Does anyone here knows who this guy is?

Does anyone here knows who this guy is?

wtf can you not do a simple google image search?

That's Alexandre Frota

I believe user was trying to start a research here. He did it the wrong way though.

idk just some frowning gaylord

I know who is. I just want to know how many people here know him too.

Not, that's not.

Sopa de Machado

that's Carlos Drummond

Yes. He's very popular here at Russia.

Can literally anyone else not do a simple google reverse image search?

According to google its Machado de Assis

...

Wrong.

Rodolfo Gervasio Guiterrez de la Sarna

...

Brás Cubas

Nobody is reading my poems on the poetry-critic thread, so I will try my luck here (since I wrote the poems in Portuguese, after all).

It was supposed to be a sonnet, but I ended up needing two more verses. So a sonnet + 2 Original is in Portuguese (sorry for bad english in the translation)

The Loneliness of Time

His loneliness is a sea, the others are only bubbles.
He, who has in his breath a cosmic shroud,
Who blinds eagles and suns, dries souls and leaves,
Castrates mating-heats and volcanoes, silences the wind and the canary,

Gnaws the pans and the pyramids, muzzles the waltz
Of the clock and the galaxy, sour wine and veins,
He, Time, is a tyrant of false wickedness
That, without hate or pleasure, unravel our webs.

He loves creation, from the simple to the complex,
However his biography is a book of extinctions
That will ultimately make the cosmos a mirror without a reflection
Since Death rides upon his pulsations.

But when Death at last devours itself
Alone, surrounded by darkness, Time shall sit down
Without even Death withhim to hold his hand:
His is the most sad of all incarnations of solitude.

The original

A Solidão do Tempo

Sua solidão é um mar, as outras são só bolhas.
Ele, que tem no alento um cósmico sudário,
Que cega águias e sóis, resseca almas e folhas,
Castra cios e vulcões, cala vento e canário,

Rói panela e pirâmide, amordaça a valsa
De relógio e galáxia, azeda vinho e veias,
Ele, o Tempo, é um tirano de maldade falsa
Que, sem ódio ou prazer, desmancha nossas teias.

Ele ama a criação, do simples ao complexo,
Porém sua biografia é um livro de extinções
Que enfim fará do cosmo espelho sem reflexo
Já que a Morte cavalga as suas pulsações.

Mas quanto a Morte por fim auto devorar-se
Sozinho, em meio ao breu, o Tempo há de sentar-se
Sem mesmo a morte para segurar-lhe a mão:
É a sua a mais triste encarnação da solidão.

Ayrton Senna

Black serpents suffocating his mind
The untamed speedways, hypnotic mermaids
Clamoring for the caresses of the shooting star
Of his car; in his heart the despotic prayers

From the phoenix of conquest that, once hunted,
Disappeared, to be reborn on the horizon, in the distance.
More than lovers, than family and friends, he loved
The craving of going beyond. Like God to the monk

This centaur with metal bowels
Had as his goal the highest peak of the mountain.
There are those who think they are great and open champagne
By climbing hills, he sought what was fatal:

He merged to the summit, made himself one with the victory
In an alchemy of steel, asphalt, blood, and glory.

The original

Ayrton Senna

Negras serpentes sufocando sua mente
As pistas não domadas, sereias hipnóticas
Clamando por carícias da estrela cadente
De seu carro; em seu peito as orações despóticas

Da fênix da conquista que, uma vez caçada,
Sumia, renascendo no horizonte, ao longe.
Mais que amantes, senpaiília e amigos, foi amada
Por ele a ânsia de ir além. Qual Deus ao monge

Esse centauro com entranhas de metal
Tinha por meta o pico mais alto da montanha.
Há aqueles que se creem grandes e abrem champanha
Por subir morros, ele buscou o fatal:

Fundiu-se ao cume, fez-se um só com a vitória
Numa alquimia de aço, asfalto, sangue e glória.

>Por subir morros, ele buscou o fatal:

Actually, I think this verse willbe better like:

Por subir morros, ele quis o céu fatal

There are people who climb safe hills, a little higher than cities, and look at people down below with a sense of superiority. There are those, however, who seek out the highest and rarest peaks of conquest, as if they would knock at the gates of heaven, and often die in the inclement and inhospitable summit of these Everests of personal conquest and obsession.

Try more ambiguity.

You can't just translate poem's words and think that he will still the same thing as the original one. Try translating the essence of the poem and not the words.

hummmmmm

That’s Clifford Lee Sargent.

Axe of Axis

are brazilians the only nationality that actually shill their national literature?

To the victor, the potatoes.

it's the only thing we have going for us man.