O forró do papai

A pinga no bafo dava

pr’um menino ficar tonto,

mas com força eu segurava;

o forró fora do ponto.

Dançar, até as panelas

pularem da prateleira;

refletida em todas elas,

minha mãe de cara feia.

A mão travada em meu pulso;

o nó do dedo ferido.

E pra cada passo avulso

vinha a fivela no ouvido.

Marcava em minha moleira

o passo com palma suja

até me largar na esteira

sem que eu largasse da blusa.

***

MY PAPA’S WALTZ

The whiskey on your breath

Could make a small boy dizzy;

But I hung on like death:

Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans

Slid from the kitchen shelf;

My mother’s countenance

Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist

Was battered on one knuckle;

At every step you missed

My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head

With a palm caked hard by dirt,

Then waltzed me off to bed

Still clinging to your shirt.

______

ROETHKE, Theodore. My papa’s waltz. In: ______. The collected poems of Theodore Roethke. New York: Anchor Books, 1991. p. 43.