Jangadeiros on the sand
Fishermen that uses jangadas
Night falls as if it were late afternoon
It is the end of Summer vacation here in Brazil.
In-mast furling, muffle sails,
Pack up junk,
Lift irons.
Set sail, sucked, pushing their jangadas[1],
Heavier on the soft sand.
If the weather is bad,
Happy to be home early,
Sad, because the fishing was shallow.
On the contrary of lovers,
They arrive at dawn, leave at night.
They bought baits the day before
Each as defeat and prey
Meats, sausages, Viennese sausages,
Wheat or cassava flour,
Coconuts, corn, ice,
Soft drinks, hard drinks, sweets…
They provided their lunches
For the long streak.
There they go pulling, pushing, their boats
Only one if the ship is light,
Captain and crew in heavy crafts.
Dawning, beacons in a row,
Bear away, run aground.
Raise masts, stay if necessary,
Fix cordage,
Hoist cloths, streamers, and pennants.
Ready their hooks, lines, or nets
Boast their baits.
Light pirogues along the beach border
They broaden out, sail alongshore,
According to favourable winds.
Sympathy and services, also baits,
Hook, hunt, fish,
Tireless,
In drizzle or burning sun
In uniform and nautical vests.
Sailors help each other,
Give scoop,
Bosses give hints to the crew.
Their fangs, alien to their toil
Of them they use,
Call, demand,
Lolled in the sand
Or hovering, gliding in coastal shippings
Back to sand, they call jangadeiros,
Tanning in the sun
Or protected by their little genoes.
Served well, they chat, eat,
Drink, nap,
Or pensive, self-absorbed
Enjoy so much beauty.
Long day.
Jangadeiros, missions accomplished,
In-mast furling, muffle sails,
Pack up junk,
Lift irons.
Set sail
Tired out,
Pushing, pulling, their jangadas
Heavier on soft sand
It is my people, my kind,
Good, strength, simple folk,
Believer, in God on waiting.
Tomorrow, God permitting,
The same again.