Of course a translation never is the same, in poetry as the original. And for me is impossible because of my lack in English knoledge.
Today I find one site with one tranlation. Take a look.
Is one of my favorite songs from my favorite Artist.
The original song is: "O Meu Guri"- Chico Buarque
Is about a miserable(state of wealth(money)) Mother and her son.
My son
(Chico Buarque,1981)
When my offspring was born, kind sir,
It was not the
moment for him to be born
He was already born with a face of hunger
And I didn't even have a name to give him
How I supported him, I can't explain
I just supported him and he supported me
And one day in his innocence he told me
That he would go a long way
Look at this
Look at this
Look at this, my son, Look at this
Look at this, it's my son
And he is going a long way
He returns sweating and quickly from his job
And always brings a present to surprise me
So many golden nacklaces, my son,
That there is no neck to put around
He brought me a bag with everything already in it
Keys, bankbook, rosary and amulet,
A handkerchief and a bunch of documents
So that finally I can identify myself, look at this
Look at this, ah my son, look at this
Look at this, it's my son
And he is going a long way
He arrives on the hill like a lorry
Bracelet, cement, watch, tyre, recorder
I pray till he arrives here on the top
This wave of robberies is horrible
I comfort him, he comforts me
I put him on my bosom for him to sleep
Suddenly I wake up, I look to the side
And the bloody guy already went to work, look at this
Look at this, ah my son, look at this
Look at this, it's my son
And he is going a long way
He gets into the newspaper, headline, photo
With blindfold on the eyes, caption and the initials
I don't understand those people, my son
Who make so much trouble
The boy in the woods, I think he's laughing*
I think he's nice, lying on his back
Since the beginning, I told you, my son
He told that he would go a long way
Look at this, look at this
Look at this, my son, Look at this
Look at this, it's my son
* In this verse, the mother sees a newspaper photo of her son's corpse lying in the bushes. (he was most certainly murdered by off-duty policemen, who get together to form Death Squadrons, financed by local businesses.)
Translation by Andreas Iwainsky with help, advice and criticism of the friendly people . No guarantee for correctness.
He was already born with a face of hunger
And I didn't even have a name to give him
How I supported him, I can't explain
I just supported him and he supported me
And one day in his innocence he told me
That he would go a long way
Look at this
Look at this
Look at this, my son, Look at this
Look at this, it's my son
And he is going a long way
He returns sweating and quickly from his job
And always brings a present to surprise me
So many golden nacklaces, my son,
That there is no neck to put around
He brought me a bag with everything already in it
Keys, bankbook, rosary and amulet,
A handkerchief and a bunch of documents
So that finally I can identify myself, look at this
Look at this, ah my son, look at this
Look at this, it's my son
And he is going a long way
He arrives on the hill like a lorry
Bracelet, cement, watch, tyre, recorder
I pray till he arrives here on the top
This wave of robberies is horrible
I comfort him, he comforts me
I put him on my bosom for him to sleep
Suddenly I wake up, I look to the side
And the bloody guy already went to work, look at this
Look at this, ah my son, look at this
Look at this, it's my son
And he is going a long way
He gets into the newspaper, headline, photo
With blindfold on the eyes, caption and the initials
I don't understand those people, my son
Who make so much trouble
The boy in the woods, I think he's laughing*
I think he's nice, lying on his back
Since the beginning, I told you, my son
He told that he would go a long way
Look at this, look at this
Look at this, my son, Look at this
Look at this, it's my son
* In this verse, the mother sees a newspaper photo of her son's corpse lying in the bushes. (he was most certainly murdered by off-duty policemen, who get together to form Death Squadrons, financed by local businesses.)
Translation by Andreas Iwainsky with help, advice and criticism of the friendly people . No guarantee for correctness.