quarta-feira, dezembro 31, 2014

Amanhã é já ali

     "É o último dia do ano, os homens pensam no que aconteceu
ensaiando balanços de dinheiro, amores, sucessos e também fra-
cassos. São poucos os que se alegram, maior a ânsia, imensa a espera.
     Alguns imaginam vidas de caminho, atrás do que lhes falta,
como se o futuro fosse lugar e a felicidade um pouco de terra
que os pés pudessem pisar. Carregam a vida como a um cavalo
cansado que tem de andar sempre, à força de esporas e maus
tratos, à força de sonhos já muito sonhados.
     Só o presente é lugar, e fica aqui, no ponto exacto em que as
memórias se sublimam em desejos."

Nuno Camarneiro

terça-feira, dezembro 30, 2014

vi, ouvi e li

gravity, alfonso cuarón
the desolation of smaug, peter jackson
wild at heart, david lynch
grand budapest hotel, wes anderson
hunger, steve mcqueen
12 years a slave, steve mcqueen
o congresso, ari folman
paradise now, hany abu-assad
the maltese falcon, john huston
gone girl, david fincher
uivo, eduardo morais
paris, texas, wim wenders


flora, moullinex
emmaar, tinariwen
a bunch of meninos, dead combo
artificial sweeteners, fujiya & miyagi
i never learn, lykke li
things are really great here, sort of..., andrew bird
familiars, the antlers
pelo meu relógio são horas de matar, mão morta
popular problems, leonard cohen
legao, erlend øye
banda do mar, banda do mar
diabo na cruz, diabo na cruz


claraboia, josé saramago
o pintor debaixo do lava-loiças, afonso cruz
o hipopótamo de deus, josé tolentino mendonça
e a noite roda, alexandra lucas coelho
o deus das moscas, william golding
slaughterhouse 5, kurt vonnegut
all the pretty horses, cormac mccarthy
the hundred-year-old man who climbed out of the window and disappeared, jonas jonasson
the perks of being a wallflower, stephen chbosky
o livro da consciência, antónio damásio
o tempo morto é um bom lugar, manuel jorge marmelo
william shakespeare's star wars, ian doescher

quarta-feira, dezembro 24, 2014

desejos de Natal

     "E ao ouvir os sonhos de Tuahir, com os ruídos
da guerra por trás, ele vai pensando: «não inventa-
ram ainda uma pólvora suave, maneirosa, capaz de
explodir os homens sem lhes matar. Uma pólvora
que, em avessos serviços, gerasse mais vida. E do
homem explodido nascessem os infinitos homens
que lhes estão por dentro»."

Mia Couto


domingo, dezembro 21, 2014

Report from a besieged city

"Too old to carry arms and to fight like others—

they generously assigned to me the inferior role of a chronicler
I record—not knowing for whom—the history of the siege

I have to be precise but I don't know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in autumn perhaps yesterday
     at dawn
here everybody is losing the sense of time

we were left with the place an attachment to the place
still we keep ruins of temples phantoms of gardens of houses
if we were to lose the ruins we would be left with nothing

I write as I can in the rhythm of unending weeks
monday: storehouses are empty a rat is now a unit of currency
tuesday: the mayor is killed by unknown assailants
wednesday: talks of armistice the enemy interned our envoys
we don't know where they are being kept i.e. tortured
thursday: after a stormy meeting the majority voted down
the motion of spice merchants on unconditional surrender
friday: the onset of plague saturday: the suicide of
N.N., the most steadfast defender sunday: no water we repulsed
the attack at the eastern gate named the Gate of the Alliance

I know all this is monotonous nobody would care

I avoid comments keep emotions under control describe facts
they say facts only are valued on foreign markets
but with a certain pride I wish to convey to the world
thanks to the war we raised a new species of children
our children don't like fairy tales they play killing
day and night they dream of soup bread bones
exactly like dogs and cats

in the evening I like to wander in the confines of the City
along the frontiers of our uncertain freedom
I look from above on the multitude of armies on their lights
I listen to the din of drums to barbaric shrieks
it's incredible that the City is still resisting
the seige has been long the foes must replace each other
they have nothing in common except a desire to destroy us
the Goths the Tartars the Swedes the Emperor's troops regiments of
                       Our Lord's Transfiguration
who could count them
colors of banners change as does the forest on the horizon
from the bird's delicate yellow in the spring through the green the red
                       to the winter black

and so in the evening freed from facts I am able to give thought
to bygone far away matters for instance to our
allies overseas I know they feel true compassion
they send us flour sacks of comfort lard and good counsel
without even realizing that we were betrayed by their fathers
our former allies from the time of the second Apocalypse
their sons are not guilty they deserve our gratitude we are so grateful
they have never lived through the eternity of a siege
those marked by misfortune are always alone
Dalai Lama's defenders Kurds Afghan mountaineers

now as I write these words proponents of compromise
have won a slightly advantage over the part of the dauntless
usual shifts of mood our fate is still in the balance

cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders shrinks
but the defense continues and will last to the end
and even if the City falls and one of us survives
he will carry the City inside him on the roads of exile
he will be the City

we look at the face of hunger the face of fire the face of death
and the worst of them all—the face of treason

and only our dreams have not been humiliated"

Zbigniew Herbert

quarta-feira, dezembro 17, 2014

Terra Sonâmbula

        "Quero pôr os tempos, em sua mansa ordem,
conforme esperas e sofrências. Mas as lembranças
desobedecem, entre a vontade de serem nada e o
gosto de me roubarem do presente. Acendo a estória,
me apago a mim. No fim destes escritos, serei de
novo uma sombra sem voz."

Mia Couto


segunda-feira, dezembro 08, 2014

Um buraco no coração

(... ou como apenas nos apercebemos do frio da noite quando ele nos atinge o coração...)