Supervisions - sometimes it changes your mind

Yesterday, I had a supervision with Julian Philips and we were talking about Emily Dickinson’s “How happy is the little stone” poem. Julian Philips, made me understand that this poem might be to short for the 4 to 5 minutes of fast choral piece.

At the end of our supervision, Julian suggested that I may look through the poetry of E.E Cummings, and maybe find a Singaporean poet.

So today, I did a research and I discover a couple of things: On the one hand, I found a Singaporean-Portuguese dialect based in Singapore, in a small town called Malacca. This poem, is a popular poem and it is written in the Singaporean-Portuguese dialect - Kristang.

[Kristang]
“Keng teng fortuna filha na Malaka,
Nang keren partih bai otru tera.
Para ki tudu jenti teng amizadi,
Kontu partih logu fikah saudai.
Oh Malaka, tera di San Francisku.
Oh Malaka undi teng sempri fresku,
Yo kereh fikah na Malaka.

[English translation]
“Who is lucky stays in Malacca,
Doesn’t want to go to another land.
In here everyone has friendship,
When one leaves soon has saudade.
Oh Malacca, land of Saint Francis.
Oh Malacca, where there’s always freshness,
I want to stay in Malaca."

As soon as I discovered this, I had other idea for my choral piece. I remembered about Alvaro de Campos’ poem Lisbon with its houses of various colours. So, I decided to link both poems: Malacca and Lisbon, using the Kristang language and Portuguese to contrast.

[Portuguese - original]
"Lisboa com suas casas
De várias cores.
Lisboa com suas casas
De várias cores
Lisboa com suas casas
De várias cores…
À força de diferente, isto é monótono.
Como à força de sentir, fico só a pensar.

Se de noite, deitado mas desperto,
Na lucidez inútil de não poder dormir,
Quero imaginar qualquer coisa
E surge sempre outra (porque há sono, e
Porque há sono, um bocado de sonho),
Quero alongar a vida com que imagino
Por grandes palmares fantásticos,
Mas não vejo mais,
Contra uma espécie de lado de dentro de 
Pálpebras,

Que Lisboa com as suas
De várias cores.
Sorrio porque, aqui, deitado, é outra coisa.
A força de monótono, é diferente.
E à força de ser eu, durmo e esqueço que
existo.
Ficar só, sem mim, que esqueci porque
Durmo,
Lisboa com suas casas
De várias cores."

[English translation]

“Lisbon with its houses
Of various colours.
Lisbon with its houses
Of various colours.
Lisbon with its houses
Of various colours…

By virtue of being different, this is monotonous,
Just as, by virtue of feeling, I do nothing but
thank.

At night, lying down but awake
In the useless lucidity of not being able to sleep,
I try to imagine something
But something else always appears (since I’m
Sleepy
And, being sleepy, a bit dreamy).
I try to extend the range of my imagination
To fantastic, sprawling palm groves,
But all I see
On what seems to be the inside of my eyelids
Is Lisbon with its houses
Of various colours.
I smile because here, lying down it’s something else
By virtue of being monotonous, it’s different
And, by virtue of being I, I fall asleep and forget
I exist.

What remains, without me, whom I’ve forgotten since I’m
Asleep,
Is Lisbon with its houses,
Of various colours.”

Now, I need a poem to link both cities.