Wednesday, September 30, 2009
why do i love (under) covers: yesterday and today, like the sunshine
Seen by Joana Blu at 8:32 AM 0 glimpses
Monday, September 28, 2009
Paz
Seen by Joana Blu at 6:45 AM 0 glimpses
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
(re) ler
Seen by Joana Blu at 6:30 AM 0 glimpses
no outono caem as
Seen by Joana Blu at 5:03 AM 0 glimpses
Bientôt on pourra naître sans crier, ensuite ce sera sans crier faire l'amour, perdre un enfant, mourir. Non, je ne suis pas folle. On va vers le silence.
Seen by Joana Blu at 3:42 AM 0 glimpses
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Seen by Joana Blu at 8:38 AM 0 glimpses
Boneca de pano é gente...: Emília, r.i.p.
Seen by Joana Blu at 5:51 AM 0 glimpses
Monday, September 21, 2009
parêntesis
Seen by Joana Blu at 7:25 AM 0 glimpses
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
onde brilhem os olhos seus
Seen by Joana Blu at 3:07 PM 0 glimpses
regresso a helder moura pereira
Seen by Joana Blu at 3:02 PM 0 glimpses
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
beyond a reasonable doubt
Seen by Joana Blu at 8:55 AM 0 glimpses
Seen by Joana Blu at 8:36 AM 0 glimpses
pessoa por caeiro
Seen by Joana Blu at 4:18 AM 0 glimpses
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
meditação
Seen by Joana Blu at 4:55 AM 0 glimpses
contra a poesia dita profunda
Seen by Joana Blu at 4:41 AM 0 glimpses
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
9/11: apocalipse, now and then
Seen by Joana Blu at 3:39 AM 0 glimpses
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sacode as nuvens que te poisam nos cabelos,
Sacode as aves que te levam o olhar.
Sacode os sonhos mais pesados do que as pedras.
Porque eu cheguei e é tempo de me veres,
Mesmo que os meus gestos te trespassem
De solidão e tu caias em poeira,
Mesmo que a minha voz queime o ar que respiras
E os teus olhos nunca mais possam olhar.
Seen by Joana Blu at 12:19 PM 0 glimpses
Monday, September 7, 2009
setembro, auden
September 1, 1939
I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.
From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
Seen by Joana Blu at 6:02 AM 0 glimpses
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Afinidades electivas, vasos comunicantes, blind dates
Read a page and know what I need to
Seen by Joana Blu at 10:55 AM 0 glimpses
setembro, eugénio
Nunca o verão se demorara
Nunca o verão se demorara
assim nos lábios
e na água
- como podíamos morrer,
tão próximos
e nus e inocentes?
Mar de Setembro
Tudo era claro:
céu, lábios, areias.
O mar estava perto,
Fremente de espumas.
Corpos ou ondas:
iam, vinham, iam,
dóceis, leves, só
alma e brancura.
Felizes, cantam;
serenos, dormem;
despertos, amam,
exaltam o silêncio.
Tudo era claro,
jovem, alado.
O mar estava perto,
puríssimo, doirado.
Pequena elegia de setembro
Não sei como vieste,
mas deve haver um caminho
para regressar da morte.
Estás sentada no jardim,
as mãos no regaço cheias de doçura,
os olhos pousados nas últimas rosas
dos grandes e calmos dias de setembro.
Que música escutas tão atentamente
que não dás por mim?
Que bosque, ou rio, ou mar?
Ou é dentro de ti
que tudo canta ainda?
Queria falar contigo,
dizer-te apenas que estou aqui,
mas tenho medo,
medo que toda a música cesse
e tu não possas mais olhar as rosas.
Medo de quebrar o fio
com que teces os dias sem memória.
Com que palavras
ou beijos ou lágrimas
se acordam os mortos sem os ferir,
sem os trazer a esta espuma negra
onde corpos e corpos se repetem,
parcimoniosamente, no meio de sombras?
Deixa-te estar assim,
ó cheia de doçura,
sentada, olhando as rosas,
e tão alheia
que nem dás por mim.
Seen by Joana Blu at 10:18 AM 1 glimpses
Friday, September 4, 2009
entre mim e o mundo
Seen by Joana Blu at 3:21 AM 0 glimpses
Thursday, September 3, 2009
conversa e depois
A morte é a curva da estrada,
Morrer é só não ser visto.
A terra é feita de céu.
Fernando Pessoa
Seen by Joana Blu at 2:54 PM 1 glimpses
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Apollinaire, Apollinaire
Photographie
Ton sourire m'attire comme
Pourrait m'attirer une fleur
Photographie tu es le champignon brun
De la forêt
Qu'est sa beauté
Les blancs y sont
Un clair de lune
Dans un jardin pacifique
Plein d'eaux vives et de jardiniers endiablés
Photographie tu es la fumée de l'ardeur
Qu'est sa beauté
Et il y a en toi
Photographie
Des tons alanguis
On y entend
Une mélopée
Photographie tu es l'ombre
Du soleil
Qu'est sa beauté
Seen by Joana Blu at 2:19 PM 0 glimpses