If "to miss" were a noun, something you could carry in your shirt pocket, that noun might be "saudade."
In the last two weeks or so, the saudades have come on strong. Nothing that's kept me awake at night, or made me cry; just the bittersweet sense of the inaccessibility of so many of the people and things that I love most. The fascinating newness of cultural adaptation often recedes with a sigh in those late hours on the balcony, looking out over the mangueira-lined street. In these hours, the breeze of home—of late light on desert mountains, of tortillas, of oceanic rhythms and sea salt smell—whistles in its own private key.
This afternoon I found myself half-accidentally reading the poetry of John Keats. I stopped at a line that said, "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter." These are words I've read countless times, but that only finally made sense in a moment of saudade. They're the melodies riding on the balcony breeze, with that homely harmony known only within the most familiar moments of life, in those barely-noticed, mundane pieces of every day.
Now is the time to make the obvious confession: I'm not Brazilian, and it follows that the lifetime of experiences connected to the word "saudade" are necessarily lacking for me, and all that I have is guesses—what it probably is, what it sounds like it is, what it feels like it is. But what I know is this: it's one thing to say "I miss you," and it's another to say "I feel the lack of you." It's another altogether to say, "I have your absence." And for now, in this context, I dare say this last one fits.
But there has been plenty written on saudade, and I'm not about to add more noise to the conversation than I already have. Only to say that the saudades are alive and real in Belém. With every "Hotel California" cover, every thought of Mexican food, every t-shirt plastered with the LA skyline, the saudades grow. And in a way, they flourish.
Therefore, ye soft pipes, play on.
In the last two weeks or so, the saudades have come on strong. Nothing that's kept me awake at night, or made me cry; just the bittersweet sense of the inaccessibility of so many of the people and things that I love most. The fascinating newness of cultural adaptation often recedes with a sigh in those late hours on the balcony, looking out over the mangueira-lined street. In these hours, the breeze of home—of late light on desert mountains, of tortillas, of oceanic rhythms and sea salt smell—whistles in its own private key.
This afternoon I found myself half-accidentally reading the poetry of John Keats. I stopped at a line that said, "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter." These are words I've read countless times, but that only finally made sense in a moment of saudade. They're the melodies riding on the balcony breeze, with that homely harmony known only within the most familiar moments of life, in those barely-noticed, mundane pieces of every day.
Now is the time to make the obvious confession: I'm not Brazilian, and it follows that the lifetime of experiences connected to the word "saudade" are necessarily lacking for me, and all that I have is guesses—what it probably is, what it sounds like it is, what it feels like it is. But what I know is this: it's one thing to say "I miss you," and it's another to say "I feel the lack of you." It's another altogether to say, "I have your absence." And for now, in this context, I dare say this last one fits.
But there has been plenty written on saudade, and I'm not about to add more noise to the conversation than I already have. Only to say that the saudades are alive and real in Belém. With every "Hotel California" cover, every thought of Mexican food, every t-shirt plastered with the LA skyline, the saudades grow. And in a way, they flourish.
Therefore, ye soft pipes, play on.
Things I've got saudades for:
- Church
- decent beer selections
- hugs and kisses that mean more than "hey"
- tortillas (esp. in Mom's chicken enchilada casserole)
- coffee made by people who care about coffee
- temperatures (and humidity) under 75
- all my favorite Americans
[In a rather timely fashion, the folks at NPR have published in the last couple weeks two different pieces regarding saudade, and both are definitely worth a listen. The first is a conversation with expat-Brazilian jazz vocalist Luicana Souza and producer Beco Dranoff, describing the idea of saudade generally, and then specifically in Brazilian music (the soundtrack is great). The second is a new album by the unobviously-American band Thievery Corporation, entitled (you guessed it) "Saudade." This one's time-sensitive (streaming until the release date, usually), so give it a listen while you still can. Even when the words feel inaccessible, the music brings home the sweetest bits of...of...saudade.] |