In the Middle of the Interview There Was a Stone: Interviewing Someone on Their First

Experience with Carlos Drummond de Andrade’s “In the Middle of the Road”

Amanda Jensen

I started off by reading both the Elizabeth Bishop and Charles Bernstein translations of
Carlos Drummond de Andrade’s poem “In the Middle of the Road”, really just for kicks. I
already knew that I preferred the Bishop translation, simply because I enjoy the near-rhythmic
sounds of road and stone together, and liked the feel of it in my mouth more as I read the poems
aloud. I was not expecting my interviewee, Jeremiah, to have such an emotional reaction to the
different readings of the poem. It became impossible to attempt to weave these two very different
reactions into one response, so I left them separate and really enjoy how that influenced the rest
of the interview.

1.) Which reading of the poem did you like better?

“I liked the [Bernstein translation] better cause it was happier... Because of the
language used. It sounded more like [the speaker] was amused and just playing a
game with his mind, as opposed to the [Bishop translation] which sounded like life
was playing a game with him and he needed to cheer himself up. They both were
acting loopy but one was out of joy and one was out of sorrow.”

2.) Tell me about how this poem worked for you? On and in your eyes, ears, and mind?

“It reminded me of the Mad Hatter (from Alice in Wonderland), kind of like the Mad
Hatter was going down a road by himself and saw a stone. A road in the forest with a
big, wide, dirt path, a bit like a quadding path, or an old logging path with no grass.
The sky is blue with a thin, wispy cloud cover taking up most of the sky. Somehow
the sky is open, even though it’s in the forest and that makes no sense. It looks like a
cartoon of him walking down a path, with a slightly spherical shape to it like he’s
walking on a ball… like a SpongeBob cartoon! With the same frame repeating and
repeating. Nature was real life but the Mad Hatter was a cartoon character. The
echoing of words made me feel that he was going loopy. It was like a still sound. The
sound of the guy talking to himself. Still day, he’s going crazy. When you go crazy is
when things are still. That’s why the sky is that color, cause a perfectly blue sky
would be perfect.”

After a lengthy description of the clouds covering Jer’s mental skies, I ask him what he thinks
the clouds mean to him.

“The clouds represent his mind. That’s why it’s a bit cloudy, because his mind is
getting foggy.”

After a pause, he jumps back to his previous train of thought.

 “It reminds me of being younger and walking through the forest for hours in the
summer. When you’re a kid everything outside is fun.”

3.) What is most beautiful about this poem? Why? What is most unlikeable? Why?

“It’s very serene, which is the most beautiful. It’s quiet and still, but too much of that
will make you go crazy even though its beautiful. It’s a little twisted, cause it feels
like the character has either lost himself or is slowly losing himself, which was
unlikeable. I don’t think he’s physically lost though. In the sadder one (Bishop) he’s
trying to clear his mind and in the happier one (Bernstein) he’s maybe just going for a
stroll and entertaining himself along the way.”

4.) How does this poem make you feel? How doesn’t it make you feel?

“It gets your creativity going because of all the repetition, every time you say the
same phrase it makes your mind try to find another possible idea of what’s going on. I
don’t know, there’s so many things I could say. How do you describe what you don’t
feel? It doesn’t make me angry, there’s no hatred. But also no excitement, at least not
my definition of excitement, but maybe a glimmer of joy for the happier guy [in
Bernstein’s translation].”

5.) What do the sounds of this poem do to/ for you?

“Hearing the poem read aloud makes it comes alive. I feel more connected to it cause
there’s a human voice as the backtrack. I don’t think I would have read it differently
than you did.”

6.) If this poem was a song, what genre of song would it be?

“The sad one (Bishop) would be a country song, one of those twangy ones.”

Here we stop and brainstorm our own forlorn country song backed with harmonica, banjo, and
acoustic guitar, with lyrics including my truck left me for my best friend’s ex-girlfriend.

“And the happier one (Bernstein) would be jazz on a classical piano. An upbeat,
whimsical sort of tune.”

7.) If you hung out with this poem for a day, where would you go? Why? Where would
the poem take you? What would you want to show the poem?

“The [Bishop translation of the] poem I would take sightseeing cause he needs to be
cheered up and he obviously wants to be outside in nature. The other guy (Bernstein
translation), I’d convince to come chill at my place and get drunk and go clubbing,
cause he’s reminding me of a good friend of mine!”
I know the aforementioned friend pretty well and can attest to the accuracy of this. Definitely the
type of loveable goofball who would see a stone in the middle of the road and probably come up
with a limerick about it.

“Spending time with the [character from the Bernstein translation] would take me
further into my playful insanity, and the [character from the Bishop translation]
would humble me because he feels way worse than I do, and trying to cheer him up
would make me feel better. It makes you feel good when you try to help people.”

8.) What is your current definition of poetry and does this poem work within that? How
so?

“My current definition of poetry is anything with words. So yes, this poem fits into
that definition… because of the words. I guess poetry is kind of like a novel, but a
novel is longer. Poetry is supposed to strike a few emotions and a novel is supposed
to strike a whole string.”

9.) And finally, if this poem was a machine what kind of machine would this poem be?
Explain yourself!

“It would be a slot machine. One of the old school ones that aren’t electric, that look
ornate and steampunk-y. The ones with the ball in the center that spins around and
around.”

This is said with a long slow smile, and a look of satisfaction: Jeremiah loves anything casino
related. A slot machine would have never entered my mind in a million years, despite the word
‘machine’ literally being part of its name. Knowing the human sitting across from me, I wonder
why I’m surprised. The ace of spades tattooed on his arm seems to be mocking me as I ponder
this.

“Because the sadder guy (from the Bishop translation) is taking a chance in the hopes
the walk will clear his mind and the happier guy (from the Bernstein translation) is
just hoping he can derive some fun from a very quaint moment.”
 I was fascinated by how two different translations of the same poem evoked such
different responses for Jeremiah. I loved hearing about how simply changing a few words had
such an impact on how the poem made him feel. I hadn’t even considered that, and although I’m
aware on an intellectual level that diction matters, it’s never hit me on such a personal level. It
brought to mind the discussions of poetry I’ve had in classes, and made me think of language
being under pressure. Changing less than five words in this poem completely altered the
impression it left on someone. How pressurized must language be to accomplish that? Every
single word in this poem was pivotal to how it existed in Jeremiah’s mind. I was taken aback by
the beauty of that concept.
Although my interviewee and I had pretty similar visuals in mind when listening to this
poem, we had completely different emotional reactions to it. Where he heard loneliness, in the
Bishop translation, I heard a wry commentary on the human condition and the butterfly effect.
Where he heard the Mad Hatter making up rhymes, in the Bernstein translation, I just heard a
more childlike version of the same poem. Talking to another human being about something so
subjective felt like an exercise in expanding my mind. It made me realize that the discussion of
poetry and art can serve to highlight certain aspects of yourself and others. I was reminded of all
the beautiful things I enjoy about humanity in general, and Jeremiah specifically. I was also
forced to notice that certain parts of my mindset are narrower than I would like to believe. If
there is anything I truly want to learn from poetry, it is to embrace the childlike sense of wonder
within me. After all, to paraphrase my interviewee, “When you’re a kid everything (…) is fun.”
I started this without having a clear definition of poetry in my mind, and I’m walking
away from it with an idea that’s just as muddled as when I began. However, by the time I had
finished my interview, I knew that my initial reading of the poem no longer matched my
perception of it. During the execution of this project, my definition of poetry did change. It’s like
Jer said, “Every time you [repeat something] your mind tries to find another possible idea of
what’s going on.” Sometime during the process of reading and discussing this poem, my mind
came up with other ideas. My views morphed and expanded, not only toward this poem, but to
all poetry. I think maybe that’s the magic of poetry. I don’t feel the need to pin it down and pull
it apart and be able to explain it, even to myself. Just knowing that it’s there and it can move me,
is more than enough.