










































Poema de Sete+ Traduções: A Study of Carlos 
Drummond de Andrade’s “Poema de Sete Faces”

Anne Connor
 

São relações perigosas
mas somente no papel.
Que o tradutor inocente
não vá preso pro quartel. 

They are dangerous relationships
yet only on paper.
For the innocent translator
is not sent prisoner to the barracks.1

Although the above excerpt from Carlos Drummond de 
Andrade’s poem “Versinhos de Tradutor” may seem a wry 
commentary on the unaccountability of literary translators, 

it also underlines the difficulties translators face in their work. The 
act of poetic translation is indeed precarious, for it constitutes the 
most extreme form of interpretation. This assertion stems from 
the fact that, unlike poetic analysis, the translator’s work in many 
respects limits the multiple possibilities of meaning suggested 
by each signifier in the poem. Forced to come up with a single 
equivalent in another language, the translator must ultimately 
make a decision as to the poem’s meaning and steadfastly adhere 
to it. Of course this process is not only radical, but also extremely 
difficult, especially when one confronts the complexities of the 
poetic genre, for, beyond meaning, rhyme, rhythm, technique 
and poetic space must be considered. Moreover, the role of the 
historical, political and cultural context of not only the original but 
also the translation itself comes into play. As Bassnett and Trivedi 
point out, “Translation is not an innocent, transparent activity but 
is highly charged with significance at every stage; it rarely, if 
ever, involves a relationship of equality between texts, authors 
or systems.”2

An excellent example of the multiple difficulties involved in 
the translation process can be found in the various translations 
of Carlos Drummond de Andrade’s landmark poem “Poema de 
Sete Faces” (Alguma Poesia 1930). For many years, the number 

1   Carlos Drummond de Andrade, “Versinhos de Tradutor,” Poesía completa 
e prosa (Rio de Janeiro: Companhia José Aguilar Editora, 1973), p. 630. 
Translations are mine unless otherwise noted.
2   Susan Bassnett and Harish Trivedi, Post-Colonial Translation: Theory and 
Practice (London: Routledge, 1998), p. 2. 



Anne Connor    47

of translations (spanning from 1965 to 1997) fittingly mirrored 
the number of stanzas mentioned in the poem’s title. With the 
recent addition of Richard Zenith’s translation in 2015, there 
are now eight published translations of the poem.3 By analyzing 
these distinct translations and at the same time offering my own 
English approximation, this study reflects on the limits inherent 
in translating poetry, while also demonstrating how the art of 
translation can actually further our comprehension of “Poema de 
Sete Faces.” 

Frequently anthologized, “Poema de Sete Faces” 
emblematizes the Modernist’s search for a new means of 
expression. The fragmented self-portrait playfully examines 
conflicting aspects of the poet’s identity and his perceptions of the 
world. Much like a cubist painting, each strophe stands on its own, 
providing a different perspective from the others. The resulting 
disjointedness reflects a simultaneity of perception, which in turn 
opens the possibilities of interpretation. This innovative structure 
has led some critics to not only use “Poema de Sete Faces” as 
a symbol of Brazilian Modernism, but to also employ its concept 
of multidimensionality as an appropriate metaphor for Brazilian 
poetry of the entire twentieth century. Charles A. Perrone, in 
his study of contemporary Brazilian poetry, whose title—Seven 
Faces: Brazilian Poetry Since Modernism—is directly inspired 
from “Poema de Sete Faces,” describes the poem as emblematic 
of the search for a new artistic expression:

In a rhetorical sense, the poetic fragmentation is a move 
away from linearity and dominant discursiveness. Thus 
the internal conflicts of the poem are not defeating, but 
rather constitutive of a searching self and of an artistic 
newness.4  

Indeed, there can be little doubt as to the importance of the 
translation of a poem that has been used to represent the entire 
Brazilian contemporary poetic project. In the following analysis 
of the poem’s eight translations, while recognizing that many 
theorists consider faithful translation of poetry to be “by definition 
impossible” and prefer instead “creative transposition,”5 I seek to 

3    See the accompanying article in this issue of Delos for a transcription of 
the eight translations plus my own version, as well as Drummond de Andrade’s 
original poem, from Poesía completa e prosa, p. 53.
4   Charles A. Perrone, Seven Faces: Brazilian Poetry since Modernism 
(Durham: Duke UP, 1996), p. 16.
5   Roman Jakobson, “On linguistic aspects of translation” (1956) in Theories of 



48    Poema de Sete+ Traduções

privilege the original’s multiplicity of meanings while at the same 
time keeping in mind its important positioning as a landmark 
Modernist poem in the greater Brazilian literary context.

To begin with, a simple inspection of the different titles given to 
the poem in the English translations reflects the disparity among 
them. While both Elizabeth Bishop (1972), Mark Strand (1976) 
and Zenith (2015) entitled their respective translations “Seven(-)
Sided Poem,” Virginia de Araújo chose a more literal route with 
the title “Poem with Seven Faces” (1980). In Portuguese face 
can mean “face,” “countenance,” “visage,” “look,” “expression,” 
“appearance,” “surface,” or “side.” As the English equivalent 
“face” may signify both “side” and “appearance,” it at first 
seems a better choice. However, the preposition “with” does 
not correspond to the Portuguese preposition “de” which in the 
title signifies both “made, or constituted of” and “from” (ie, poem 
related from seven points of view). John A. Nist (1965) and 
Frederick G. Williams (1996) include the element of constitution 
and origin in their respective literal translations: “Poem of Seven 
Faces.” Nevertheless, Nist commits the grave error of separating 
the poem into eight stanzas, neglecting in this way to connect the 
title to the poem’s structure. The title “Seven-Sided Poem,” which 
not only refers to different “sides” or faces, but also indicates the 
different “perspectives” or viewpoints in the poem, seems to be 
just as fruitful. Another option, though, would be “Seven-Faced 
Poem,” which includes the concept of appearance. However, 
there is awkwardness to the phrase “Seven-Faced Poem” which 
is absent in the title “Seven-Sided Poem.” Duane Ackerson and 
Ricardo Sternberg attempted to incorporate the signifier “face” in 
their title through a clever adaptation: “Poem of Seven Facets” 
(1972). This selection privileges the definition of face which 
means “side” or “plane surfaces” of a geometrical shape, while 
at the same time underlining the other definition of “facet” which 
implicates the sides or aspects of someone’s personality. The 
missing connotation in the word “facet,” however, is “expression” 
or “countenance”; nevertheless, it could be argued that the 
signifier “facet” does contain within it the word “face” and thus 
these missing meanings are implicitly suggested. Jack Tomlins’ 
solution, on the other hand, was to give the title its geometrical 
equivalent: “Heptagonal Poem” (1978). Unfortunately, although 
Tomlins’ title stands out for its originality, his attempt severely 

Translation: An Anthology of Essays from Dryden to Derrida, ed. R. Schulte and 
J. Biguenet (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1992), p. 151.



Anne Connor    49

limits the interpretation of the poem by losing the meanings 
“perspective” or “view” which the word “side” generates. 

Eight translations have five distinct titles; this fact is really a 
tribute to Drummond’s artistry as a poet. Each title offers a slightly 
different interpretation of the poem and, read together, they serve 
to open the possibilities of poetic analysis. Of course, one title 
has to be chosen over the others in order for a translation to exist, 
and in this case I prefer the literal translation, as it preserves 
the word “face” with all of its possible connotations. In this way, 
Nist’s and Williams’ titles “Poem of Seven Faces” preserve the 
multiplicity of meanings to be found in the original.

The translations of the first stanza also offer a number of 
marked differences. Whereas almost all of the translators opted 
to render the enigmatic image in the first verse, “um anjo torto,” 
as “a crooked angel,” Tomlins deviates from this pattern in his 
English rendition: “an unjust angel.” Nist and Zenith take the 
opposite tack by choosing the adjective “twisted.” In Portuguese, 
“torto” means “twisted,” “crooked,” “bent,” “distorted,” and 
“deformed” as well as “wrong,” “unfair,” “unjust,” or “askew.” The 
choice of the other five translators, “a crooked angel,” makes an 
effort to incorporate the idea of “twisted” with that of “dishonest” 
or “not to be trusted.” Again, I argue that the more successful 
translations are those that capture, at least to some degree, the 
multiple meanings which were hinted at in the original poem. 

In the next two lines, the tone of the poem becomes an issue 
for the translators. Modernism, it will be recalled, was a revolt 
against the staid Parnassianism, with its reverence for form 
and prestigious language, so the maintenance of Drummond’s 
conversational tone is essential in capturing the Modernist 
spirit. The verb “vivem” is translated as “live” in all of the English 
versions except those of Ackerson-Sternberg and Tomlins. The 
signifier “inhabit,” used by Ackerson and Sternberg, has a more 
scientific connotation than “vivem,” setting a tone far from the 
colloquialism of the original. Likewise, Tomlins’ “dwell,” which 
poetically may constitute an improvement on the original, is not as 
faithful a rendering as the verb used on an everyday basis: “live.” 
The third line plays quite an important role in any interpretation 
of “Poema de Sete Faces,” not only in the establishment of the 
poem’s tone, but also in the construction of the Modernist poetic 
project. Here, the poetic voice offers direct advice on the way one 
should approach life, and by extension on the manner in which 
one should approach literature. Perrone defines the French word 



50    Poema de Sete+ Traduções

gauche as “maladjusted” or “marginalized” and sees this concept 
as crucial to Drummond’s poetics: “the oddly formed ‘Poema 
de Sete Faces’ incarnates the general break from strictures of 
the past.”6 It seems quite clear that Drummond’s tone is highly 
informal at this point of the poem: “Vai, Carlos, ser gauche na 
vida.” The playful and rather mischievous tone of the fallen 
angel’s declaration is best captured in Mark Strand’s translation: 
“Go on, Carlos, be gauche in life.” The other translations are 
either too formal (Tomlins’ “Go forth, Carlos!”) or overbearingly 
authoritative (“Go Carlos!” from Nist, or “Carlos, go on!” from 
Bishop). Departing from the other translations, Zenith decided 
against leaving the French term in his text: “Carlos, get ready 
to be a misfit in life!” While the term “misfit” certainly maintains 
a colloquial tone, the phrase “get ready to become” implies that 
Carlos’ lot in life has been predestined by the angel. Yet in the 
original, the angel is encouraging him to go on and be gauche, 
suggesting such an attitude belied an inclination already within 
him. 

An interesting interpretation of the poem, which helps to 
support my belief that the tone should be mischievously playful, 
has been presented by Thomas Colchie, who identifies a 
connection between “Poema de Sete Faces” and another well-
known poem by Drummond: “Canto ao homem do povo Charlie 
Chaplin” [“Song for that Man of the People Charlie Chaplin”7]:

The figure of Carlitos, as Chaplin was known in Brazil, 
offers perhaps the greatest single key to Drummond’s 
poetics: the consummate artist who appears not to be 
an artist at all; the down-and-out clown who manages 
to stumble along life’s tightrope, forever nearly, yet not 
ever quite falling off: “Carlos, go on! Be gauche in life!”8 

The connection between Carlos Drummond de Andrade 
and Charlie Chaplin adds yet another dimension to the 
autobiographical component of the poem and certainly favors not 
only the more playful translation established by Strand, but also 
the suggestion that Carlos’ gauche tendencies come from within, 
and are only encouraged by the angel. 

6   Perrone, Seven Faces, p. 17. Italics mine.
7   Translated by Thomas Colchie. Review: Literature and Arts of the Americas  
10.17 (1976), p. 71.
8   Thomas Colchie and Mark Strand, eds., Traveling in the Family, Selected 
Poems by Carlos Drummond de Andrade (New York: Random House, 1986), 
p. X.



Anne Connor    51

The second stanza serves to highlight some more intriguing 
differences between the translations. The first two lines seem 
simple enough in Portuguese: “As casas espiam os homens 
/ que correm atrás de mulheres.” However, they have been 
translated in seven different ways. For example, although Araújo’s 
translation appears much more poetically formal (“The houses 
mount surveillance / on the woman-chasers”), it betrays the 
simplicity of the original. Ackerson and Sternberg, on the other 
hand, at first avoid the literal translation, “the houses look at men” 
(not “spy” on men), but then choose literalness in “who run after 
women,” when the correct idiomatic expression in English would 
be “who chase after women.” Williams and Tomlins reverse these 
decisions with much more success, as the literal version followed 
by the idiomatic expression maintains the simplicity of the verses 
as well as their original meaning. 

The third and fourth lines in the second stanza also present 
interesting difficulties in the translation process. The original 
verse “A tarde talvez fosse azul/ não houvesse tantos desejos” 
is translated by Ackerson and Sternberg as “The afternoon 
might be clear/ If it weren’t for so many desires.” To begin with, 
their decision to translate “azul” as “clear” seemingly implies a 
narrowing of the text’s meaning. Logically, a blue sky is a clear 
one; however, in Portuguese “blue” also connotes happiness, as 
in “tudo azul,” [everything is fine] and therefore maintaining the 
color in the translation accentuates both the clarity and element 
of happiness.  However, by choosing the adjective “clear,” they 
avoid the color blue’s negative connotation in English.  The fact 
that in English “blue” can mean sad, as in “the blues,” creates 
an alternate reading in English, absent in the Portuguese. More 
important, however, is the fact that the ellipsis of the conjunction 
“se” [if] in the conditional clause of the third and fourth verses has 
led to two principle groups of translations. In the original verse “A 
tarde talvez fosse azul / não houvesse tantos desejos” Andrade’s 
omission of “se” has led some translators to insert it at the 
beginning of the lines, “If the evening perhaps were blue/ there 
wouldn’t be so many desires” (Williams) and “If the afternoon 
had been blue / there might have been less desire” (Bishop), 
whereas others place it in the middle: “The afternoon might be 
clear / If it weren’t for so many desires” (Ackerson and Sternberg) 
and “If desire weren’t so rampant, / the afternoon might be blue” 
(Zenith).  These two interpretations bring up the question, is it the 
desires which determine the clarity/happiness of the afternoon? 
Or rather the lack of blueness/clarity which affects the quantity of 



52    Poema de Sete+ Traduções

desires?  In both instances, the causal relationship between the 
poet’s interior feelings and the exterior natural world imply both 
the strength of his emotions and the frustration of not being able 
to control them.  In my reading of the poem, the “houses” that 
are spying on men who chase after women refer to the societal 
strictures surrounding sexual desire, which has manifested 
itself in clearly binary, passive/aggressive gender roles. The 
suggestion that “perhaps if the evening were blue / there wouldn’t 
be so much desire,” implies that pent-up yearnings (desire) might 
grow stronger because of the grey skies (social restrictions). 
Alternatively, if “blue” refers to “clarity” and “happiness,” and the 
causality is reversed, “The afternoon might be clear / If it weren’t 
for so many desires,” then those inner desires are what is causing 
the outside world to be dark. The poetic voice in this case would 
clearly link desire with shame brought on by Catholic guilt.  Either 
way, there is an affirmation of sensual desire and frustration as 
an essential part of one of the poet’s “faces.” 

Another seemingly small point of difference in the translation 
of these lines can be found in Williams’ version. Here “tarde” is 
translated as “evening” instead of “afternoon,” as the other five 
translators had done (1996, p. 223). Although “afternoon” may 
be accurate literally, “evening” does constitute one of the lexical 
exceptions for “tarde,” and also adds to the sexual tension that 
continues into the poem’s third stanza, as the poet is preoccupied 
with bare legs.

O bonde passa cheia de pernas:
pernas brancas pretas amarelas 
Para que tanta perna, meu Deus, pergunta meu coração
Porém meus olhos
não perguntam nada.  (1973 [1930], p. 53)

The third stanza loses its musicality in English no matter how it 
is translated. In Portuguese, the agreement of the color adjectives 
with the feminine plural noun produces a strong phonetic effect: 
“pernas / pernas brancas pretas amarelas.” Both the sameness in 
sound and the omission of the comma between each color work 
to group the modifiers together, contributing to the suggestion 
that all of the legs, no matter the color, are equally attractive to 
the poetic voice. It is impossible to achieve the same rhythm 
with the English word “legs.” For example, Bishop’s repetition of 
the word “legs” is overdone, causing the verse to sound almost 
like a poem by Dr. Seuss (“white legs, black legs, yellow legs”).
Likewise, Williams’ and Araújo’s decision to separate the legs 



Anne Connor    53

into two groups, “white legs, black and yellow ones,” creates a 
dichotomy which did not exist in the original, privileging “white” 
over “black and yellow.” However, Zenith’s solution to repeat the 
conjunction “and” in “white and black and yellow legs” helps to 
emphasize the sameness in the poetic voice’s physical attraction. 
This stanza serves to confirm the inescapability of desire for the 
lyric “I”, while at the same time introducing the guilt arising from 
religious constraints. Even though the poetic voice’s heart might 
ask God why there should be so much temptation, his eyes do 
not question the multitude of attractive legs at all, suggesting 
he will go on being naturally gauche despite the Catholic social 
norms that try to impede him.

The fourth stanza offers one noteworthy discrepancy between 
the translations with the adjective “raros” in the fourth line: “Tem 
poucos, raros amigos.” The dictionary defines “raros” as “rare,” 
“seldom,” “unusual,” or “scarce,” which seems to be Tomlin’s 
interpretation in his verse “His friends are few and far between,” 
as well as Williams’ rather unimaginative attempt: “He has few, 
very few friends.” However, other translators interpret “raro” as 
“rare,” in the sense of unusual and therefore prized: “He has few 
and precious friends” (Strand). In this instance I believe both 
interpretations are valid; however, in order to open the English 
version to both possibilities, it seems fitting to simply use the 
cognate “rare,” as Nist did in his original translation: “He has a 
few, rare friends.” 

The translators can be divided into two groups regarding their 
interpretations of the first line in the fifth stanza: “Meu Deus, por 
que me abandonaste.” Whereas Araújo, Bishop, Strand, and 
Tomlins adopt the King James Bible version of Jesus’ lament: 
“My God, why hast Thou forsaken me” (Matthew 27:46), which 
though formal sounding, when considering the influence of 
Shakespeare’s era on modern-day English, is arguably the 
most well-known translation of the Biblical verses in English. On 
the other hand, Williams and Ackerson-Sternberg opt to follow 
Andrade’s translation of Matthew 27:46 to Portuguese, without 
adding the embellishments from Old English: “My God why have 
you abandoned me” and “My God, why did you abandon me.” 
This latter selection by Ackerson-Sternberg seems to be the 
more appropriate of the two, since the original text is written in 
the preterit, and it again keeps in line with Andrade’s colloquial 
tone.



54    Poema de Sete+ Traduções

The sixth stanza causes the most difficulties in the translation 
due to the rhyme both in the first and second verses, as well as 
the third and fifth verses: 

Mundo mundo vasto mundo
se eu me chamasse Raimundo
seria una rima, não seria uma solução. 
Mundo mundo vasto mundo,
mais vasto é meu coração. 

Strand and Tomlins tried to recreate the first rhyme with “world” 
and “Harold” in their versions. The problem with this approach, 
however, lies in the weakness of this rhyme in English. In the 
context of this stanza, the poetic voice disparages rhyme for its 
empty simplicity. “World” and “Harold,” however, constitute a 
difficult or contrived rhyme which in turn goes against the poet’s 
argument of rhyme being simple or “easy.” The problems with 
Bishop’s translation are numerous. First of all, “universe” goes 
beyond the idea of “mundo” or “world” implied in Drummond’s 
poem. Secondly, the rhyme created with Eugene and “mean” 
ignores the structure as well as the content of the original poem. 
The search for a solution to a literary dilemma is completely 
absent in Bishop’s version. Araújo’s attempt is admirable because 
it manages to incorporate the poet’s central concern about the 
art of writing into the very same rhyme scheme in Drummond’s 
original:

Sphere, sphere vast sphere
If I were a sonneteer
It would be a rhyme, not a solution.
Sphere sphere vast sphere 
More vast is my emotion. 

The rhyme scheme AABAB is maintained just as it is in the 
original. In addition, the noun “sonneteer” recalls the Parnassians, 
who were of course disparaged by the Modernists. In this case, 
the translation helps the reader to better understand the original 
stanza and its implied criticism of the old poetic order. However, 
the noun “sphere” does not encompass the same meaning as 
“world” and the declaration that the poetic voice’s emotion is more 
vast than the vast sphere does not quite capture the original, in 
which the poetic voice declared his heart to be vaster than the 
world. 

Both Williams and Ackerson-Sternberg also provide interesting 
solutions to this dilemma. However, these two translations add a 
religious element that, while missing in these specific lines of the 



Anne Connor    55

original, certainly contribute to the overall theme of Catholic guilt 
within the poem.  Williams uses the word “christened” instead 
of “named” which establishes the poetic voice’s Christianity, but 
the name “McEarld,” which has a very Irish ring to it, places him 
within an entirely different cultural context, possibly problematic 
for a poem that specifically represents Brazilian Modernism.9 
Ackerson and Sternberg’s version also presents complications. 
The selection of the name Job, of course, sends us to the biblical 
character who lost his family, wealth, and health, yet remained 
faithful to God and was eventually restored to good fortune in his 
old age. This is an interesting choice in name, especially in light 
of the previous stanza in which God has apparently abandoned 
the poetic voice. However, the added dimension has little to do 
with the original poem, for Job is a very uncommon name, unlike 
Raimundo. Zenith takes the opposite stance by choosing the 
rather common name, Clyde. Unfortunately, “Clyde” is not free 
from cultural connotations either, and is actually used in slang to 
refer to an “unsophisticated person” or “yokel.”10

An important consideration missing from all of the translations 
is the meaning within the name Raimundo itself. Defined as 
“sábio protetor,” [wise protector] “aquele que protege com seus 
conselhos,” [he who protects with his counsel]11 the name not 
only remits us to Portuguese royalty, Raimundo de Borgonha 
(1070–1107), but also contains within it the semantemes, “rei” 
(king) and “mundo” (world).12 In this way, by writing “se eu me 
chamasse Raimundo” Drummond is pondering not just what 
would happen if his name were different, but if he were king of the 
world. González and Treece, who translate just the sixth stanza 
of “Poema de sete faces” in their analysis of Brazilian Modernist 
poetry, make an impressive attempt to include Drummond’s 
reference to royalty in their version: 

World world world so vast
if my name were Henry the Last

9   It should be added, however, that a translator’s motivations are not limited 
to solely capturing the original context of the poem. If the intent is to recreate 
the poem in a new cultural context, then Williams’ Irish version offers not only a 
name that rhymes perfectly, but also an invitation to compare Brazilian and Irish 
cultural constructs.
10   “Clyde,” Def. 1. Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2011. Oxfordreference.com.  
22 Nov. 2016.
11  “Raimundo,” Def. 1. Dicionario de Nomes  Proprios. Dicionariodenomes 
proprios.com.br. 22 Nov. 2016.  
12   I am grateful to Charles Perrone for pointing out this reading to me.

http://oxfordreference.com
https://www.dicionariodenomesproprios.com.br/
https://www.dicionariodenomesproprios.com.br/


56    Poema de Sete+ Traduções

it would be a rhyme, not a solution. 
World world world so vast 
much vaster is my heart.13 

However, their attempt fails to recreate the rhyme in the third 
and fifth verses, and while “the Last” refers to royal lineage, it 
also implies an end to it. González and Treece contend that 
while the “Modernists of the 1920s were the first to engage 
imaginatively, critically, and consciously with the processes of 
economic and social change which brought the initial phase of 
capitalist modernization in Brazil” (p. 66), Drummond preferred to 
adopt an alternative, ironic stance regarding how his identity tied 
in with economic and social change. Still, I read the problematic 
sixth stanza of “Poema de sete faces” as deftly speaking to the 
emptiness of his poetic predecessors, the Parnassians, and their 
facile rhymes, as well as voicing his clear allegiance to the heart 
over wealth and fame in the economic power struggles of the 
time. 

Given the difficulty of the sixth stanza, no existing translation of 
which fully expresses the original meaning, in my own translation 
I propose the following compromise:

World world vast world
If my name were Earl
It would be a rhyme, but not a solution
World world vast world
More vast is my heart’s resolution.

The assonant rhyme in “world” and “Earl” seem preferable 
to me over the imperfect consonance of “world” and “Harold.” 
While “Earl” does not imply “king of the world” it functions as a 
semanteme of earl, literally meaning “nobleman of a rank between 
viscount and marquess,” so in that way it mimics Drummond’s use 
of Raimundo.However, it still does not form a perfect consonant 
rhyme. Another problem with this translation is the change in 
meaning of the fifth verse. In order to achieve the rhyme with 
“solution” in the third verse, it is no longer the poetic voice’s “heart” 
which is vaster than the world, but rather his “heart’s resolution.” 
This, to me, however, is an acceptable modification. To end with 
the monosyllabic signifier “heart” for “coração” leaves the reader 
feeling empty-handed (see, for example, Tomlins’ version), as the 
stanza lacks the tight closure found in the original. The “heart’s 

13  Mike González and David Treece, The Gathering of Voices: Twentieth-
Century Poetry of Latin America (New York: Verso, 1992), p. 72.



Anne Connor    57

resolution,” on the other hand, more successfully emulates 
the original rhyme scheme in the Portuguese; plus, the word 
“resolution” implies the adoption of a new way of thinking—or in 
this case of feeling, since it is the heart’s resolution—which goes 
along with the poetic voice’s affirmation of the heart’s eminence 
over wealth and power. For Drummond, poetry should no longer 
be limited to inflexible rhyme schemes that stultify the poet’s 
authentic expression. On the contrary, poetry should take into 
account the vastness of the poet’s heart, allowing in this way 
full freedom of expression. Still, even after having studied nine 
distinct translations, I can make no claims of superiority in my 
approach to the ever-elusive sixth stanza. 

Without a doubt, the complexity of the sixth stanza, with its 
interweaving of rhyme, poetic space, and meaning—not only 
within the poem, but on a metapoetic level—in a sense dooms 
“Poema de Sete Faces” to be forever lost in translation. One of 
the best solutions to this difficulty, it seems to me, is to footnote 
any translation of the poem with a brief summary of the difficulties 
inherent in the translation of the sixth stanza, or, at the very least, 
to footnote the translation with a copy of the original stanza in 
Portuguese. In this way, the reader will at least be aware of this 
loss. 

Finally, the last stanza deserves some attention: 
Mas essa lua 
mas esse conhaque
botam a gente comovido como o diabo. 

The ironic note evident in the last line of the original poem has 
been translated into various idiomatic phrases referencing hell or 
the devil. Of the three translations utilizing hell—“shake a person 
up like hell” (Nist), “are hell on a person’s feelings” (Strand), and 
“make me sentimental as hell” (Zenith) — Zenith’s stands out as 
capturing the poet’s “comovido” or “sentimental” state. However, 
the decision to employ the image of hell, rather than the devil, 
causes the reader to miss the connection between the devil and 
the anjo torto at the beginning of the poem. Worse yet, Williams’ 
version, “put one in a crazy mood” completely eliminates the 
infernal overtones in the poetic voice’s predicament. Of the 
attempts to incorporate the reference to the devil, Araújo’s is 
unfortunately quite awkward (“work on a man’s feelings like 
a devil”) due to its lack of idiomatic accuracy. Ackerson and 
Sternberg come closer to the original with “moves me like the 
devil,” whereas Tomlins’ verse, “turn me on like the very devil” 



58    Poema de Sete+ Traduções

places an overtly positive emphasis on the theme of sexual desire 
in the poem, although such an upbeat connotation is missing 
from the original. In comparison, Elizabeth Bishop’s translation 
of this last stanza is by far the superior interpretation. Her 
incorporation of an English idiomatic expression, “play the devil 
with one’s emotions,” not only reflects and helps to explain the 
ambiguity of the different perspectives throughout the poem, but 
it also adds a light, comic note, and thus underlines the difference 
between the Parnassian approach to poetry, which took itself 
very seriously and, in general, did not create a space for humor, 
and its Modernist counterpart, which embraced not only humor 
but all topics previously deemed “unworthy” of poetry. 

As Carlos Drummond de Andrade indicated in his poem 
“Versinhos de Tradutor,” the art of translation constitutes a 
dangerous enterprise. Not only does it require the most radical 
act of interpretation, but it also brings with it the heavy burden 
involved in adequately representing the work of a writer from 
a different culture and time period, while at the same time 
attempting to create a consistent literary aesthetic for the poem in 
the target language.14 Through the eight published translations of 
Drummond’s landmark piece “Poema de Sete Faces,” and my own 
attempt, we have seen how easy it is for the original poem to slide 
through the many cracks that exist between languages. Although 
one could conclude that “Poema de Sete Faces” is doomed, in 
part, to be lost in translation; I believe, on the contrary, that the 
critical dialogue which results from a contrast and comparison of 
distinct translations of a single poem can actually help us better 
understand the original poem’s meaning. In addition, this process 
can only improve the art of translation, as the translators can thus 
learn from the shortcomings and achievements of others. 

14   Of course, there can be many different motivations in translating poetry, 
including cultural transplantation, or the desire to “domesticize” culture-specific 
elements in order to make the original more accessible for readers in the target 
language; see Louise M. Haywood, Thinking Spanish Translation (London: 
Routledge, 1995), p. 80.  In addition, poetry translations can be motivated 
primarily by creativity, leading to a much more “free” definition of translation, 
an idea taken to its extreme by Yves Bonnefoy: “You can translate by simply 
declaring one poem the translation of another”; see Yves Bonnefoy, “Translating 
Poetry” in Theories of Translation, ed. Schulte and Biguenet, pp. 186-192, at 
186.


