Vinicius (2005) - full transcript

My dear Vinicius de Moraes,

I'm writing to you from Ipanema
with terrible news:

Spring is here.

You left before it came...

and it's the first spring since 1913
without your presence.

Your name has become a street sign...

and it was there that yesterday

I saw 3 girls from Ipanema
wearing mini-skirts.

It seems they're back in fashion
this spring...

I'm sure you'd approve.

The sea has been rough...



a strong easterly bringing cold and rain.

Spring storms.

Your life

Your path is one of peace and love

Your life Is a pretty love song

Open your arms and sing The last hope

The divine hope

Of loving in peace

WHO WILL PAY FOR THE FUNERAL
AND FLOWERS IF I PERISH FOR LOVE?

For this we were made...

to remember and be remembered

to cry and make cry...

to bury our dead.

Therefore our long arms
to wave farewells...



hands to seize what was given...

fingers to dig the earth.

This will be our life...

always an afternoon to forget...

a star going out in the darkness,
a path between two tombs...

therefore we must keep vigil,
speak softly, tread lightly...

see the night sleeping in silence.

There is not much to be said.

A song about a cradle,
perhaps a love verse...

a prayer for the departing...

but do not forget this hour...

and by it our hearts are left
solemn and simple.

Then for this we were made...

for hope in the miracle...

for taking part in poetry...

for seeing the face of death.

Suddenly, no more shall we wait...

today the night is young...

from death we are scarcely born...

immensely.

The waltz you have just heard...

has words and music by Vinicius de Moraes.

It is a song from his play
Orfeu da Concei??o.

The story of love between Orpheus
and Eurydice ends tragically.

But as in all of Vinicius' work,
it is a celebration of life...

of love, of art, the ties of affection
between the artist and the city...

where he spent most of his life.

It was in Rio de Janeiro
that our poet was born...

on Lopes Quintas street,
in the old suburb of G?vea.

In 1913 Rio had nearly a million
inhabitants but you wouldn't think it.

Vinicius grew up between the sea
and his grandfather's house...

listening to the music of the old slaves...

and to the bohemian guitars
of the uncles on his mother's side.

Ipanema and Leblon were deserted beaches.

His whole life he was witness to
and a character in...

the landscape's transformation.

But Rio was also a frenchified city...

it wanted to be refined, like Paris...

it breathed romantic poets...

there was a lively
belle-?poque atmosphere...

fashion, art, architecture,
everything followed the French style.

He had a free childhood

and at the same time a rigorous
erudite education.

He grew up within both molds.

His father Clodoaldo
used to write poetry...

and his mother L?dia played the piano.

He had a Latin degree and taught
the piano, violin and French.

She was from a bohemian family
who liked popular music.

In the morning, I darken,
in the day, I afternoon...

in the afternoon, I dusk, at night, I burn.

The west, death, against whom I live...

from the captive south the west is my north

others which count, step by step...

I die yesterday am born tomorrow...

walk where there is space...

my time is when.

He was the second of four children
and of the four he was the chosen one.

The family decided he should have
the best education possible.

He was sent to Santo In?cio,
a Jesuit college...

where Rio de Janeiro's elite studied.

In the darkness which surrounded me
I saw the flesh...

I felt the flesh which drowned my breast

and which brought me to the accursed kiss.

I cried...

I cried in horror
that forgiveness possessed my soul...

and no one answered me...

I struggled with impure longing,

the darkness blushed around me...

and I fell.

In his first books

Vinicius was heavily influenced
by his Catholic upbringing,

the poems transpired a mystical
religious atmosphere.

At law school he approached
the integralistas,

was a lofty poet...

concerned with the serious matters
of our existence.

In '35 I had already finished
my second book...

Forma e a exegese, a damned pedantic title.

But it picked up the national poetry award,

in '35, competing against Jorge
Amado, with his Mar morto,

it was a literary award,
called Felipe de Oliveira award.

So I considered myself quite a genius!

I started deriding popular music,

thought it a lesser art.

Vinicius started writing French poetry...

inspired by French Catholicism...

influenced by the Catholic group
here in Brazil.

But that wasn't him...
it just isn't him.

So gradually he converts himself
to Vinicius de Moraes...

that is, he becomes Brazilian.

And he goes beyond the others!

Because many others
came along this route...

became Brazilians, but not so much!

To be a Brazilian songwriter
and completely go all the way...

that's Vinicius,
more than the others, you see?

Vinicius always lead a sort of double life.

In his youth, as a wrote,
he believed in a drastic motto:

"Write with your blood
and you'll see your blood is spirit."

He went to the whores in Lapa,
danced at the cabaret...

was friendly with samba musicians.

Gradually his poetry also
started to come closer to life...

came down from the heights to look
at the world, at people's everyday life.

With the tears of time
and the lime of my day...

I made the cement of my poetry...

and in the perspective of future life...

I raised in living flesh
your architecture...

I'm not sure if it's a house,
a tower or temple...

but it is large and light,
it belongs to its time...

Enter, my brothers!

Vinicius published over 400 poems

collected in 12 books
and several personal anthologies.

He also wrote articles,
plays and film criticism.

He was a good poet and a popular poet.

And not only in Brazil

Among Brazilian poets
he is one of the most translated

His verses are known
the world over to this day.

Vinicius de Moraes
is a man devoted to meter,

to rhythm...

to traditional poetic forms

such as the sonnet, the ode etc.

So he's a poet steeped in tradition.

But this traditional poet...

precisely because of his great formal...
technical resources,

he came closer than anybody else...

to what the modernists
were looking for: Everyday life...

the destruction of noble poetical themes...

the colloquial phrase,

no one came closer than Vinicius
to being natural,

no one came closer to everyday life,
to the prosaic,

but at the same time within a poetry
of continuity and formal perfection.

I'd say, lastly...

that a poet who wrote poems such as
Balada do Mangue, for example,

can only be a great poet.

Poor gonococcal flowers

who at night undress your toxic petals!

You poor things...

tilted...

wilted orchids of immodesty...

you are not a troubled Llia
nor a tricolor Vanda...

you are fragile, fallen apart,
dahlias nipped in the bud...

colorless corollas,
cloistered, without faith...

oh, young afternoon whores...
what happened to you,

that you poisoned
the pollen God gave you all?

Poor, tragic, multi-dimensional women...

the neutral gear of chauffeurs,
ships' bridges!

Blonde French mulattos,
dressed for carnival...

is this a festival of flowers,
on the decks of these streets...

anchored in the canal?

Where does your song lead?
Where is your ship bound?

I remember Vinicius...
in Rome...

in '53, I was living in Rome
with my family...

and Vinicius was on some
cultural mission there.

He stayed in Rome for some time,

at a hotel... and he visited us
at home, several times.

I remember those nights very well,
when Vinicius would visit...

even before he arrived, "Vinicius
is coming!", all the excitement.

It already felt special...

the whisky would be brought out,
other things, hors d'oeuvres...

mother and father both so happy.

Mi?cha had a guitar she called 'Vinicius'.

But Vinicius was such a musical man,

I saw a real composer...
flesh and blood, Vinicius.

He'd take the guitar
and I'd be fascinated...

my father's musician friend,
a real composer.

I remember him singing
several songs in those days.

And there was a special moment
I remember very well...

which was when he played on guitar
Poema dos Olhos da Amada.

There'd be complete silence.
And he'd sing:

"Oh my love, those eyes of yours...

nocturnal quays filled with farewells."

That left such a strong impression
on me, it was very strong...

It was poetry. I was introduced
to poetry on those nights.

Vinicius singing, it was music...

and I understood he was a poet.

Oh my love, those eyes of yours...

they're nocturnal quays
filled with farewells...

they are gentle docks...

trailing lights which shine afar...

afar in the darkness.

Oh my love, with atheist eyes...

may God one day...

wish the beggar's gaze...

of poetry...

onto your eyes.

I love you so much, my love...

don't sing the human heart
with such truth...

I love you as a friend and lover
in an always diverse reality...

I love you for a calm, useful love...

and I love you beyond,
present in my longing...

I love you with great freedom,
within eternity and at each instant.

I love you like an animal, simply...

a love without mystery
and without virtue...

with a solid and permanent desire...

and love you so very much and frequently...

for suddenly one day in your body...

I shall die of loving
more than I was capable.

Lovely.

I know I shall love you

My whole life long, I shall love you

At each farewell I shall love you

Desperately I know I shall love you

And each verse of mine will be

To say

That I know I shall love you
My whole life long

I know I shall weep

At each absence of yours I shall weep

But at each return will extinguish

That which your absence caused me

I know I shall suffer
The eternal misfortune to live

Waiting to live by your side

My whole life long

Vinicius is a fellow
who lived by his passions.

When a passion took hold of him
he was unbeatable.

That's how it was with Tati,
the greatest passion of his life.

Darling, if only you knew how
my life has become monotonous,

so bland.

Sometimes I feel
I won't be able to stand...

another 5 minutes without seeing you...

and there are still
so many 5 minutes' to go, my dear.

I love you, I understand you,
venerate you...

you are my life, my all, you're different.

I am your slave, your servant...

and you're my illicit girlfriend...

mistress-wife,
and peerless citizen on earth.

Beatriz Azevedo de Melo was
an aristocrat from S?o Paulo...

a cultured girl with advanced ideas.

The two met and soon after

Vinicius traveled to Oxford
to study literature.

It was a fiery passion.

They married long distance,
by power of attorney.

A love made up of grand gestures...

a rich girl abandoning all
to meet a poet in England...

the romantic adventure of lovers.

When WWll started they returned to Brazil.

And soon things took a different turn.

With 2 children, Susana and Pedro,
Vinicius had a new concern...

to make a living.

He decided to join the diplomatic service...

and started to write
film reviews for the newspapers.

These were times of new friendships,
meetings in the downtown caf?s.

Vinicius was admired as a poet...
a restless man, interested in everything.

With his interest in cinema he managed...

to get his first diplomatic
appointment in Los Angeles.

There he took courses, lived
with movie people and musicians...

visited the set of The Lady
From Shanghai, by Orson Welles...

made friends with him, with
Carmen Miranda and jazz musicians.

In Los Angeles Tati and Vinicius
lived the most peaceful period

of their marriage, of their family life.

With Tati he changed
the course of his poetry...

and also his way of seeing the world.

He said that with her,
he became a man of the left.

Some of he finest poems
are from this period.

If you wish me to cry no more

Tell time to pass no more

Time cries the same lament as I

Both of us...
So much

And so as not to sadden you

What to do?

I sing...

Sing so that you remember me

When I... go

The first woman I really loved,
I married...

I was married to her for 11 years,
your mother.

Sometimes I miss the hell out of her...

I feel like going
and ringing her doorbell...

she'll answer and I'll say...

I love you!

But I can't do it, damn it.

Why not?

Because I'm too scared...

afraid she'll receive me really badly.

When he died...
we knew he was dying...

I went to her place to change...

because I didn't have a place in Rio,
was living in S?o Paulo.

And I started to cry,
I finally started crying...

and she started to cry too...

and she said something quite
incredible, and lovely. She said:

"Vinicius often wanted us to make amends...

and I never agreed...

I never wanted less...

never wanted
any old relationship with him...

never wanted to be just friends," she said.

"I wasn't interested
in being just his friend."

Then she stopped and said:

"But that was stupid of me, really...
because I could have been his friend...

we could have continued our relationship...

I might even have become his lover.

And I didn't want that.

Out of pride...

for reasons which right now
I see are petty."

One day he confessed
something very painful...

men are like that.

"If only she hadn't done that
nose job... that really bugged me."

It's not true,
he wanted to fall madly in love!

When a woman no longer
gave Vinicius passion...

Vinicius found it easy to change women.

That's not true, it wasn't easy...

not until another one aroused him.

Nowadays we talk about getting horny,
but it wasn't just that...

it was passion with a foundation...

something between two people.

And he needed that
precipice of passion... always.

Above all things
I shall be attentive to my love...

first, and with such zeal...

and always...

and so much...

that even when faced
with this great enchantment...

my thoughts ascend to more delight...

I want to live it in each vain moment...

in its honor I sing out my song...

and laugh my laughter and spill my tears...

for her sorrow or her pleasure...

and thus later, when you come to me...

who knows what death,
anxiety of the living...

who knows what loneliness,
the end of those who love...

I can speak of the love...

let it not be immortal,
since it is a flame...

but let it be infinite while it lasts.

In fact, Vinicius hadn't
the courage to tell me...

he'd married again...

and had had another daughter, Georgiana.

I think Georgiana was already
born when he went to Paris.

When he came back to Brazil,
I discovered this by chance...

because I think he kept putting it off...

Vinicius' thing
about not liking disharmony.

He kept putting off telling me

because he knew it would somehow
be tough for me, in some way...

knowing about another sister...

he just kept putting it off.

And by chance I went to the Copacabana
Palace, where he was staying...

earlier in the morning than we'd agreed,

rang the bell, opened the door
and found Lila,

already heavily pregnant
and Georgina beside her.

And that stayed with me: Wow!

I was...

furious...

it was so absurd, Vinicius lying to me.

Lila B?scoli was
much younger than Vinicius...

she used to hang out with musicians,
there was a sort of precursor...

of Ipanema starting to emerge.

It was writer Rubem Braga introduced them:

"Lila, this is Vinicius,
Vinicius, this is Lila.

May God's will be done."

Vinicius dropped everything
and married her...

they went to live in Paris, had two
daughters, Georgiana and Luciana.

The marriage lasted 5 years.

He was in love and wrote a lot...

it was a reunion with poetry
which he had rather abandoned.

Of course, as a daughter,
I sometimes wonder whether...

if Vinicius had pulled himself
together a bit better...

if he had been
a little more self-disciplined...

with the marriages,
with his children, with the drink...

with everything he wasted,
mightn't he have been happier?

I don't think so,
if he hadn't lived as he did...

I think he would have been
far more unhappy.

And these things are all very well...

but they have consequences
for those around or left behind.

Because he moved forwards
and I don't think that was easy...

ending a marriage wasn't easy...

it was a whole process, Vinicius suffered,

we could sense it when he
was strange, he'd become distant,

silently whistling away...

I could see he'd gone off.
There, now he's no longer here.

Vinicius was capable of anything,

any low tactic to conquer a women.

I think that's an extremely
important part of his character.

Because it wasn't about conquering...

to get back the spark
with which he fed his poetry...

its charm, which was passion.

Everyone knows Vinicius lived for that,

he married 9 times...
so you see, it's no joke.

He married 9 times in search
of this eternal passion...

this thing he always cried out for.

Let it not be eternal since it's a flame,
but let it be infinite while it lasts.

So that alone,
these well-known Brazilian verses...

reveal perfectly how much he sought...

knowing he couldn't find what he wanted.

I think that was Vinicius' great anxiety.

Medo de Amarwas the first song
I heard Vinicius play on the guitar

50 years ago.

Turn this leaf of the book And forget me

Pretend that our love is over And forget me

You didn't understand
That jealousy is an evil root

And that being afraid to love
Makes no one happy

Now go and lead your life as you wish

But don't be surprised If another woman

Is born in me Like a flower in the desert

And understand that jealousy
Is the perfume of love

I spent 1956 in Rio de Janeiro...

living in Guadalupe.

That year is a crucial one
in the history of everyone...

involved in the modernization
of Brazilian popular music...

which came right afterwards.

And it's the year of Orfeu da Concei??o.

I read in the papers
and often heard on the radio...

the name Vinicius de Moraes
and this fine project of his...

which I imagined as something so lovely,

the music...
the poet who had written the show,

with the black performers,
the black cast and so forth.

I saw someone on TV

giving an interview about Orfeu

giving details about the show.

It was Haroldo Costa, ho was in the cast.

I assumed that he was Vinicius de Moraes.

Then I returned to Bahia.

One heard the name
Vinicius de Moraes a lot.

I returned to Santo Amaro in '57.

I can remember talking to friends...
the same age, all about 14,

and the name Vinicius de Moraes
was mentioned several times.

And I said: "Yeah, he's great,

that black poet from Rio de Janeiro,

I saw him on TV,
he wrote that musical."

So I spent some years
thinking Vinicius was black...

about a year and a half...

absolutely convinced Vinicius was black.

Years later I heard Vinicius de Moraes
himself uttered the phrase:

"I, Vinicius de Moraes, am the
most Negro white man in Brazil."

Or was it: "the blackest
white man in Brazil"?

I can't forget your gaze

Distant from my eyes

My living Is waiting to tell you good-bye

Beloved woman

My destiny

It is nighttime

Dew of my eyes

The Greek myth of Orpheus
set in a slum in Rio de Janeiro...

reveals a deep truth
about Vinicius himself...

who was brought up at the crossroads
between the erudite and the popular.

In the love story
of Orpheus and Eurydice...

Vinicius saw a tragedy of Rio,

the Greek demigod who with his lyre
touched the hearts of animals...

making beasts caring and peaceful...

became a samba musician from a shanty town.

For Orfeu da Concei??o,
wanted the music to be...

an encounter between refined,
erudite culture...

and the popular roots
of samba and "batucada".

At the time, the play was adapted for
cinema under the title Black Orpheus,

it won the Oscar,
the Golden Palm at Cannes...

and showed the world the music
of Tom and Vinicius.

My name is Antonio Carlos Jobim,
better known as Tom Jobim

in other words, Vinicius' Tom.

Whenever I was on the phone
and said: "It's Tom"...

the other person would say:
"Which Tom?"

Vinicius' Tom," and they'd say:
"Oh yes, what can I do for you?"

I never did anything so right

I joined the school of pardon

My house is always open

Open all the doors to the heart.

Vinicius taught me so much in life.

I'd say: "Damn it, Vinicius,
I'm learning so much from you."

He'd reply: "No, Tom,
I'm the one learning from you."

No

My heart can no longer

Live lacerated in this way

Enslaved to an illusion

Which is merely disillusion

No

Life is not always thus

Like desperate moonlight

Spilling melancholy on me

Poetry on me

Go, sad song Out of my breast

And sow emotion

And cry inside my heart

Heart

In the 50's Rio was a city
buzzing with novelties...

one heard a lot of samba songs
in the bars of Copacabana...

people bought modern automobiles
television was being discovered...

LP records revolved at 33 rpm...

And the city life was spinning even faster.

Everything was being renovated
in the country's capital city...

movies, theater, fashion...

even the way people walked
down the street seemed lighter...

and in this mood of so many new things...

Vinicius started to become a focal point.

He was the poet who
had moved towards samba...

the diplomat who wrote songs,

the world citizen who knew everything
the city was starting to discover.

I know and you know

Since life has made it so

And nothing in this world
Can take you from me

I know and you know

That distance doesn't exist

And every great love

Is only really great if it is sad

This song, with Elizeth Cardoso...

accompanied by the guitar
of Jo?o Gilberto...

is on the album Can??o do Amor Demais,

with new work by Tom and Vinicius.

One of the songs on that
album was Chega de Saudade,

which, a little later,
Jo?o Gilberto recorded.

Go my sadness

And tell her that

Without her cannot be

Tell her in a prayer

To return

Because I cannot suffer anymore

No more longing

I remember precisely where
I first heard Chega de Saudade.

I was in Recife
and was completely paralyzed...

it was absolutely strange,
completely new...

that is, all of it was new,

the lyrics were completely new,
the music was completely new,

singing was completely new...

I'd never heard anyone sing like that,

and there was the guitar...
no one played like that...

there was no music like that.

And when I say music, I mean the
entire song, the harmonic structure.

It was all so new.

Before Chega de Saudade and after
Chega de Saudade were different...

a whole different thing.

"Hey, what's all this about
Chega de Saudade?"

I replied: "Dad, give me money
to buy the record by Vinicius".

It was the record of Jo?o
singing Chega de Saudade...

by Tom and Vinicius, at that time
I didn't know who Tom Jobim was...

no one knew who Jo?o Gilberto was...

and nor was Vinicius a popular name.

And it wasn't a popular hit...

it was a song playing
on one or two radio stations...

which kids used to listen to.

I was bowled over by it all...

that style...

the poetry...

at the same time classical and
talking about such common things...

in everyday life with such
a poetic elegance, so new.

That's it, Chega de Saudade
changed my life.

The turning point regarding the lyrics...

which Vinicius de Moraes made
possible during the bossa nova era,

is truly crucial.

But one must also understand
that it was only so all-

encompassing...

because he paid attention...

to the traditions
of popular Brazilian music lyrics...

something he'd always loved
and which he knew well.

What foolishness you

Such a careless heart

Made your love cry with pain

Such a delicate love

Ah, why were you so frail

So soulless?

Bossa nova is a new intelligence,
a new rhythm,

the new sensibility, a new secret
among the young people of Brazil.

A simple structure
of highly refined sounds...

words no one thought would be uttered...

that love hurts but does exist...

that it is better to believe
than be skeptical

that hope is a free commodity.

Go my heart...

Listen to reason

Use only sincerity

Whoever sows the wind

Says reason

Always reaps the storm

Go my heart...

Ask for pardon

Passionate pardon

Go

For those who don't

Ask for pardon

Are never forgiven

Older people...

most of them didn't like Vinicius...

meddling in popular music...

they would rather he'd remained
the poet from before.

They didn't like it.

And those who liked Vinicius as he was...

didn't really like bossa nova,
they took a while to swallow that.

It was tough.

I remember once meeting Vinicius...

I was still a kid.
I think it was at a book launch,

he was sitting at a table
autographing something...

and I went over and said:
"I'm Chico, S?rgio's son."

"How is S?rgio?"
I said: "He's fine,

but he doesn't like bossa nova!"

And Vinicius was furious
he didn't like the joke one bit.

Look how beautiful How full of grace

The girl who passes

Swaying so sweetly On the way to the sea.

That first concert at Bon Gourmet...

which I wasn't really old enough
to attend, but I was there...

it was Vinicius with Jo?o Gilberto,
Tom, Os Cariocas.

An amazing concert,

and in fact it was the first time
Vinicius sang in public,

I remember he even got into
trouble with the Foreign Office,

he was forced to sing
wearing a suit and tie...

he complained a lot about that.

The Minister for Foreign Relations
simply hated seeing a diplomat...

holding a glass and singing on stage.

He set limits: As well as
a compulsory jacket and tie...

he couldn't receive a cent for singing.

But, if she knew That when she passes

The whole world gets full of grace...

Garota de Ipanema
emerged from that first concert...

to become one of the world's
most played songs of all time.

Vinicius' life was always
made up of counterpoint.

On the one hand,
the routine of the diplomat...

on the other, the passionate poet.

The diplomat did things
which upstaged his colleagues...

and which, to the poet,
were absolutely natural.

From Montevideo the diplomat
Vinicius de Moraes wrote...

a letter addressed to
the Ministry for Foreign Relations:

"I really must return to Rio de Janeiro...

it is not a material question,
one of money or professional status...

all those things can be recovered...

it is question of love...

since the time of love
is irretrievable."

Vinicius was transferred to Rio de Janeiro.

He had a car accident in Petr?polis...

I was at my Uncle Caloca's ranch
when they phoned:

"Your father has had an
accident and is badly hurt."

I rushed to Petr?polis,
and at the hospital I found Lucinha.

And Vinicius immediately says:
"I'm marrying her."

I didn't give it a second thought...

which was my attitude
with all the other marriages.

After the first lie...

the first thing which was so hard
for me to take...

so difficult to absorb...

then after that he married
and I married too, at the same time.

To live a great love...

you have to always see your
loved one as your first girlfriend.

Vinicius was 45
when he married L?cia Proen?a.

For six years life was like
a never-ending party...

everything went fine.

Vinicius was becoming
more famous and admired.

Driven by passion as always,
he produced like never before...

he didn't stop working.

He was married to a woman
with so many obvious virtues...

a very beautiful woman,
very rich, lovable...

very much in love with him...

and this became a magnet for hoards
of people, the young partners...

the house was wild, both the house
in Rio and the house in Petr?polis...

became centers for collective creativity...

really wild...
deep into the night, playing guitar

with so many strong talents
gathered together...

a moment of Brazil, of Brazilian culture
which was so very rich

and with him as the center point
of all this talent.

But I think it was Vinicius started those...

As far as I can remember,
those open houses,

I think he started opening his house...

and everyone started copying him rather...

and he got everyone
to open up their houses.

Nothing like nowadays.

But anyway, there were open houses...

one went along and everyone
would be there, playing...

it might be his place, or Tom's.

But I think it was he
unlocked all the doors...

it was thanks to Vinicius...

him doing it so much,
and people imitated him.

I already knew of Vinicius
from an early age...

because my father talked about him a lot...

my father used to dabble with poetry...

sonnets, so my father always asked:
"Who's your favorite poet?"

And I was still a kid, a boy, and my
father would say: "Vinicius de Moraes".

So I already knew the name.

When I saw Orpheus, I went wild...

I thought: "I've got to
work with this guy".

How lovely you are,

There

Just little you

I swear

I don't know why you

You are lovelier than a flower

If only the spring flower

Had all this fragrant beauty

Which is love

Perfuming nature In the shape of a woman

Because such beauty Doesn't exist

Not the flower

Nor even the color exists

And love

Not even love exists

Vinicius was the most important
person in my musical life,

no doubt about it.

I wouldn't go as far as to say

that if it hadn't been for Vinicius
I wouldn't have become a musician

but maybe I really wouldn't have.

I studied engineering,
graduated as an engineer...

and Vinicius played a determining role,

in '63 we wrote our first song,
Sem Mais Adeus.

I came full of longing

Filled with lovely things to say

I came because I sensed

That nothing exists beyond you

By the end of the famous summer of '62,

one which musically never came to an end,

there'd be a party
in Petr?polis every day...

we'd be there with
a guitar under one arm...

and a bottle of whisky under the other...

and every day a new song would emerge...

I met all of that crowd through Vinicius.

I'd take a series of songs
for him to put words to...

that's how it had been since we met.

And one time I took some songs
and put them down...

he looked through them...

about 12 or 13 songs and saw

a common thread
going through all the songs...

he found the unity in those songs...

said they were a musical comedy,
and it's true...

with those songs he managed
to put together a musical...

as if the songs belonged to each other.

Pobre Menina Rica tells the story
of the love of white girl...

for a black beggar and poet.

It was truly in the spirit of an era
when everything seemed possible.

Brazil enjoyed the optimism of the
times with Juscelino Kubitschek,

the bossa nova president,
who built Bras?lia,

brought automobile factories...
it was modernity.

In the love story told by Vinicius...

a character reflected the other side
of those golden years...

to escape misery, hoards
of migrants left the Northeast...

and moved to towns in the south.

One day Tired of being so hungry

I had nothing, How hungry I was

How terribly dry my Cear?

I took and gathered A few things I had

Two old trousers, a guitar

And took a truck heading this way

And nights I stayed on on Copacabana beach

Dancing the xaxado For the girls to see

Holy Virgin what hunger
I could hardly speak

My God, so many girls Such hunger

More hunger than I had in my Cear?

In '63 we released Pobre
Menina Rica at the Bon-Gourmet...

me, him and Nara Le?o,
we played Pobre Menina Rica,

a show, a sort of "pocket-show",

and I played the poet, Nara the rich girl

and Vinicius all the other characters...

and reading the story at a bar.

Being a musician in the '50's
and '60's was an adventure,

no one thought about making
money playing music...

Vinicius was completely
disinterested in money.

In fact, the defect he hated most
in people was stinginess.

It's true...

He'd marry...
leaving everything behind.

Always the same.

Whenever he earned...

Whenever he earned money
then he could go out.

Later, with the concerts, all that,
he started earning more.

Enough money to do what he used to do;

he'd stuff his pockets with money
and go out to the restaurants,

an enormous table of people, he'd pay
everything and spend all his money.

He never saved up,

was never bothered about that.

Later, when money started
coming in thanks to the Americans,

with Girl from Ipanema,
which became a hit the world over...

of course that made a lot of money.

Then Teresa, Tom's wife,

started putting Tom's affairs in order.

She'd despair:

"But Vinicius signed so many things
which he shouldn't have."

He'd sign ridiculous contracts.

Ever since I was little...

there were always money problems
in our family.

Even as a diplomat,
Vinicius earned I don't know what...

he used to spend so much,
a pearl necklace for my mother...

then at the end of the month there'd
be no money to pay the housemaid

completely crazy.

So all my life I saw him:

"Damn this money, I owe so-and-so,
I borrowed some money."

He was rigorous, honest...

very correct, but always
in dire straits with money...

He never took the easy way,
on the contrary.

You might say he was on the crest
of the wave of bossa nova...

yes, and he created that crest.

Later, on the crest of the wave of
Afro-Samba, which he also created,

then he'd abandon it. Create and
abandon, with everything in life.

He'd create and not reap the benefits...

He'd squander things...

He'd squander things he'd just conquered.

Never hold on to anything.

Didn't hold on to his fame,
his money, nothing.

You often find great poets who
would never write lyrics to a song.

Got it? They simply couldn't.

Because it's a whole different thing...

writing song lyrics involves
another type of...

It involves musicality,

you need to understand that,
you need a good ear...

and understand how
a musical phrase is designed.

That's why Vinicius
was so incredibly important...

because as well as being a great poet,
he was a great connoisseur of melodies.

There's another song
he wrote with Chico Buarque...

where he created a melody
with very complicated scales...

he came to me, and the melody was
ready, all I did was do the harmony.

I think that if he hadn't had
such brilliant partners...

he would have written
far more songs by himself.

But I think that for him
the human being is irresistible.

I became friendly with Vinicius
in about '42, '43...

our friendship started when
he gave me his little booklet...

Ariana, a mulher,
with the following dedication:

"For Ant?nio C?ndido, with my
hand held out in friendship...

Vinicius de Moraes."
Lovely, isn't it?

Vinicius was a person who always
called to see how you were...

"I'm calling to see if you're well."

There were things he used to say
about friendship, for instance...

this is so beautiful: "You don't
make friends, you recognize them."

What more does a man need
than a friend to be fond of?

A dry, simple friend...

one who doesn't even need to speak.
A look is enough...

one who belittles the friendship...

a friend for peace and for fights...

a friend for the home and bar.

For Vinicius, life without friends
would have been impossible...

he abhorred solitude, which is the
contrary of everything he sought.

The greatest solitude
is that of he who loves not...

the greatest solitude is that of he
who is absent, who defends himself,

who closes up, who refuses
to take part in human life.

The greatest solitude is that
of a man locked up within himself...

an absolute of himself...

who refuses the one who asks him
to give what he can of love,

friendship, comfort.

40 boxes, multiplied by 12 bottles,
how much is that?

- 480 bottles.
- 480 bottles of whisky.

One liter bottles!

So anyway, people started
to pick up the scent...

my house started to fill up,
you can just imagine.

Rubem Braga, the entire gang.

All I know is, one day
I was in a bar downtown,

Juca's Bar...

and Paulinho Mendes Campos
and I were at a table...

and there were two guys talking,
and one says:

"Let's go to Vinicius de Moraes' place,

I hear there's always a party
going on with non-stop whisky."

Swear to God!

I never saw a good friendship
start in a dairy.

Whisky is man's best friend...

Whisky is a dog in a bottle.

My love, I swear to God

The light of my eyes Can no longer wait...

I want the light of my eyes
In the light of your eyes

With no more la-ri-l?-l?

By the light of your eyes I find my love

And can only think

That the light of my eyes Must marry

You know, my wife grabbed
two bottles of Scotch whisky...

and smashed them on the sink,
right in front of me.

I nearly cut myself.

Really dangerous.

Women actually get to the point where
they smash whisky on the sink.

Really!
It's their rebellion.

But it's no use,
we only go out and buy more.

His drunkenness wasn't constant.
He was always...

he really did drink a lot.

Sometimes I'd arrive
at Antonio's at midday...

and find him already at the bar.

There was this thing he called a bathtub...

which was a daiquiri.

No, it was a gin and tonic,
something the barman fixed in...

a glass which was a basin,
a glass like this...

as wide as your hand.
And he'd be drinking that...

it was either rum or gin,
something like that...

or something lighter, with lemon,
crushed ice or something.

Then, in the afternoon, he hit
the whisky, whisky, whisky...

that was his drink, more than beer,
more than wine...

it was whisky non-stop.
He really did drink a lot.

He once told me, about
his relationship with drink...

with whisky, that it was
the drink he liked...

that he needed it...

he found everything very difficult
without whisky.

But I think what he really liked
was to keep to himself...

and I think whisky helped him...

to meet people more, to talk to them,

which is what he really wanted.

I remember meeting him up here
at the S?o Vicente clinic...

I was visiting my uncle,
who was undergoing treatment...

which is what Vinicius used to do too,

when he drank too much
he'd go to the clinic,

which was a sort of spa in those days,
supposedly in order not to drink.

But a lot of them would go out
in the evening to bars...

and return to the clinic
in the middle of the night.

Grande Otelo was there,
a whole party in Vinicius' room.

Vinicius was happy because
he'd written lyrics for Baden...

Baden had left the song on a tape...

so then Baden arrived
and I witnessed this encounter.

Baden arrived...

Baden grabbed his guitar,
and everyone sang, for hours...

it was Pra Que Chorar.

And Vinicius said he'd written
the song the night before...

the guy next door was dying...

he could heard him agonizing...

so he wrote the song:

'Why cry if the sun is
just about to appear...

if the day is going to break...

why cry if there is always a great love...

why cry if love exists...

it's only a matter of giving,
it's only a matter of hurting... '

Baden said: "this is fantastic!"

Why cry

If the sun is just about to appear

If the day is going to break

Why suffer

if the moon is coming up
And it's only the sun going down

Why cry if love exists

It's only a matter of giving
It's only a matter of hurting

Whoever has never Cried nor lamented

Can never again say

Why cry, why suffer

If there is always a new love
With each new dawn

Why cry, why suffer

If there is always a new love
With each new dawn

Take it away, Roberto!

I think his meeting with Baden
was as strong

as with Tom.

Because it was another universe
he explored which perhaps...

they both explored the farthest
depths of our music.

To begin with, it was something
rather gentle, almost African...

And they really pulled out all the stops...

using their peerless talent.

In relation to the Afro-sambas,

they weren't a development of bossa nova,

that was another thing altogether...

it was no longer what
you could call bossa nova.

It didn't really have a name, in fact.

What I mean is it no longer had
the sound of Jo?o Gilberto's guitar,

the double beat was Baden's...

it was something quite revolutionary,
and very strong.

And then there was this chameleon-
like thing of Vinicius'...

he was writing differently,

using different words.

He who is good doesn't betray
The love who him wishes well

He who is always saying he'll go, Won't go

Just as he won't go He won't come,

He who is shut inside, won't come out
Will die without loving anyone

The money of he who will not give
Is the work of he who is without

A good Capoeira doesn't fall
And if one day he does fall

He does it well

Capoeira told me To say that he is here

Here to fight

Berimbau confirmed There'll be a love fight

Sadness, camar?

Sadness, camar?

Berimbau, berimbau
Berimbau, berimbau, berimbau

Berimbau, berimbau
Berimbau, berimbau, berimbau

Vinicius and I talked a lot about ghosts,

souls from beyond, that sort of thing.

We loved talking about all that.

And so we were talking about Bahia,

and I knew a little about candombl?,

so did Vinicius, but I knew more...

I had been more exposed to it,
being from the suburbs...

Vinicius was a diplomat,
I knew about candombl?.

We talked about it together
and wrote songs.

When we finished the series
of 9 songs, Vinicius cried out:

"Damn it, Baden,
these are Afro-sambas."

My friend and my Lord, sarav?
Xang? asked me to tell you

If it's Ossanha's chant, don't go
Otherwise you will regret

Ask your orix? A good love must be painful

You will, will, will, will love
You will, will, will, will suffer

You will, will, will, will cry
You will, will, will, will live

I am not one of those Who can easily forget

The sadness of a love that is gone

No, I will go there just to see

A star rising In the morning of a new love

You will, will, will, will love
You will, will, will, will suffer

You will, will, will, will cry
You will, will, will, will live

You will, will, will, will love
You will, will, will, will suffer

You will, will, will, will cry
You will, will, will, will live

I think Vinicius built this bridge
with black music...

which was so important in his
childhood, in his musical education...

he found the precise deep association

in the United States, with jazz.

So it was amazing, we only
ever listened to jazz at home.

I went more than once
with Vinicius to New Orleans...

he went to hear a specific musician
who was playing...

and he always pointed out to me that
thing they used to have back then,

segregated restrooms,
places where no blacks were allowed...

all those dreadful racial things
in the United States at that time.

Still very present in those days,
the Ku Klux Klan, lynchings...

All these things are still
very much alive in my memory...

to this day...

because they were commented on at home...

in very passionate terms.

In 1955 a 14 year-old youth,
Emmet Louis Till,

whistled at a woman
in a small town in Mississippi.

She was white.
The boy was black.

He was shot dead.

- Emmet's murderers
- Poor Mamma Till!

- Came without warning
- Poor Mamma Till!

- Chewing broken glass
- Poor Mamma Till!

With their pale faces

- Emmet's murderers
- Poor Mamma Till!

- Entered without a word
- Poor Mamma Till!

- With their leather breath
- Poor Mamma Till!

And their clenched stare

I hate to see That evenin' sun go down...

- Emmet's murderers
- Poor Mamma Till!

- When they saw him kneeling
- Poor Mamma Till!

- They let him have it
- Poor Mamma Till!

The fire from their guns

- Holding back the orgasm
- Poor Mamma Till!

- The woman cooks hash
- Poor Mamma Till!

- As she waits for her husband
- Poor Mamma Till!

Who ordered the revenge

I hate to see That evenin' sun go down...

Poor Mamma Till!

Poor Mamma Till!

Poor Mamma Till!

Poor Mamma Till!

Vinicius worked
at the core of affections...

that was Vinicius' way...

he worked at these intersections
between the centers...

the center of dialogue,
where dialogue is possible...

where dialogue takes place
between all the divergences...

between all the polarities.

That's what Vinicius was like.

So when he said:
"I'm the most Negro white man. "...

it's because he really was,
he felt that, he wanted it to be so,

he wanted the whites to be black,
the blacks to be white...

that there be understanding
between everyone.

He was a loving man, a man in
absolute legitimate harmony.

He was also aesthetically brilliant.

If I had a choice I'd have been...

my great black brother
Alfredo da Rocha Viana...

otherwise known as Pixinguinha...

that was truly the most lovely person
I came across in the human race.

I take my hat off to him.

Vinicius had nothing but
admiration for Pixinguinha...

a unique blend of simplicity, elegance,
generosity and nobility...

A pioneer. One of the fathers
of Brazilian music.

When they worked together,
Pixinguinha was already a classic.

Vinicius was a very sensitive person...

so you can imagine the losses,
the friends, everything.

I remember talking to him
in Buenos Aires...

and he suddenly remembered
Ciro Monteiro and started to cry,

interrupting the conversation.

He couldn't control himself, you know?

He always had so many
emotions spilling out...

the slightest commotion
caused them to overflow.

That was it.

Clearly a highly sensitive person...

happy of course
when he was with his friends.

It wasn't for nothing that he
liked being with friends...

in order to avoid permanently
confronting all that emotion.

That's another thing
which isn't just Vinicius...

Eliot says writing
is escaping one's emotions.

We write to get rid of our emotions,

to be free of them.
To get rid of all that.

I doubt whether Clodoaldo Pereira
da Silva de Moraes and I...

exchanged more than
10 words during his whole life.

'Good morning, how are you? '
'See you later... '

Sometimes not even that much.

With some people words are unnecessary.

We understood and loved each other,
my father and I.

Death came long distance,
along long metallic spirals

It was late at night.

I heard the voice of my mother...

Widow...

Suddenly, I had no father.

In the darkness of my house
in Los Angeles...

I tried to recover your memory...

after such absence.

Fragments of childhood
floated on the sea of my tears.

I saw myself, a boy, running to meet you...

You gave us poverty and love.

To me you gave the supreme poverty:

The gift of poetry
and the capacity to love in silence.

You were poor.

You begged for our love in silence.

Your death, like all deaths, was simple.
Death is a simple thing.

It hurts... then wanes.

When you waned - I remember the
dawn was breaking at my house...

I had already recovered you completely...

just as you now find yourself:
Dressed in me.

I shall not bid you farewell...

now that you have awoken within me...

with never before dreamed-of precision.

There is a phrase in this samba,
in S? Me Fez Bem,

which I wrote with Vinicius,
this first song we wrote together...

which goes like this...

It was life

It was love which wanted

It is better to live

Than be happy...

And Tom adored that phrase:
"It's better to live than be happy."

And he wanted to use it, I think
he phoned Vinicius from the US;

where he was recording, he wanted
to use it in a song of theirs...

so he was talking to a translator,
I can't remember who it was,

maybe Gene Lees... I really
can't remember, but anyway...

And he translated this literally.

And he said: "No, that's wrong."

"What you mean, it's wrong?"

And Tom thought that was so funny
and made some comment...

about how different Vinicius' view
of life is from the American one.

If happiness exists, I'm only happy...

when I burn myself...

and when someone burns themselves
they're not happy...

Happiness itself is painful.

I can't say Vinicius was happy.

Certainly he lived.

And his life was a search for happiness...

and such a search presupposes
that happiness is not present...

is elsewhere...

And he lived the whole time searching...

that restlessness which was his life,
this insatiable element.

I remember Vinicius in one of
the worst phases in his life...

sitting and saying: "My friend,
I can't stand it anymore,

I feel like leaving my body.
I'm not..."

That's when he and Lucinha separated...

because lack of love was
such a painful thing for him.

And he was separating from Lucinha,
and he said: "I want to leave my body,

I no longer want to live. "And I said:
"Of course you do, Vinicius."

He wrote that song with Baden:

Good morning, friend

May peace be with you

I only came to say
That I love you so much I shall die

So after that he got a new breath
of life when he met Nelita.

Nelita had a fianc? who was a poet.

She was about to marry this poet fianc?...

Vinicius laid eyes on Nelita
and immediately got ideas.

So he spent time with the couple

until he got involved
with that 18 year-old girl...

and he was nearly 60...
late 50's...

I can't remember.

He got involved with the girl,
she dumped the fianc?...

and went on a trip with him.

Much to her parents' consternation,
as you can imagine.

Later I knew them well,
and they loved Vinicius.

It was a web he spread out
to conquer people.

The couple spent a year in Paris.
It was his last post abroad.

In '64, just after the military coup
he was called back to Rio.

He wrote a lot of songs.
He started drinking more.

He was always surrounded by people
much younger than himself.

The marriage with Nelita lasted 6 years.

Soon after, he had a daughter
with Cristina Gurj?o...

a short marriage
which lasted less than a year.

In fact the first time I remember
seeing my father...

I was already a girl...

because when I was born
my parents had already separated.

And I remember him coming over...
I was very distant...

found it all very strange.

But within 24 hours he had
already conquered me.

Incredible, he sure was a skilled seducer.

I think this thing I've had
going with women so lovely...

nothing negative.

They get so angry with me
after the separation.

I split up because
I stop liking them, damn it.

To me a woman isn't a sexual object...

I love them to death, I give everything...

but what else am I supposed to do?
It passes.

So then you have to find another woman.

There was something
rather mocking about him...

which caused...

many problems...

People thought he was debauched.

And he probably was a little,
but it wasn't as bad as all that.

If I had If I had many vices

My name My name would be Vinicius

And if these vices were very immoral

I'd be Vinicius de Moraes

That's so funny,
when he entered Antonio's...

he never liked this story...

But whenever he came into Antonio's...

we'd sing in chorus, to torment him.

But there is so much
to be said about this poet.

My patria is nothing if not intimate
sweetness and a desire to weep...

a sleeping child... that's my patria.

And so, in exile,
watching my child sleep...

I weep out of longing for my patria...

If you ask what my patria is,
I'd say: I don't know.

Truly, I don't know the how,
why and when of my patria...

But I do know my patria is light,
salt and water...

which enrich and liquefy my bitterness...

in long bitter tears...

the desire to kiss the eyes of my patria...

to cuddle, caress its hair...

the desire to change the ugly colors

Of my patria's dress...

my barefoot patria...

without socks
patria of mine... so poor.

Source of honey,
sad animal, patria of mine...

loved, idolized, hail, hail!

What sweet, chained hope...

not being able to tell you: Wait...
I won't be late.

I want to see you again, my patria
seeing you again I forget all...

I was blind, crippled, deaf, dumb...

I saw my humble death face to face...

I tore up poems, women, horizons...

I became simple, without sources...

Patria of mine...

my patria is not flowerlike
nor ostentatious...

my patria is the desolation of paths...

my patria of parched earth and white beach;

my patria is the great secular river...

which drinks clouds, eats earth
and urinates the sea...

more than the most gaudy
my patria has a warmth...

a wanting good, goodness...

a libertas quae sera tamen...

which one day in an exam I translated as:

"Make free, for you too shall be free"
and I repeat!

Vinicius' Brazil was completely different

to Brazil of the dictatorship,
which was grand, arrogant.

They were two separate countries.

With the Al-5 law in late 1968,
the military became more radical

and in '69 he was thrown out
of the diplomatic service.

With time, he slackened more and more...

rejecting social conventions
and impositions.

God knows that out of cats and pigeons...

I by far prefer the former species.

I find pigeons terribly bourgeois,

with their happy, content air...

not to mention the lowness of certain
characteristics of their condition...

probably including the fact...

that they may devour each other when caged.

It must have been highly inconvenient
in a dictatorship like that...

with such a high degree of hypocrisy...

having Vinicius as a diplomat...

it simply wasn't on.

At the same time,
Vinicius was the sort of guy...

Vinicius' story isn't exactly one...

of which the military
would have approved...

he had strong links with the left...

with people who didn't approve of
that sort of regime...

samba people, partygoers, bohemians,

in other words, completely the opposite.

As a poet and musician...

he did more for the country

than had he followed his diplomatic career.

But I don't recall him
complaining about that...

he may have been tired...

of fighting all that narrow
mindedness, all that nonsense.

But it wasn't something
he would comment on,

not that I recall...

but I'm sure he was very disappointed.

That really made him mad.

I think the amnesty irritated him even
more...

than being blacklisted, to be honest.

Once I arrived at his house in Bahia,

which is still there...

I went to inaugurate a square called
"Vinicius de Moraes" not long ago.

And he came up and said:
Toquinho, come here...

I want to show you something."
He went over to a window...

overlooking the yard, where there was
a turkey, a peacock, a cat and a dog.

And he said:

"Just look at those animals living
alongside each other in harmony,

they really get along.

A turkey, a peacock, a cat and a dog.

And do you know something?

I'm learning more from these animals...

than in all my years
in the foreign service."

He was older at the age of 24...

he behaved older...
the foreign office...

I don't know, all those rigorous things...

in his life, which he then abandoned
and started getting younger.

Some days I spend thinking about life
And, honestly, I see no way out

For instance You can't understand it

The minute you're born You start to die

After an arrival
There is always a departure

Because nothing exists Without separation

I don't know

Life is one big illusion

I don't know

I only know it's right

We don't even know What confusion we cause

Making believe, pretending to forget

That nothing is reborn Before it is ended

The sun which appears must then set

It is no use staying If, from the outside

The time of yes Is the carelessness of no

I don't know

All I know is we need passion

I don't know

Life is always right

The critics had already hung up
their boots regarding Vinicius...

when we started working with him.

"Who's this kid from S?o Paulo come
to get on Vinicius' nerves?"

That was rather the subtext
of how the critics felt.

And I showed him an adagio

Chico and I always played as a samba,

Albinoni's Adagio. And he set it
to words which went:

"Friends, you really have to live,
to give yourselves up..."

and: "if you don't, you've had it"
It begins:

Whoever passed through this life
And didn't live

May be more But knows less than I do

Because life only gives
To those who gave themselves

To those who loved, to those who cried
To those who suffered.

Those who never enjoyed passion

Will never have anything

There is no evil worse Than lack of faith

Even love which leads nowhere
Is better than solitude

That phrase is wonderful:

"Even love which leads nowhere
is better than solitude"

That really sums up what he wanted.

I remember the pressure
people like Jo?o Cabral de Melo Neto...

and other intellectuals and poets
put on him...

questioning Vinicius,
suggesting he was wasting his time...

whether he perhaps
shouldn't try to return...

shouldn't try to return
to the canonic poetry of books.

Jo?o Cabral complained a lot about that.

Vinicius once told me, at his house...

on Faro Street...

in Jardim Bot?nico...

he said to me:

"Cabral likes me very much...

and once told me...

that if Brazil had a poet...

with my talent and his discipline

Brazil would have a great poet."
"... finally, a great poet!"

And then he said:
"He keeps wanting me to...

But he's always got this
dreadful headache...

I'd give anything to avoid
a headache like that...

give me a little song, pretty women...

Little song, pretty women...

that's my poetry...

Got it?

I don't want all the rest."

There was a period when he was
being massacred by certain critics...

always the same thing...

about being a minor poet...

the poet he might have been.

He was really hurt by that.

Changing isn't easy for anyone...

however talented or compelled...

it always implies solitude, rejection,

lack of respect...

it implies inner insecurity
as an artist... inner doubts.

Vinicius knew a lot of poetry...

he was very erudite on the one hand.

And that was of great value to him,

it was a thing he won, that he fought for.

We rise!

We rise above...

we rise beyond...

we rise above the beyond, we rise!

With physical possession of our arms...

we inescapably ascend
the great sea of stars...

through millennia of light, we rise!

Like two athletes...

petrified faces
with the pale smile of effort...

we rise above...

with physical possession of our arms...

and the colossal muscles...

in the calm, the convulsive ascent...

oh, above...

further than everything...

beyond, further than above the beyond!

Like two acrobats
we rise, ever so gradually...

there, where the infinite is so infinite...

it no longer has a name, we rise!

You and I, hermetic...

firm buttocks...

knotty carotid, the fiber of the neck...

the sharp pointed feet as in a spasm...

and when, there...

beyond, further than above the beyond...

in a last impulse...

freed from the spirit...

the flesh plundered...

we shall possess each other...

and die...

die high up, immensely...

immensely high.

It's the people, the readers who
carry literary work in their lap.

It's no use, friends die, critic friends,

journalists, contemporaries, buddies,

everyone dies, and the work stays.

Art is the affirmation of life,

though this weighs heavily on the morbid.

Affirmation of life, in this sense...

is that life is the sum of all
its greatness and rottenness...

a deep silo where food
mixes with excrement...

and from which the artist extracts
his daily ration of energy,

dreams and perplexities...

his unconscious vitality.

Art does not love cowards.

Beauty, don't be like that

Caresses are not bad

Women who deny, don't know

Have something missing in their heart

Beauty, don't be like that

Caresses are not bad

Women who deny, don't know

Have something missing in their heart

We are born, we grow, We want to love...

Women who deny,
Deny that which is undeniable

We take, we yield, we want to die

No one has anything good without suffering

Beautiful woman

Gesse was an actress from Bahia,
she did films, theater...

and she was my friend,

I lived on Nascimento Silva and in the
evenings I always went to Pizzaiolo.

We walked down there one night,
it was nearby...

and there was just one person...

Vinicius de Moraes, sitting alone...

quietly and looking so sad.

Because when Vinicius was happy,
the world was happy...

when he was sad the world was sad,

it was very strong, very clear.

So I went over to give him a kiss
and introduce Gesse,

"A friend of mine from Bahia".

Right away, Vinicius looked up like this...

and he called me over and said:

"Bethaninha, I'm going to
marry her, I'm in love...

I want to go to Buenos Aires right now,
ask her whether she'll come."

So I said: "Ask her yourself,"
not knowing what was going on.

He said: "I want a ring, tomorrow."

I said: "My God, have you gone mad?"
I didn't understand.

And Gesse was Bahiana through and through.

So I went back to my place,
Gesse didn't come with me,

she went off with him, they traveled
and the next time they were married.

The wedding was a strange ceremony,
half theater, half candombl?.

Because as well as an actress,
Gesse was a spiritual leader.

Bahia fascinated Vinicius.
He was a materialist atheist

and decided to believe in
the sensual mystery of the Orix?s,

suddenly became a hippie,
moved to Itapo?, bought a jeep

and left all formalities behind him.

In Brazil in the 70's,

many young people broke
with traditional behavior...

and sought spaces and territories
for pure freedom.

Vinicius really got with it,
lived without time or rules.

Spend an afternoon in Itapo?

Under the burning sun in Itapo?

Listening to the sea in Itapo?

Talking of love in Itapo?

I've a story about Vinicius which,
to me is one of the strongest.

It was Vinicius who introduced me
to M?e Menininha do Gantois.

I was very impressed, because one
didn't smoke in a candombl? house.

People sat on the floor,
and whenever we entered...

from the first time he took me...

she told me to sit on the floor.

His wife, Gesse, on the floor:

"Bring him a chair to sit on."

I thought: Why, because he's a man?

Because he's Vinicius,
because he's an artist?

I didn't understand and asked why.

She said: "There is so much
cannot be explained."

This element of candombl?,

in other words, it was out of
respect to the Orix? he carried

and could have a seat.

That's so lovely, isn't it? Cool.

You will, will, will, will love

You will, will, will, will suffer

You will, will, will...

Vinicius was nearly 60

when he started the marathon of
concerts with Toquinho all over Brazil.

In 10 years they gave over 1000 concerts.

Vinicius was very at ease at concerts...

it was different...

because he really felt
as if he were at home,

he didn't care, had his glass of whisky,
chatted away...

In fact, he didn't even talk to the audience,

he talked to whoever was there.
He liked having friends on stage

to chat to.

In Portugal once he finished
a concert, it was in Coimbra...

there were students,
during the Salazar years.

So everyone loved Vinicius,
simply adored him.

He didn't just tell stories,
he didn't only sing but...

recited poems too.

And all those young people...

living in that dictatorship,
they saw in Vinicius...

And at the end of the concert, which
was a big success. He was so happy...

"I'd like to thank
the Portuguese youth."

And then I noticed a certain
uneasiness among the audience,

"Portuguese youth."

And before long, the unease became jeering,

with him all happy because
he thought that too was applause,

some sort of Portuguese applause.

In the end, everyone was booing.

The curtain fell...
"what's going on?"

"Vinicius mustn't mention the
'Portuguese youth"',

that's a sort of Fascist
youth organization...

followers of Salazar with
that name, Portuguese Youth...

and Vinicius didn't know
and I never told him.

The tours of South American
and Europe began.

Vinicius' success was tremendous...

he became a popular star
in several countries...

a cycle of concerts, hotels, airports...

the life of a pop star.

I remember watching his concerts in Italy,

and he'd speak, because he
spoke several languages...

but not that well; he mix in
a little of all the languages.

I'm like that too, I learn one
language and forget another.

I remember him doing a concert
in Italy which was really funny,

everyone laughed, he too,
telling jokes, people laughing.

There was a guy next to me
who turned and said:

"Wonderful, but what
language is he speaking?"

People couldn't understand,
but they understood different things.

I remember him finishing
the concert, with his whisky...

and thanking them, raising his glass...

"Questa ? una cena meravigliosa"

Except "cena", you'd think
"cena" meant "scene"...

but "cena" means feast.

And people thought he was
saying whisky was a feast!

"Wonderful, but what
language is he speaking?"!

107 Nascimento Silva Street

You teaching Elizeth

the songs of "Can??o do amor demais"

Vinicius was tired, in bad health...

but he didn't stop working.

He did a concert at Canec?o, in Rio,
with Tom Jobim, Mi?cha and Toquinho.

They had 7 months of success
and went on to play in Europe.

For over a year, until late 1978...

the four played together.

Vinicius looked old, worn out...

he'd go from Canec?o to a clinic
in order to recover his strength

and carry on singing the next day.

The same year Vinicius broke off
his marriage to Gesse...

to have an affair with a 23 year-old
Argentinean called Marta Santamar?a.

Vinicius would never give up.

He was 64 when he married Gilda Matoso.

She was his last passion.

In the abysms of the infinite
A star appeared

And a cry was heard from Earth

Gilda, Gilda...

One time... it's strange,
it's as if I noticed...

Vinicius was getting old just
because of one tiny phrase.

We were some place and someone
said: "Let's go to Canec?o"...

there was some concert on there.

He said: "Oh, but Baretta is on tonight,"...

he wanted to go home to watch TV.

For Vinicius to turn that down...
we were at the bar, in Antonio's,

"the concert is starting,
let's go to Canec?o"...

and he preferred to go home, was too tired.

But I wasn't seeing so much of him
because he was living in Salvador.

Like one day in Bahia
I remember he went out alone...

and came back, I was alone too,
playing guitar...

and he sat down, looking so sad...

and I said nothing, just looked at him.

I looked at him...

And then he said...

He said:

"You're feeling sorry for your
partner, aren't you?"

Above all, there is still
this capacity for tenderness...

this perfect intimacy with silence...

this intimate voice asking
forgiveness for everything...

forgive them, for they are not
guilty for having been born...

there is still
that old respect for the night

these soft voices
this hand feeling before having

this fear to hurt touching

this strong man's hand

filled with gentleness
with everything which exists

there is still this immobility,
this economy of gestures...

this increasing inertia before the infinity

this childish stammering

of those who wish to utter the unutterable

this irreducible refusal of unlived poetry.

I think Vinicius came into the
world to teach us, everyone...

to sew that seed on earth.

The song he sang most during
the time I spent more time with him

it was an American song...

that one with the guy in love saying...

the greatest thing
is to love and be loved in return.

Nowadays I'm absolutely certain
Vinicius came to teach...

to call our attention to this.

That was the crux.

...and sad of eye

But very wise was he

And then one day

One magic day he passed my way

And while we spoke of many things

Fools and kings

This he said to me:

The sweetest thing

You'll ever learn

These girls are so good.

Is just to love...

And be loved in return

I'm not feeling okay...

If you're tired...

I'm a little hungry,
but I don't want to eat yet.

There's some serious spaghetti on its way.

We can handle that.

Vinicius was a person which
is difficult to imagine today.

I'm not sure where Vinicius de
Moraes would be nowadays.

Because he's the opposite
of so much which is now victorious...

Ostentation... all the...

Because he was always so
generous, sometimes na?ve

sometimes wacky.
Something which no longer exists,

neither the wackiness nor the generosity,

much less the naivety,

there is always a result
being sought after...

an objective, something pragmatic...
everything which Vinicius wasn't.

Vinicius is sorely missed these days,

and maybe he really couldn't be
alive and be Vinicius today,

I can't imagine what place he...

he would occupy in this country
in which we live.

In this country and this world.

I always remember Vinicius, he's laughing.

I call him up from time to time,
because escaping Vinicius...

is impossible, because every time
I turn on the radio,

the music I like,
my favorite is bossa nova...

so I'm always involved in him,
whether I like it or not...

Vinicius is always present.

And he always appears.

And it's funny, because it's
never him in the gutter,

desperate or disenchanted...

I think that's so important...

because I think life is an invention...

if you want to invent bad things,
you invent bad things,

if you want to invent good,
you invent good.

So, this business of becoming...

I hate people who are always down...

"the truth about our existence"...

it makes no sense,
I find Beckett a crashing bore.

The truth about our existence...
I tell a lie, no one knows...

what the truth is, if you choose
to say everything stinks...

that doesn't help anyone,
even if you win the Nobel prize.

I prefer people who lift the world up,

given that no one knows the truth,
why would I put it down?

And that's Vinicius, he helps us live...

Brazilians owe him that...

he helped the Brazilian people to be happy.

His whole manner, him speaking,
shaking his body.

And that glass held still,
his foot not moving...

and him talking and laughing...

I always remember Vinicius laughing...

his whole body laughing, shaking all over.

He had such a great laugh.

Time passes, poet...

Spring has arrived here in Ipanema,
filled with your music,

your verses and I'm going to
stick around for a while longer

keeping an eye for you on the waves,
the sparrows and the girls in blossom.

Farewell.

Because you were always Spring in my life

Return to me

Appear once again in my sobs

I love you so much more

I want you so much more

Ah, it's been so long...

Since you departed

Like the spring
Which also watched you leave

Without even a farewell

And nothing else exists In my life

Like your touch

Like your silence

I remember your smile

It's so sad

Moon with no compassion

Always wandering across the sky

Where my fair love is hiding

Where by girlfriend

Go and tell her my pity

And what I ask

All I ask her is
To remember our times of poetry

The nights of passion

And tell him how much I miss him

That I'm alone

That all that is left

Is my sad song

Of loneliness

Someone asked him whether
he believed in reincarnation...

I don't know whether he did.
And they asked him:

"But if you happened to be reincarnated,

what would you like to come back as?"

He said: "Oh, just the same,
only with a slightly bigger cock."