“O que será?” (Chico Buarque, 1976)

Tomorrow, my friend Leandro at Brazuca Sounds will be posting a bonus episode about this amazing song, which Chico originally wrote for the soundtrack for the movie “Dona Flor e seus dois maridos” (directed by Bruno Barreto). That version was sung by Simone, but there are other versions: Milton Nascimento asked Chico to make it into a duet, which is how they each released it: as “O que será? (À flor da terra)” on Chico’s “Meus Caros Amigos” and as “O que será (À flor da pele)” on Milton’s “Geraes.” The one-word difference in the two (sub)titles plays on the expression “à flor de” (“at the surface/edge of”) and adds to the undefined feeling of this song; “à flor da terra” is “on the surface of the earth” or “at ground level” but “à flor da pele” (in addition to “on the edge/surface of my skin”) has its own idiomatic meaning: “on edge.”

In Portuguese, the simple future tense of the verb “ser” (“to be”) is frequently used to indicate conjecture. So the title of this song (while literally meaning “What will be?”) is much better translated as “What could it be?” (or even “What is it/that?”). And this undefined conjecture is perfectly in keeping with the vague, undefined nature of the song, in which the “it” is never identified. Chico himself told the Jornal do Brasil, “Acho que eu mesmo não sei o que existe por trás dessa letra e, se soubesse, não teria cabimento explicar” (“I don’t think even I know what’s behind these lyrics and, if I knew, it wouldn’t be right to explain”).

Relatedly, the song’s first line in Portuguese sometimes seems to be interpreted as if there were a comma in it and a phrase is repeated: “O que será, que será?” (“What could it be, could it be?”) but I think it works much better as a full sentence, something like “What could it be that it is?” or “What could it be that it will be?” This nicely doubles down on the conjecture, but unfortunately in a way that I don’t feel works very well in English; so I’ve gone with a much simpler rendering below. (Although since the echoes of a certain Doris Day song, also originally for a movie soundtrack, are unavoidable, I’ve snuck in a little “Que sera, sera” as well.) I’ve also (all but) eliminated the Portuguese verb “andar”—literally “to walk” but here more like “go around”—as in, “they go around sighing in alcoves.” However, this seems clunky to me in English so I’ve had to simplify that as well.

Listen to Chico and Milton sing the song (from Chico’s album)
Listen to Chico and Milton sing the song (from Milton’s album)
Listen to Simone sing the song (from the film’s end credits)
Listen to Simone sing Milton’s version of the song
Listen to the full Anvil playlist

“O que será?”
O que será que será
Que andam suspirando pelas alcovas
Que andam sussurrando em versos e trovas
Que andam combinando no breu das tocas
Que anda nas cabeças, anda nas bocas
Que andam acendendo velas nos becos
Que estão falando alto pelos botecos
Que gritam nos mercados que com certeza
Está na natureza, será que será
O que não tem certeza, nem nunca terá
O que não tem conserto, nem nunca terá
O que não tem tamanho

O que será que será
Que vive nas ideias desses amantes
Que cantam os poetas mais delirantes
Que juram os profetas embriagados
Que está na romaria dos mutilados
Que está na fantasia dos infelizes
Que está no dia-a-dia das meretrizes
No plano dos bandidos, dos desvalidos
Em todos os sentidos, será que será
O que não tem decência nem nunca terá
O que não tem censura nem nunca terá
O que não faz sentido

O que será que será
Que todos os avisos não vão evitar
Porque todos os risos vão desafiar
Porque todos os sinos irão repicar
Porque todos os hinos irão consagrar
E todos os meninos vão desembestar
E todos os destinos irão se encontrar
E mesmo o Padre Eterno que nunca foi lá
Olhando aquele inferno, vai abençoar
O que não tem governo, nem nunca terá
O que não tem vergonha nem nunca terá
O que não tem juízo

[VERSÃO MILTON]
O que será que me dá
Que me bole por dentro, será que me dá
Que brota à flor da pele, será que me dá
E que me sobe às faces e me faz corar
E que me salta aos olhos a me atraiçoar
E que me aperta o peito e me faz confessar
O que não tem mais jeito de dissimular
E que nem é direito ninguém recusar
E que me faz mendigo, me faz suplicar
O que não tem medida, nem nunca terá
O que não tem remédio, nem nunca terá
O que não tem receita

O que será que será
Que dá dentro da gente e que não devia
Que desacata a gente, que é revelia
Que é feito uma aguardente que não sacia
Que é feito estar doente de uma folia
Que nem dez mandamentos vão conciliar
Nem todos os unguentos vão aliviar
Nem todos os quebrantos, toda alquimia
E nem todos os santos, será que será
O que não tem descanso, nem nunca terá
O que não tem cansaço, nem nunca terá
O que não tem limite

O que será que me dá
Que me queima por dentro, será que me dá
Que me perturba o sono, será que me dá
Que todos os tremores me vêm agitar
Que todos os ardores me vêm atiçar
Que todos os suores me vêm encharcar
Que todos os meus nervos estão a rogar
Que todos os meus órgãos estão a clamar
E uma aflição medonha me faz implorar
O que não tem vergonha, nem nunca terá
O que não tem governo, nem nunca terá
O que não tem juízo

“What could it be?”
What could it be
That they’re sighing in alcoves
That they’re whispering in verses and ballads
That they’re scheming in the darkness of caves
That’s going around in their heads, passing through their mouths
That they’re lighting candles for in alleys
That they’re talking loudly about in bars
That they’re screaming in markets that surely
Is in nature, what will be will be
That which has no certainty, nor ever will have
That which has no remedy, nor ever will have
That which has no size

What could it be
That lives in these lovers’ ideas
That the most raving poets sing
That drunken prophets swear
That’s in the pilgrimage of the maimed
That’s in the fantasy of the unhappy
That’s in the harlots’ daily life
In the plans of bandits, of the disadvantaged
In all the senses, what will be will be
That which has no decency, nor ever will have
That which has no censors, nor ever will have
That which makes no sense

What could it be
That all warnings won’t avoid
Because all the laughter will challenge
Because all the bells will peal
Because all the hymns will consecrate
And all the children will scatter
And all destinies will find
And even the Holy Father who never went there
Looking at that inferno, will bless
That which has no government, nor ever will have
That which has no shame, nor ever will have
That which has no judgment

[MILTON’S VERSION]
What comes over me
That shakes me inside, could it be happening to me
That blooms on the surface of my skin, could it be happening to me
And rises to my cheeks and makes me blush
And leaps to my eyes, betraying me
And that tightens my chest and makes me confess
That which can no longer be concealed
And nor is it right for anyone to refuse
And that makes me a supplicant, makes me beg
That which has no measure, nor ever will have
That which has no cure, nor ever will have
That which has no prescription

What could it be
That happens inside us and shouldn’t
That disrespects us, that rebels
That’s like firewater that doesn’t satiate
That’s like being sick from revelry
That not even ten commandments will reconcile
Nor all the balms will alleviate
Nor all the hexes, all the alchemy
And not all the saints, what will be will be
That which has no rest, nor ever will have
That which has no fatigue, nor ever will have
That which has no limit

What comes over me
That’s burning me from the inside, could it be happening to me
That’s disturbing my sleep, could it be happening to me
That all the twitching come to agitate me
That all the passions come to stir me
That all the sweat comes to drench me
That all my nerves are begging for
That all my organs are clamoring for
And a dreadful affliction implores me
That which has no shame, nor ever will have
That which has no government, nor ever will have
That which has no judgment