• The Dream Issue

    Erica Zingano

    The Dream Issue
    Whatsapp image 2019 07 09 at 15.53.43

    The Grapevine Telegraph

    Érica Zíngano, Interview + 2 poems

    What Portuguese word did you miss the most when you lived in Europe?

    I didn’t miss anything in a nostalgic way or something like this I just adapted to my environment, I was living, making a life there. I adapted to other circumstances. So I never lost my Portuguese in fact. I just added layers. A French layer, a German layer.

    2 contemporary Brazilian poets that people have to read

    Again, I don’t think people have to read them. Life happens by chance. Things happen to us in the flow. Under circumstances. Not under obligation. Of course I can recommend 2 women that I like a lot, I have worked with them both, and both have been translated into english: Marília Garcia and Adelaide Ivánova. I like them both for different reasons. Oh, and also Carla Diacov.

    Did Bolsonaro really get stabbed yes or no?

    I don’t know what this word "stabbed" means. So I don’t know if he got this "stabbed" yes or not. But Bolsonaro is bullshit, anyway. But you know we are living in a kind of complot or conspiracy here. We are living in a coup d’etat and we also have this big drone flying over our heads, the U.S.A. We are an experiment of capitalism, it’s very clear. I don’t know how we are going to survive this experiment. The same way people survive in other historical times.

    Stab = "facada"

    Yes, I think the stabbing was fake. There's a very good documentary about it.

    Best advice for writing a funny poem?

    I don’t know what advice to give. If you put yourself in a situation where you can laugh at yourself it’s a good start. So if you are able to manage this public laughing you are very able to touch people. Because laughing is about fragility. For me it’s very natural.

    Tell us about the poem "Today I went to buy bread"

    The poem "This morning I went to buy bread" is part of a longer series, only 3 sections are presented here. I wrote this poem when I met Marie Carangi in Berlin. I was fascinated by her presence, her energy, she is very alive. Also I really like her work, so I bought this T-shirt from her.
    So there is this guy at the bakery near my house in Berlin who started flirting with me every time I went there. And then one time I was wearing this T-shirt and he started a conversation with me about the shirt, that’s something I don’t mention in the poem. He tried to read the shirt and thought it said “Bruschetta” which is an Italian word for food. And because of that I started to write a poem when I got home that day.
    It really made me think- I was in Berlin at the time and people cannot recognize this word written on my shirt. If I had been in Brazil people would have been able to understand this shirt.
    But then I moved back to Brazil, and I was here in Brazil during the elections. The third section of the poem "Today I went to buy bread" was written after the election. Brazil is completely crazy with all the signs and misinterpretation in the media, all the misreading. So this poem is also about misreading. Maybe you cannot understand in your context but in Brazil, people had strong reactions to this shirt had the word “Pussy” [Buceta] written on it, simply because the letters were red. So I used the red lettering from the shirt to play with the clichés that circulate in our time in Brazil. The communist clichés. In the poem I try to create two different sides arguing about this shirt: one left-wing and one right-wing. They argue with each other about the truth of this shirt but there is no truth in fact. Because this word [Buceta] is the plurality of meaning. So I’m playing a lot with this. It’s not the first poem where I’m playing this kind of game with meaning and interpretation.










    THIS MORNING I WENT TO BUY BREAD...




    this morning
    I went to buy bread
    at the turkish bakery
    beneath my house
    it was closed
    the second option
    closest to my house
    is the organic supermarket
    bio company
    it sells french bread
    fresh
    every day
    except sundays
    and holidays
    it’s kind of expensive
    it’s expensive but it’s good
    it’s good but it’s expensive
    what to do?
    it shouldn’t be in the bible
    but in the declaration
    of universal human
    rights
    the people do not live by bread alone
    but every human being has
    should have the right
    the right to eat bread
    every day
    at least
    once a day
    I have said and I swear by it



    this morning
    I went out to buy bread
    I went out in my white tee
    the new one
    I bought from marie
    marie carangi
    the lyric tit
    I slept with it
    I woke up with it
    not with the tit
    or her pussy
    just the white tee
    that’s it
    it’s a white t-shirt
    normal, super basic
    the only special thing
    about it
    if we can put it
    like that
    is the word “Pussy!”
    written in bright red
    silk screen technique
    with a capital letter at the beginning
    and an exclamation mark
    at the end



    this morning
    I went out to buy bread
    any coincidence
    is merely a coincidence
    but there are no coincidences
    todxs we know
    there may be conspiracy
    framing a lot of blah blah blah
    u know like sexual tension or even the woman
    from Taubaté who was pregnant
    from the ET’s in Varghina
    superbae plzzzzz #elenão ikr?
    but a coincidence
    a real coincidence
    the kind that
    really shocks you
    makes your hair stand up
    I don’t believe in this kind of coincidence
    that being said
    we can conjecture
    the way Pussy! is red
    that is
    the way Pussy! is written
    in verrrry red letters
    does it mean
    it's a communist pussy?
    or a gayist pussy?
    is it a working pussy?
    from the workers' party?
    or is it from that demonic sect?
    the MTST? or MST?
    is it a Cuban pussy?
    or Venezuelan?
    is it an American pussy?
    or is it a Martian pussy?
    is it really a pussy?
    a real pussy?
    or is it one we
    only see on TV?
    can you buy it at the flea market?
    can I pay by card?
    if it is red
    does that mean
    it’s menstruating?
    or is it a manipulated pussy?
    is it a bank of america pussy?
    or did it suck up to santander?
    is the pussy still public?
    or has it been privatized?
    is it a an activist pussy?
    or did it get corrupted?
    is it super jaded?
    or super engaged?
    did it take up arms?
    or is it part of the army?
    is it a pussy fascista?
    or one of those fashionistas?
    hooded? or militarized?
    or is it a total neoliberal type?
    is it free?
    free fallin'?
    or is it a shy pussy?
    is it a fake pussy?
    or it's just making a charming?
    cooking you in the bain-marie?
    does it have a soft spot for you?
    or are you just playing hard to get?
    playing hardball
    like a competition
    pole vaulting
    hurtles shotput
    fuck knows what else?
    what actually is a pussy?
    what's it good for?
    can you explain it to me better?
    what are you afraid of?
    are you just gonna look
    or are you gonna eat it?





    A POEM THAT COMES FROM MY BANANA FILE AND GOES ALONG WITH MY MISTAKEN BANANA FEELINGS “HOW THE WORLD WAS CREATED IN 7 DAYS/ AND SUDDENLY SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED” IN 2 A4 PAGES IN PORTUGUESE WITH SPANISH TRANSLATION MADE UP WITH THE HELP OF A COLOMBIAN FRIEND JUAN DIEGO OTERO A POET



    TWO LANGUAGES WERE SWALLOWED BY AN EVIL FISH LAST NIGHT IN THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE LEAVING NO TRACE BUT THE PEEL OF A BANANA FROM A POEM FIRST SHARED BY A FRIEND ERICA IN A BRAZILIAN STYLE OF PORTUGUESE




    el mundo fue creado en 7 días
    on the seventh day
    it was sleepy
    so sleepy
    that it decided to take a little nap
    still keeping all its work contracts
    and its union memberships
    y todo eso
    and just like that
    sleeping
    sleeping
    so profoundly
    that it got sick
    and it didn’t wake up again
    until today
    nobody knew whose fault it was
    if it was the fault
    of the mosquitoes
    of the mites
    of the ticks
    if it had an allergy
    if it suffered from Tachycardia
    if it drank a lot of alcohol
    if it was addicted to tobacco
    if it had a jaundice
    if it was surprised
    by the peel of a banana
    if it was attacked
    by a motorcycle
    at a high velocity
    by a stray bullet
    a mutant bacteria
    very dangerous               fatal
    de facto or de jure
    it entered into a profound coma
    nobody knew if it was the fault
    of the notary
    of the kids
    of the communists
    who eat little kids
    of the fairy tales
    of the evil witch
    of the villain in a Mexican novel
    of the scalpers at the entrance
    of the football stadiums
    of the vip area dos estádios
    de futebol
    of the football confederations
    and the $$ for the teams
    de futebol
    of the evangelical pastors
    reproaching the pious
    for going to the stadiums
    of football
    of the football players
    that play in the stadiums
    of football
    of the girlfriends of the players
    that play football
    of those who are for
    of those who are against
    of those who live only making jokes
    of those who live above
    of the dried flesh
    of those who survive below
    of the dried flesh
    of those who always have
    an apology for everything
    of those who are almost always
    on the fence
    of the children working
    as drug mules
    crossing the fences the walls
    of the airplane full
    of cocaine that passes
    over the walls
    of the coke earned under the table
    duplicating the fences the walls
    of the coyotes’ vultures
    of the things that we see on TV
    of the things that we don’t see on TV
    until today
    it still hasn’t returned
    the medical report declares
    a vegetal state
    the machines keep it afloat
    thinking they’re keeping it afloat
    doing a good service
    nobody knows until when exactly
    still we are waiting
    there it goes
    ¿no?
    now yes
    like that
    look anyways
    we send you greetings






    translations from Portuguese by HB


    Érica Zíngano is an Italian-Brazilian poet, although her Italian heritage is more of a legal attachment than a realized identity. "It allows me to live in Europe, without facing so much bureaucratic problems. For an immigrant, it's a REAL privilege." Born in 1980 in Brazil and raised in the northeastern city Fortaleza, very early she discovered a clear desire for movement, probably during her childhood travels to the south of Brazil to join her father's family in Porto Alegre, at least 5.000 km from her hometown. Very early she understood that her inherited identity traits – heavy luggages one has to carry without asking why – could never be reduced, in her case, to the fiction of one single place.

    So, then, when she was more sure about her own movements and desires, driven by the idea to keep studying and working – always a good excuse to keep a safe distance from the family and, of course, to be up to something else –, she decided to move to other cities and countries, trying to see from other points of view, by far and through different perspectives, the strong dichotomy between the north and the south of Brazil she carries in her body, in a way to connect to that very tensioned line new and unexpected landscapes

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