Antonio Carlos Maria Bresil - Marie-Paule Belle

Je l’appellerais Antonio Carlos Maria Bresil.

Il aurait plein de sel sur la peau, sur les doigts, sur les cils.

C’est l’enfant qui dort dans mes rêves.

Se réveillera-t-il?

Je ne le sais pas.

Il danserait pieds nus sur les couteaux brillants de la mer,

Dans la pluie équatoriale d’un piano noir de concert.

C’est l’enfant de mes rêves, il naîtrait sans passé, sans regrets,

Et libre déjà.

Il est encore en exil dans ma mémoire.

J’imagine son profil et son histoire.

Je sais que mon rêve a son état civil.

Je l’appellerais Antonio Carlos Maria Bresil,

Et nous irions nous cacher dans le labyrinthe des îles.

C’est l’enfant du soleil et du rythme secret de mon sang.

Je l’entends déjà.

Il jouerait d’une flûte en roseau comme un nouveau Dieu Pan.

Il prendrait des poissons rien qu’avec ses chansons dans le vent.

Dans le sable il découvrirait des paillettes de diamant,

Et il danserait.

Il est encore en exil dans ma mémoire.

J’imagine son profil et son histoire.

Je sais que mon rêve a son état civil.

Je l’appellerait Antonio Carlos Maria Bresil.

Sans même s’en apercevoir, il traversait les villes.

Dans toutes les cités mortes il ranimerait les brasiers,

Et on le suivrait.

Son rire ferait voler en éclats les murs des prisons,

Et à pleines dents il mordrait dans les fruits de la passion.

On l’appellerait Antonio Carlos Maria Bresil

Un jour, s’il venait.

Mais nous rencontera-t-il?

Je veux le croire.

J’imagine son profil et son histoire.

Je sais que mon rêve est encore en exil.

I would call him Antonio Carlos Maria Brazil.

He would have plenty of salt on the skin, on the fingers, on the eyelashes.

He is the child who sleeps in my dreams.

Will he wake up?

I do not know.

He would dance barefoot on the shining knives of the sea,

In the equatorial rain of a concert black piano.

He's the child of my dreams, he would be born without a past, without regrets,

And free already.

He is still in exile in my memory.

I imagine his profile and his story.

I know my dream has its marital status.

I would call him Antonio Carlos Maria Brazil,

And we would hide in the maze of islands.

It is the child of the sun and the secret rhythm of my blood.

I can already hear it.

He would play a reed flute like a new God Pan.

He would catch fish just with his songs in the wind.

In the sand he would find diamond spangles,

And he would dance.

He is still in exile in my memory.

I imagine his profile and his story.

I know my dream has its marital status.

I would call him Antonio Carlos Maria Brazil.

Without even realizing it, he passed through the cities.

In all the dead cities he would kindle the fires,

And we would follow him.

His laughter would shatter prison walls,

And he would bite into the passion fruit.

We would call him Antonio Carlos Maria Brazil

One day, if he came.

But will he meet us?

I want to believe it.

I imagine his profile and his story.

I know my dream is still in exile.