Happy Birthday, Chico Buarque! (2)

7 songs by Chico Buarque in honor of his 77th birthday on June 19

Construção/Deus Lhe Pague

Rolling Stone called “Construção” (“Construction”), from the 1971 album by the same name, the greatest Brazilian song of all time. In Portuguese, each line of the song is 12 syllables long and ends with a proparoxytone (a word stressed on the antepenultimate syllable, like the word “syllable”). I’ve maintained the 12-syllable lines and bolded the translations of those proparoxytone words below. The second half of the song, “Deus Lhe Pague” (“May God Pay You”) is a reprise of the album’s atmospheric first song, adding an even stronger critique to a song already critiquing the alienation of the common worker. Listen to Construção/Deus Lhe Pague here.

“Construction”
He made love that time as if it were the last one
He kissed his wife as if she were the final one
And all his kids as if they were the only one
And then he crossed the street using his timid stride

He went up the construction as if a machine
On the landing he erected four solid walls
Brick laid upon brick in a magical design
His eyes dulled from all the cement and tears in them

He sat down to rest as if it were Saturday
He lunched on beans and rice as if he were a prince
He drank and sobbed as if he were a castaway
He danced and guffawed as if he had heard music

And stumbled in the sky as if he were a drunk
And floated in the air as if he were a bird
And landed on the ground just like a flaccid bag
He suffered in the middle of the public path
And he died in the wrong-way lane blocking traffic

He made love that time as if he were the last one
He kissed his wife as if she were the only one
And all his kids as if they were the prodigal
And then he crossed the street using his drunken stride

He went up the construction like it was solid
On the landing he erected four magic walls
Brick laid upon brick in a logical design
His eyes dulled from all the cement and traffic there

He sat down to rest just as if he were a prince
He lunched on beans and rice as if it were the best
He drank and sobbed as if he were like a machine
He danced and guffawed as if he were his neighbor

And he tripped on the sky as if he heard music
And floated in the air like it was Saturday
And landed on the ground just like a timid bag
He suffered in the middle of the shipwreck path
He died in the wrong-way lane blocking the public

He made love that time as if he were a machine
He kissed his wife just as if that were logical
On the landing he erected four flaccid walls
He sat down to rest just as if he were a bird
And floated in the air as if he were a prince
And landed on the ground just like a drunken bag
He died in the wrong lane blocking the Saturday

For this bread to eat, for this ground to sleep on
The certificate to be born and the license to smile
For allowing me to breathe, for letting me exist
May God pay you

For the free booze that we have to swallow
For the damned smoke that we have to cough
For the dangling scaffolding that we have to fall from
May God pay you

For the mourning woman to laud us and spit on us
And for the infesting flies to kiss us and cover us
And for the final peace that will finally redeem us
May God pay you