when you fly the wistful sky may hold some untold why.
Saudade por Mark Rico, tradução de Joffre Swait Não sonhamos em verbos ou digo—são piscos alados que voam de árvores astrais esparramam como folhas ao nudo céu batidas ao alto, pelo zéfiro variegado turbilhado tântalo os dedos tateados de memória. Segura, segura. Aguenta no galho um pouco. Adere teus presságios bobos às orelhas despertas para que quando fujas do saudoso céu segures na tua mão algum porquê inexpresso.
Translating poetry is no easy task, but it’s always fascinating when poets take it on. Beautiful poem — and as a native Portuguese speaker, I can say the translation is excellent. Thank you!
I loved listening to your translation. So beautiful. I’m passing this on to my daughter who is learning Portuguese.