“Lamento Sertanejo” (Gilberto Gil, 1975)
Source: Ministério da Cultura do Brasil, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Happy 84th Birthday to Gilberto Gil! Today I’ve translated his beautiful and sensitive portrait of the Brazilian sertão. This melancholy ode to the solitude, beauty, and pains of being a sertanejo was originally released on Gil’s “Refazenda” album. The music for “Lamento Sertanejo” was written by the great Dominguinhos and Gil slowed the melody down and loaded the lyrics with typical elements of the sertão to create a longing and nostalgia (saudade!) that values simplicity and authenticity.
One of the most interesting parts of this translation is the first four words, which align with four iconic notes in the song. Literally, “por ser de lá” is “because I’m from there” or “due to being from there”; since I wanted to keep the four syllables, I started with “Cuz I’m from there” but eventually changed it to the more natural “That’s where I’m from” to parallel the Portuguese, which is also more idiomatic and natural. Finally, it’s important to note that “cracklings” is pronounced without the final “g.”
Listen to the song (live with Dominguinhos)
Listen to the song (original album version)
Listen to The Anvil’s playlist
“Sertanejan Lament”
That’s where I’m from
From the sertão, from out in the cerrado
From deep inside the bushland
From the caatinga of the clearing
I almost never go out
I have almost no friends
I almost can’t stand
Being in the city without being annoyed
That’s where I’m from
Surely for that very reason
I don’t like a soft bed
I can’t eat without cracklings
I almost don’t speak
I know almost nothing
I’m like stray cattle
In this floating crowd walking aimlessly
“Lamento Sertanejo”
Por ser de lá
Do sertão, lá do cerrado
Lá do interior do mato
Da caatinga do roçado
Eu quase não saio
Eu quase não tenho amigos
Eu quase que não consigo
Ficar na cidade sem viver contrariado
Por ser de lá
Na certa por isso mesmo
Não gosto de cama mole
Não sei comer sem torresmo
Eu quase não falo
Eu quase não sei de nada
Sou como rês desgarrada
Nessa multidão boiada caminhando a esmo