I did a Tiago Bettencourt translation the other day, so let’s have a go at “Morena” too, not becaue it’s my favourite song of his, but because it has some nice guitar work.
OK, potentially controversial decision: I’m translating “Morena” as “Brunette”, because that’s the closest I can get to a literal translation. It’s not quite right though, for two reasons. Firstly, there’s a sense of the person’s skin being tanned or olive-toned as well as their hair being dark brown; and secondly, I think referring to women as blondes, brunettes, redheads has a slightly disrespectful tone in english (at least in some circles) and I think that’s less true in portuguese. That’s partly a linguistic thing: in Portuguese it’s more usual to use an adjective as a noun – for example “um inglês” not “um homem inglês” – and partly because we have a tendency to overthink things in the english-speaking world, especially a certain very large country situated a few hundred miles north of Brazil. Anyway, with that dislcaimer, let’s crack on.
| Portuguese | English |
| Esta morena não sabe O que o dia tem para lhe dar Diz-me que tem namorado Mas sem paixão no olhar Tem um risinho pequeno E que só dá de favor Corpo com sede de quente Mas que não sente calor Mas que não sente calor Esta morena não dança Quando lhe mostro Jobim Talvez não goste da letra Talvez não goste de mim Cabelo negro sem regra Caindo em leve ombro nu Feito de morno passado E amor que nunca cegou E amor que nunca cegou Morena no fundo quer Tempo para ser mulher Morena não sabe bem Mas eu no fundo sei Que quando o véu lhe cai Quando o calor lhe vem Sempre que a noite quer Sonha comigo também Há sítios que ela não usa Por não saber que estão cá Há mares que ela não cruza Por não ser eu a estar lá É de mim que ela precisa Para lhe dar o que não quer Talvez lhe mostre caminhos Onde se queira perder Onde se queira perder Esta morena não chora Com um fado negro de Oulman Nem com um poema de O’Neill Na primeira luz da manhã Sabe de tantos artistas Canta-me letras de cor Mas não lhe passam por dentro Não lhes entende o sabor Não lhes entende o sabor Morena no fundo quer Tempo para ser mulher Morena não sabe bem Mas eu no fundo sei Que quando o véu lhe cai Quando o calor lhe vem Sempre que a noite quer Sonha comigo também Esta morena não corre Quando a chamo para mim | This brunette doesn’t know What the day has to give her She tells me she has a boyfriend But without any passion in her eyes She has a little laugh That she only gives as a favour Body that thirsts for warmth But doesn’t feel heat But doesn’t feel heat This brunette doesn’t dance When I show her Jobim Maybe she doesn’t like the lyrics Maybe she doesn’t like me Black, unruly hair Falling on a light, naked shoulder Made by boredom gone by And love that never blinded her And love that never blinded her Deep down, the brunette wants Time to be a woman The brunette doesn’t really know But deep down, I know That when her veil falls When the warmth comes back to her Whenever the night chooses She dreams of me* too. There are places she doesn’t use Because she doesn’t know they’re here There are seas she doesn’t cross Because I’m not there It’s me she needs To give her what she doesn’t want Maybe I’ll show her paths Where she wants to lose herself Where she wants to lose herself This brunette doesn’t cry with the dark fado of Oulman Nor with the poetry of O’Neill In the first light of morning She knows so many artists She sings me lyrics by heart** But they don’t get inside her She doesn’t understand their flavour She doesn’t understand their flavour Deep down, the brunette wants Time to be a woman The brunette doesn’t really know But deep down, I know That when her veil falls When the warmth comes back to her Whenever the night chooses She dreams of me too. This brunette doesn’t run When I call her to me |
*= Remember “sonha comigo” might look like “dreams with me” – implying they are sleeping together – but it means “dreams of me”, which is a different kettle of fish! One of those instances where the use of prepositions can give you a slightly different mental image if you’re not careful.
**= Letras “de cor” sounds like it should mean colourful lyrics but there’s an older meaning of cor that is the same as coração, so it’s just like the english expression “knowing something by heart”
Luso 