One more thing about Inês de Castro before I change the subject: She is often referred to in poetry as “colo de garça”. A garça is a heron, and colo is a funny little word that doesn’t have an exact match in english. The first and third meanings given by Priberam both refer to the upper part of the bust, but there are others indicating the upper part of the chest below the neck, and also the lap… It often comes up when talking about babies – they are “no colo”, in other words cradled in a pair of arms or sat in someone’s lap, being held by a parent – and it has a bunch of figurative senses too, relating to being welcomed with open arms, cared for, looked after and protected.
But being me, after a brief period, I asked reddit
Porque é que vários poetas chamam Inês de Castro de “colo de garça”? Uma garça=uma ave, não é? E colo de garça é um elogio porquê? Fiz uma pesquisa (ou seja googlei) e nesta página existem 3 teorias:
Tinha um pescoço esbelto como uma garça (adoro mas nunca antes ouvi alguém a dizer “colo” para referir ao pescoço)
Tinha seios brancos como o peito de uma garça (mais natural mas se alguém chamasse um inglesa de “heron tits”, garanto-vos que não seria um elogio)
Era vista como uma prostituta pelos nobres (provável, mas como origem da expressão, é duvidoso na minha opinião)
Será que alguém sabe mais? Ou tem uma teoria ainda mais rebuscado?
Recebi poucas respostas mas ao que parece a primeira versão – pescoço esbelto – é muito acreditável.
I’m having trouble focusing on this poem, which I mentioned in yesterday’s post about Pedro and Inês, and holding it in my head while translating, long enough to take it all in so I’m going to write out a translation of the five pages I have in English. I can’t find a version of it online other than this which only really allows you to see a tiny piece at a time so if you want the original you’ll need to buy it like a decent upstanding citizen.
CAPÍTULO XXVII
COMO ELREI DOM PEDRO DE PURTUGAL DISSE POR DONA ENES QUE FORA SUA MOLHER REÇEBIDA E DA MANEIRA QUE ELLO TEVE
How I predicted the night. How many times.
How many times I rested on the deep darkness
Or your sleep only noticing one or another small sound
By night I search for your earthly now
That tiny god-space* like those ships ate deserted
Like everything is strange to anything that lives. Under the night here
I enclose the secret of these rites,
Taking apart this, my bodily landscape
Feeding an ancient glow
Hair I understood. I say nothing, this time must be valued
Little by little I renounce the sun
For the water of your eyes
I have to wait so long. This death happens slowly
I have no hunger, thirst or desire
I just come back by another road
These ships are ours
The little greyhound that sits here
Was the one that was born out of the cold we learned about
Tonight I lost myself in your fingers
I repeated your steps walking not
as fast as you wanted
that before the sunrise we would say it
See how the landscape changes. I don’t even find despair
and how many times I say I don’t have anyone here
Only this ship, undoubtedly the most beautiful
To show you.
Apparently nothing changed but in truth everything changed
A wind passed me by like the wake
of gulls on the surface of the sea
These stones in place, these arches covered in limes
Your absence drawn by a stone
Walking toward me
I don’t remember any more
My memory has swept itself clean of your face under the work of hands
And however many times I say
You can’t bear alteration
It’s late. The moon is dying. I let myself sleep.
COMO ELREI DOM PEDRO DE PURTUGAL DISSE POR DONA ENES QUE FORA SUA MOLHER REÇEBIDA E DA MANEIRA QUE ELLO TEVE
The day on which the arrival of summer was announced The month of June, I tried to hear, drom the valley The singing and the shouts that say the arrival of the traveller By words of the present
Maybe I won’t find you again while this body Stays until the time of your death There won’t be movement. How will I be able? If I have to separate destruction in myself
You will have to set out to find me. By the road and in the course of centuries Those who will come to life, what part of them will come to be the same,
We are alone. Without a third person let alone more While the night is what we alone open – that By night you wait, seeming like earth, the earth itself in the nighttime still
Over time I will bring as much as you need. A long time ago Chance had no part in our meeting, searching for the Most distant, the thing that grows. It’s what I want to tell you Far from trying at each step the beginning or the reliable piety For sustenance over the years. The lack of response will never Cease to pursue me. Reply to me.
We feel the pain, the knowledge the causes the forms The things break like everything and what remains stands out The difference, the meaning among the innovation The inception in the act and in the wanting. The wise finality of existence. The end is to know you. Nothing else. I see you watching me Even in the mirror of the sword blades, eroded By rust, by so much
The sun still hasn’t set
There are men who think a lot. I don’t know if they bring a joyful heart to their work with the stone. They greet us and offer consultations. Nobody contradicts them. They don’t have the one thing I need to win: Your praise.
Nothing erases it from my memory. Because I imitated the acts. I bring them with me. I guard them. It’s a small thing.
Please, repeat with me the song: The eyes are light And anyone who stares into them Has the rain, the sun, That he requires
The current emphasises the green, the green of your eyes.
* “esse mínimo espaço deus” – sounds like it should mean something but I’m not sure what! Deus isn’t capitalised so I am taking it as him meaning the space has some sort of godlike power, rather than it being some sort of space for God
Oof. I probably could have written a lot more footnotes for that one because there are lots of lines that make little sense to me.
Tickets here. Definitely going. My wife is working and my daughter (who really enjoys his version of “Cancão de Engate“) will be in Dundee so I’ll be in my own. I see I’ve done a couple of translations of his songs before but one was a cover version (the aforementioned Canção de Engate) and one was sort of mid, as the young folk say (Morena). I must do one of his really good ones – maybe Laços or Carta from when he was in Toranja. Yeah, Carta seems like I need to look at it because the video has a slightly kidnapper vibe about it and I want to reassure myself that poor girl is OK.
This song was released a year ago but I haven’t got around to translating it. It was written by Capicua, who says on Instagram that Ana Bacalhau had challenged her to write a sort of “Let’s Call The Whole Thing off” based on different ways of speaking between Lisboa and Porto.
Hm, I thought it would be fun to translate but now I think it might be a struggle. It’s mainly giving words that mean the same in the two cities, so the translations will all be like “cheese is cheese” won’t they? Oh god… oh well, let’s see how it goes.
In the orange corner, representing Lisboa, Ana “I used to be in Deolinda, you know” Bacalhau and in the green corner, representing Porto, Cláudia “I made a forgettable Eurovision song” Pascoal.
Imperial é Fino
Português
Ingês
Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? Que algo se perde na nossa tradução? Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? Ó bacalhau, eu vou-te explicar Hum, conta!
Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? That something gets lost in our translation Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? Hey, Bacalhau, I’m going explain to you Er… bill please!
Dizes que não tens qualquer sotaque Isto não é um ataque, mas tens falta de noção E depois dizes Pra não ser de surpresa Eu tufono-te às dezoito pra marcar a reunião Olha quem fala, tu dizes à minha beira Com pronúncia da ribeira quando estás ao pé de mim Dizes pega em vez de toma Dizes bufa em vez de sopra, olha a lana, gola ialta e coisa assim
You say you don’t have an accent This isn’t an attack but you’ve no clue And then you say For it not to be a surprise, I should “tuphone” you at 6PM to arrange the meeting Look who’s talking, you say “à minha beira” With your ribeira accent when you’re next to me You say grab instead of take You say puff instead of blow, “look at IAna“, “gola ialta”* and things like that
Imperial é fino, tênis é sapatilha Bica é cimbalino, chicla é pastilha Aloquete é cadeado, e capuz, carapuço Estrugido é refogado, chapéu de chuva é chuço Se trolha é pedreiro, bueiro é sarjeta Sertã é frigideira e cabide é cruzeta
Beer is beer, Trainer is trainer Espresso is espresso, chewing gum is chewing gum Padlock is padlock, Hood is hood Fried is fried, umbrella is umbrella Stonemason is stonemason, gutter is gutter Saucepan is saucepan and hatstand is hatstand**
Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? Que algo se perde na nossa tradução? Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? E mais te digo! Oh pá!
Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? That something gets lost in our translation Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? And another thing Oh blimey!
Já tu dizes são quaise treuze E já ouvi várias vezes tira o téni do sófá O lisboeta come letras Tira o u pra dizer pôco, diz óviste, é muita lôco Assim não dá! Tretas, pra ti mãe tem cinco letras Dizer cumo é o cúmulo e tu sabes que assim é Tu dizes testo e eu tampa Eu digo coxo e tu manco e quando dizes tótil, eu bué
You just say it’s arlmust thorteen And I’ve heard a few times take your shoe off the sófá Lisboetas swallow letters Takes the U away t say pôco, say óviste and very lôco It’s no good like that Rubbish! For you, mum has 5 letters To say “cumo” is the accumulation and you know that’s how it is You say lid and I say lid I say lame and you lame and when yiou say tótil***, I say bué
Imperial é fino, tênis é sapatilha Bica é cimbalino, chicla é pastilha Aloquete é cadeado, e capuz, carapuço Estrugido é refugado, chapéu de chuva é chuço Se trolha é pedreiro, bueiro é sarjeta Sertã é frigideira e cabide é cruzeta
Beer is beer, Trainer is trainer Espresso is espresso, chewing gum is chewing gum Padlock is padlock, Hood is hood Fried is fried, umbrella is umbrella Stonemason is stonemason, gutter is gutter Saucepan is saucepan and hatstand is hatstand
Contigo o tão vira tom, contigo o são vira som E depois bom vira bão Pra mim o v vira b, para ti lesboa é com e Oblá e então? Ouve, não sou eu que falo torto, toda a gente me entende Não é meu o defeito S’eu falo à porto é meu direito e se o teu ouvido é mouco O meu sotaque é perfeito Se digo fala bem é pra tu seres meiguinha Como eu sou também, no meu jeito alfacinha E quando eu digo “bem” eu tou-te a dizer para “bires” E eu até te falo bem, só é pena não me ouvires E quando eu digo vem eu tou-te a dizer para vires E eu até te falo bem, só é pena não me ouvires
With you, tão becomes tom, with you são becomes som And then bom becomes bão With me, the V becomes a B, for you Lesboa is with an E Oblá so what? It’s not me that talks weird. Everyone understands It’s not my problem If I speak Porto-style, it’s my right And if your ear is deaf My accent is perfect If I say speak properly it’s just to make you more amenable Like me, with my Alfacinha style And when I say well, I’m just doing it to make you come to me**** And I speak really well. It’s just a shame you can’t hear me. And when I say come I’m saying you should come. And I speak really well. It’s just a shame you can’t hear me.
Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? Que algo se perde na nossa tradução? Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? Imperial é fino, imperial é fino Imperial é fino, imperial é fino, fino, fino- Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê? Que algo se perde na nossa tradução? Ah, e quê? Ah, então? Ah, o quê?
Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? That something gets lost in our translation Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? Beer is beer, Beer is beer Beer is beer, Beer is beer Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what? That something gets lost in our translation Ah, and what? Ah, so? Ah, what?
*I couldn’t work out what was going on here so I asked about it on Insta and Capicua herself answered my question! Apparently in Porto if one word ends in A and the next word starts in A, they put an I in between so Olha a IAna = Olha a Ana, Gola Ialta = Gola Alta (a polo neck or turtle neck). I like Portugal. I’m pretty sure an equivalently famous person in Britain wouldn’t take time out to explain linguistic quirks to old farts on Instagram!
**Did somebody say hatstand?
***How have i never seen this word before?
****Not sure about this, My reasoning is that it’s vires (personal infinitive of vir) with the v changed to a b. I don’t know if the next-but-one line confirms or refutes the theory though!
(Scroll down for an english translation of this one)
Este texto é o segundo sobre As Bruxas de Portugal. Veja o primeiro aqui se não te lembras o motivo
A nossa bruxa semanal é a bruxa lavandeira, nativa à região Trás-os-Montes. A imaginação popular é uma maravilha. Quando inventamos legendas sobre mulheres com poderes sobrenaturais, não conseguimos imaginar nada mais interessante para elas fazerem senão trabalho doméstico. O mais normal é o uso da vassoura como modo de transporte, mas neste caso as controladoras da força mágica focam os seus poderes em fazer lavandaria. Hum,’tá bem avó.
We’re going to be seeing a lot of this scene in this series of posts, aren’t we_
Nas lendas, as bruxas percorrem as aldeias com luzes na mão. São capazes de voar até aos telhados. Por vassoura? Não. Claro que não, seu panhonha. Transformam-se em patos (ah ah ah! patos, á sério!) ou gansos (isso sim, não me admira de todo. Não confio nunca num ganso).
Como o nome implica, estas feiticeiras surgem nas margens dos rios onde gostam de lavar roupas. Ai, Jesus nos protege das servas do diabo que querem (leio as minhas notas) limpar camisas, vestidos e meias.
🇬🇧 English Version (with a bit of help from GTranslate)
Our weekly witch is the washerwoman witch, native to the Trás-os-Montes region. Popular imagination is amazing. When we invent legends about women with supernatural powers, we can’t imagine anything more interesting for them to do than housework. The most common thing is the use of a broom as a means of transport, but in this case, the controllers of magical forces focus their powers on doing laundry. Hmm, okay, Grandma.
In the legends, the witches roam the villages with lights in their hands. They are able to fly to the rooftops. By broom? No. Of course not, you fool. They transform into ducks (ha ha ha! ducks, seriously!) or geese (actually, that one doesn’t surprise me at all. I never trust a goose.)
As the name implies, these witches appear on the banks of rivers where they like to wash clothes. Oh, Jesus protect us from the servants of the devil who want (checks notes) to clean coats, dresses, and socks.
This jumped out at me on Instagram yesterday. I didn’t know the song so I googled it and I think I like the drag version better than the original. It’s Sincera Mente, who I mentioned a few days ago, with another drag queen who was on a talent show, I think…? I don’t know, I haven’t seen it. Anyway, they both have good voices and I thought I’d translate it because why not? The video only has the first verses and the chorus, but I’ll include the other two verses from the original
Estrala a bomba E o foguete vai no ar Arrebenta e fica todo queimado Não há ninguém que baile mais bem Que as meninas da ribeira do Sado
The bomb explodes And the rocket goes up It bursts and burns up Nobody dances better Than the girls of the Sado valley*
As meninas da ribeira do Sado é que é Lavram na terra com as unhas dos pés As meninas da ribeira do Sado São como as ovelhas Têm carrapatos atrás das orelhas
The girls of the Sado valley are the ones They plough the earth with their toenails The girls of the Sado valley Are like sheep They have ticks behind their ears.
Era um daqueles dias bem chalados Em que o sol batia forte nas cabeças As meninas viram que eu estava apanhado E disseram: Nunca mais cá apareças
It was one of those crazy days The sun was beating down on our heads The girls saw I was caught And said “Don’t come around here again”
Mas voltei e entretive-me a bailar com três Queriam que eu fosse atrás no convés Mas não fui e mandei-as irem dar banho ao meu canário Que bateu as botas com dores num ovário
But I returned and entertained myself, dancing with three of them They wanted me to go to the back of the deck But I didn’t and told them to bathe my canary Who had died of pain in the ovary**
*I’m going to translate “Ribeira do Sado” as “The Sado Valley” because even though Ribeira is a smallish river, saying they’re the Sado river girls makes them sound like mermaids. I think it’s more like the area around the river, so that’s what I’ve gone with.
**Er… well, it was going well until the end there. What the hell happened in the last verse? I asked around and the consensus seems to be that going “atrás no convés” was a euphemism for going somewhere quiet to canoodle, but it was far from certain. In the next line, telling someone too go and give the dog a bath is like telling them to go and comb monkeys or go and bother Camões, Go away in other words. But they changed it to a canary and a terminal illness just to make it more silly.
I’m reading this and enjoying the little touches the authors and translators have put in for the home team. I can already see a plot twist coming. In Asterix in Britain, the British are constantly drinking hot water with a spot of milk until the Gauls introduce them to a herb called “tea”. In this, the lead character is called Tristês, and the villagers are constantly referring to destino and emoção so i reckon i can guess what famous national characteristic the Gauls are going to help them discover!
(EDIT: no, I’m wrong – about ten pages in a character called Saudade turns up)
Olhinhos de Couve
This is just the knotty bit at the heart of the cabbage, not the tenderest leaves, which is presumably why the prisoner is getting it. Incidentally, the prisoner is called Malmevês, and of course names in Astérix books are always jokes. I don’t know if this is a reference to the Camões poem “Indo O Triste Pastor Todo Embebido” or if it’s just a random set of words they’ve chosen as his name.
Garum
Getafix/Panoramix explains that it’s a fish sauce, and it does seem to be a word in current use not just a Latin word dropped into the text.
O Tiro Saiu Pela Culatra
The pun here is based on the fact that the ship the pirates attack is a phoenecian trading vessel, and Tiro (Tyre) is a busy trading city in Phoenecia (modern Lebanon). The Nubian is referring to an expression “o tiro saiu pela culatra” (The shot came out through the breech). In other words, our plan backfired.
Zepovinhium
I can’t believe I actually googled this. D’oh! I wrote a blog about Zé Povinho just the other day so I really should have recognised it! And of course “À beira mar plantada” is a reference to a poem by Tomás Ribeiro who describes Portugal as “O jardim da Europa à beira mar plantado”
Tabefe
Obviously means something violent – a slap, in fact. I googled it wondering if it was some sort of corruption of “feito ao bife” but it doesn’t seem to be.
De Lá Por Onde Der
This smelled like a set phrase to me – and it just means “wherever you might come from”. And yes, by the way, what sets the Portuguese characters from everyone else is that they pepper their speech with “ó pá”
Ricky Gervais
Er… Why the heck is he here? Does he have some link to Portugal? As far as I can tell, no, they just sometimes do cameos and they decided to include him. Weird choice but OK, whatever.
À Grande e À Gaulesa
The custard tart massacre provides plenty of scope for comedy, mostly fairly obvious. I feel like “pôr alguém num bolo” must be an expression but I couldn’t find it. Bolo has some sex-related meaning, so when I searched for it with “pôr” at the same time most of the results were PORn, so I gave up. “À grande e à gaulesa” is a romanised version of “à grande e à francesa”, which just means in luxury, and with abundance. Origin here.
Dar à Sola
And straight after that, is this another joke? Dar à sola means to run away and the “sola” there means the sole of your foot. I want it to be a pun based on the fact that Obélix is talking about cod (of which he is not a fan!) and sole can also be a kind of fish. It doesn’t quite work in Portuguese though because the words are slightly different: sola for the sole of your foot and solha for the flat fish.
Tubocatodix
Ahhh, i couldn’t work out what his name meant! Tubo catodico =cathode ray tube. I think “tubo de raios catodicos” is more common, in fact, but you can say it the shorter way. His wife, Locutorina must just be the feminine diminutive of locutor – a rádio announcer.
PSI XX
Sacanês’s suggested name for the list of important indistrialists based in Lusitania happens to coincide with the index of the 20 largest companies on the Portuguese Stock Index, the PSI-20, equivalent to our FTSE100. Why its abbreviation isn’t Portuguese (what? Índice de Ações Portuguesas?) i don’t know.
And by the way I had forgotten what “em cascas de rolha” means too, although I’m sure I’d come across it before. It just means a long way away.
A Quem Tu Dizes
I guessed correctly that “Who are you talking to?” would be something like “You don’t say!” or “You aren’t kidding!”
Comer e Calar
Comer e calar is a set phrase meaning “put up with something without any protest”
(Scroll down for an english translation of this one)
Este post no Insta chamou-me a atenção há uma semana. É mesmo ótimo como obra de arte mas confesso que me deixou insatisfeito porque não explica bem as lendas e eu, como estrangeiro que não sei nada de nada, queria saber mais.
Um bloguista com dois dedos de testa teria lançado um blogue ou uma série de blogues na semana antes do dia das bru… Hum… Antes do Pão Por Deus mas a minha testa não passa de um dedo e aqui estou eu no dia depois a escrever o primeiro texto numa série… Olha, para resumir uma história longa, fiz um compromisso num outro lugar escrever um texto por semana durante as próximas seis semanas sobre bruxas. Não me faça mais perguntas, tá bem? OK, vamos a isto! Hoje abordamos a primeira região na obra da Lola Ramos.
Segundo a Stôra* Google, Melgaço é a vila mais setentrional (ou seja o mais ao norte) do país, perto da fronteira com Galiza. A região é rica com lendas, entre as quais se encontra o mito das “meigas**”, ou “Feiticeiras Raianas”. Há quem achasse que eram seres sobrenaturais sem alma, capazes de se transformarem em mulheres ou em animais como por exemplo serpentes e que desejavam roubar a vida ou a alma das vítimas delas. Mas também existem pessoas com imaginações mais prosaicas que creem que as bruxas eram mulheres normais que praticavam a medicina pré-científica da tradição pagã e como resultado encontraram-se sob o olhar da igreja católica, que praticava as suas próprias rituais pré-científicas!
A Wikipédia acrescenta mais pistas prosaicas ao nosso pano de fundo: O rio naquela zona é perigoso por causa das rápidas a e a falta de um ponte, portanto não raras vezes viajantes acabaram mortos, afogados no rio e os habitantes na região responsabilizaram as bruxas em vez da natureza e do comportamento imprudente do recém-falecido!
A lenda aparece raramente nos estudos etnográficos sobre os portugueses, mas é mais comum entre os galegos. Os dois povos concordam que a melhor estratégia para quem queira atravessar o rio perto de Melgaço ou a sua aldeia vizinha, Arbo, em Galiza, é colocar um seixinho ou uma moeda na boca. Assim, a viajante não se esquece de manter a boca fechada ao se deparar nas feiticeiras.
**Weird one this: Wikipedia implies it’s an old word, and maybe it is – maybe it’s related to maga in some way… but meigo/meiga means gentle and very little about their reputation sounds gentle! Priberam offers no clue so I’m not really sure what to make of it!
🇬🇧 English Version (with a bit of help from GTranslate)
Just in case somebody from “the other place” wants to come and check I did my homework…
This Instagram post caught my attention a week ago. It’s really great as a work of art, but I confess it left me unsatisfied because it doesn’t explain the legends well, and I, as a foreigner who knows absolutely nothing, wanted to know more.
A blogger with two fingers of forehead [portuguese expression meaning “with a bit of basic common sense”] would have launched a blog or a series of blogs the week before Hallowe… Umm… Before Pão Por Deus (Portuguese All Saints Day tradition which is gradually getting crowded out by American Halloween), but my forehead is barely a finger’s width, and here I am the day after, writing the first text in a series… Look, to cut a long story short, I made a commitment in another place to write one text about witches per week for the next six weeks. Don’t ask me any more questions, okay? OK, let’s do this! Today we’ll cover the first region in Lola Ramos’ work.
According to Professor Google, Melgaço is the northernmost town in the country, near the border with Galicia (a part of north-west Spain where they speak a language very similar to portuguese). The region is rich in legends, among which is the myth of the “meigas,” or “Border Witches.” Some believed they were soulless supernatural beings, capable of transforming into women or animals such as snakes, and that they wished to steal the lives or souls of their victims. But there are also people with more prosaic imaginations who believe that witches were normal women who practiced the pre-scientific medicine of pagan tradition and, as a result, found themselves under the scrutiny of the Catholic Church, which practiced its own pre-scientific rituals!
Wikipedia adds more prosaic clues by way of background: The river in that area is dangerous because of the rapids and the lack of a bridge, therefore travellers often ended up dead, drowned in the river, and the inhabitants of the region blamed the witches instead of nature and the reckless behaviour of the recently deceased!
The legend rarely appears in ethnographic studies about the Portuguese, but it is more common among the Galicians. Both groups agree that the best strategy for anyone wanting to cross the river near Melgaço or its neighboring village, Arbo, in Galicia, is to place a pebble or a coin in their mouth. That way, the traveler won’t forget to keep their mouth closed when encountering the witches.
Luso 