The Waters of March

March, it means so many things:

A limited number of days left when my comfy sweaters will still be seasonal attire.

Madness.

Official open of tornado season.

The forthcoming Ides.

Our hemisphere turns back toward the sun. Yay! Go, Northern Hemisphere! Woot!

It's a stick, it's a stone, it's the end of the road....

Wait--was I quoting the Waters of March?

Yes--the famous tune by Brazilian composer Jobim, called "Waters of March", or "Aguas de Marco", which celebrates Rio de Janeiro's wettest month and the start of their autumn, (since Rio is in the southern hemisphere), when the city is besieged by heavy rains and flooding, sending streams of water and random bits of debris through the gutters--I was quoting it.

The English translation is not as good as the Portuguese, I'm told, but Jobim himself (seen in the video above with Elis Regina) re-wrote the lyrics for the English version, which seems to go on forever and ever...

Waters of March by Antonio Carlos Jobim


A stick, a stone,

It's the end of the road,

It's the rest of a stump,

It's a little alone



It's a sliver of glass,

It is life, it's the sun,

It is night, it is death,

It's a trap, it's a gun



The oak when it blooms,

A fox in the brush,

A knot in the wood,

The song of a thrush



The wood of the wind,

A cliff, a fall,

A scratch, a lump,

It is nothing at all



It's the wind blowing free,

It's the end of the slope,

It's a beam, it's a void,

It's a hunch, it's a hope



And the river bank talks

of the waters of March,

It's the end of the strain,

The joy in your heart



The foot, the ground,

The flesh and the bone,

The beat of the road,

A slingshot's stone



A fish, a flash,

A silvery glow,

A fight, a bet,

The range of a bow



The bed of the well,

The end of the line,

The dismay in the face,

It's a loss, it's a find



A spear, a spike,

A point, a nail,

A drip, a drop,

The end of the tale



A truckload of bricks

in the soft morning light,

The shot of a gun

in the dead of the night



A mile, a must,

A thrust, a bump,

It's a girl, it's a rhyme,

It's a cold, it's the mumps



The plan of the house,

The body in bed,

And the car that got stuck,

It's the mud, it's the mud



Afloat, adrift,

A flight, a wing,

A hawk, a quail,

The promise of spring



And the riverbank talks

of the waters of March,

It's the promise of life

It's the joy in your heart



A stick, a stone,

It's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump,

It's a little alone



A snake, a stick,

It is John, it is Joe,

It's a thorn in your hand

and a cut in your toe



A point, a grain,

A bee, a bite,

A blink, a buzzard,

A sudden stroke of night



A pin, a needle,

A sting, a pain,

A snail, a riddle,

A wasp, a stain



A pass in the mountains,

A horse and a mule,

In the distance the shelves

rode three shadows of blue



And the riverbank talks

of the waters of March,

It's the promise of life

in your heart, in your heart



A stick, a stone,

The end of the road,

The rest of a stump,

A lonesome road



A sliver of glass,

A life, the sun,

A knife, a death,

The end of the run



And the riverbank talks

of the waters of March,

It's the end of all strain,

It's the joy in your heart.