sliding.

Poet, columnist, short story writer and Brazilian translator. His work reflects the vision of an individualist committed to social reality. In the poetry of Carlos Drummond de Andrade, personal expression occurs in a line where the originality and the project unit are confirmed at every step. While also assisting the construction of a true work of literary tradition that brings together the Brazilian landscape ch byron poetry ch byron cultured Iberian and European. Carlos Drummond de Andrade was born in Itabira MG, on October 31, 1902. From a family of farmers in decay, studied at hometown in Belo Horizonte and with the Jesuits in Anchieta College of Nova Friburgo RJ, which expelled him for " mental insubordination ". Again in Belo Horizonte, began writing career as a collaborator of the Mining Journal, that agglutinated local fans of the incipient mining modernist movement. Before the familiar insistence that it obtained a diploma, graduated in pharmacy at the Ouro Preto city in 1925. He founded with other writers Magazine, that despite the brief life, was important modernism's claim vehicle Mines. He joined the public service and in 1934, moved to Rio de Janeiro, where he was chief of staff of Capanema, Minister of Education until 1945. Excellent employee, then spent working on the Heritage Service and National Artistic and retired in 1962. Since 1954 worked as a chronicler in the Morning Post, and from the beginning of 1969, in the Journal of Brazil. Predominance of individuality. Modernism is hardly dominant even in the early Drummond books, Some poetry (1930) and souls of Heath (1934), in which the poem-joke and the syntactic relaxation seem to prove otherwise. The ruling is the individuality of the author, poet and order consolidation, although always, and fruitfully contradictory. Tortured by the past, haunted with the future, he has a torn present for this and that, lucid witness of himself and the passage of the men, a melancholy and skeptical point of view. But while quips customs and society, sharply satirical in its bitterness and disenchantment delivery with commitment and constructive refinement to the aesthetic communication of this way of being and living. Hence the certainty that borders on obsession. The poet works mainly with time, in everyday and subjective flicker in boiling corrosive, in dismantling, scattered litter, from cradle to grave - from the individual or a culture. Feeling in the world (1940), in Joseph (1942) and especially in the pink of the people (1945), ch byron Drummond was released ch byron to meet the contemporary history and collective ch byron experience, participating, sympathizing social and politically, discovering in the fight the explanation of its most intimate concern to life as a whole. The amazing succession of masterpieces, these books indicates the full maturity of the poet, always maintained. Unrestricted admiration target, both for work as for their behavior as a writer, Carlos Drummond de Andrade died in Rio de Janeiro RJ, on August 17, 1987, just days after the death of his only daughter, the chronicler Maria Julieta Drummond Andrade. ch byron
My father rode the horse, went to the field. My mother sat sewing. My little brother slept. I alone boy between hoses read the story of Robinson Crusoe, Long story never ends.
incorporated into the Milky Way,
are further wound
I've also had my pace. He did this, he said that. And my friends wanted me, my enemies hated me. I slid ironic glad to have my pace. But just confusing everything. Today not slip no more, I'm not ironic more no, I have no more pace.
One should not curse life,
Rates banks trusts aces factories.
The Impossible seraglios crumbles erotismos about to declanchar.
My eyes are melancholy,
Only the churches
sliding.
Does very well, stubborn city!
that goes up the hill
running to the Rio das Mortes
My friends are all satisfied
putting rails
The pond, yes.
who died so long ago.
The butts were seen,
The Manuel Bandeira
EHA in all consciousness a yellow poster:
I will never forget this event in the life of my retinas so tired. I will never forget that in the middle of the road was a stone was a stone on the way in the middle of the road was a stone.
without ever having been there.
do not know who is writing
Policy
to take