DDR

Pervasive Art

looks very interesting

Nippon

A leziria

Viva

Primavera

Coisas concretas, que hoje começa a Primavera

LESSONS OF THE WAR

LESSONS OF THE WAR

To Alan Michell

Vixi duellis nuper idoneus
Et militavi non sine gloria

I. NAMING OF PARTS

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.

continues here

found here

Where there's a will, there's a way

Somebody come by my office today, he told me : "Where there's a will, there's a way".
Should I chose to believe ?
(my heart races, my legs tremble, my head tries to stay cool : "- Relax, take it one moment at a time, it says, you will be fine, soon all this will be gone.").

poem a friend sent me

Chickadee by Lee Van Laer From the Hudson River series

Last week
While I walked the dog
Down by the river
The world suddenly rolled up my whole life
And fit it into one chirp
Of a chickadee.

I hadn't known
That it was so small
And easy to encompass.

Had I known that sooner, I might have
Carried it everywhere
Instead of leaving it behind me
As I always do.

fortresses

coragem

Significado de Coragem

s.f. Força ou energia moral que leva a afrontar os perigos; valor; destemor, ânimo, intrepidez, bravura, denodo: lutar com coragem.

trees

be a tree or be a bush...

Malangatana Ngwenya, Untitled. 1961,  Oil on canvas

coming home

Março

Em Março começa a Primavera

the road

approaching Lisbon

Sunset

o stress do limoeiro

Para limões no jardim vires a ter,
o teu limoeiro virado a Sul deves plantar,

abrigá-lo do vento e da geada e muitos mimos lhe deves dar...
mas se limões queres vir a ter,
ao ano no tronco vais ter de lhe bater,

não uma, nem duas, mas repetidas vezes
para apressada a seiva correr
e o sumarento fruto finalmente nascer.

Concrete

 http://www.thomasbernhard.org/

Pinus

Voyage

Grete_Stern

Why should I tell you anything true?

I

Why should I tell you anything true?
Why should I tell you anything?
You're not paying me.
i don't do this for money.

Hold out your hand,
your empty hand.
I see.
if I told you what you hold
in the lines in your hand
which as I said is empty,
is full of emptiness,
you'd be annoyed. Oh surely
not, you'd say, You're far too
dismal. Too severe.

I'm doing this to help you.
What would you prefer?
You'd like me to amuse you?
Do do some jigs, or pranks?
I lack the airiness,
I lack the feathers.
That's not what I do.

What I do: I see
in darkness. I see
darkness. I see you.

Margaret Atwood, The Door, Virago Press, 2007

Lucretius’ Symmetry Argument

1. My previous pre-vital nonexistence is not, and was not, bad for me.
2. My previous pre-vital nonexistence is relevantly similar to my forthcoming post-mortem nonexistence—that is, just as it is true to say that my going out of existence sooner than I might have means that I will end up having done less, having experienced less, having accomplished less, etc. than I otherwise would have, so it is also true to say that my coming into existence later than I might have means that I will end up having done less, having experienced less, having accomplished less, etc. than I otherwise would have. 
3. Therefore, my forthcoming post-mortem nonexistence is not, and will not be, bad for me.

Le cauchemar

Le Cauchemar - Huile sur toile – 1781-1782 - Detroit, Institute of Arts (55.5.A)

Ashes to dust.

Ashes to dust.

Unaware of the rushing crowd

A man sits on the floor, his back against

The tall wall

He rolls a cigarette, he does it

as one who knows

how it will burn out.

River (Sensei)

All day we sat at the long table, eating and drinking,

light and shadow keeping their own quiet conversation on the windows.

At the end of the gravel road the river eats at its margins,

willow trees falling into the water carried all the way to the ocean

In the distance flocks of birds fly low 

over the plowed fields, home for the season.

When darkness comes, it covers everything

and we go outside, stars above witnessing farewells,

at home the clocks ticking by our empty beds.

(a poem has never been work for me before...I always had this succession of words coming into my head, I would put them to paper and that was that...most of the time when I would stumble upon one of those attempts some time later, I would invariably feel ashamed, and I failed to grasp the point of writing it, but not anymore, I've found help and good help changes everything)

um terceiro tom a que chamamos aurora

MORTE DO LEITEIRO

A Cyro Novais

Há pouco leite no país,
é preciso entregá-lo cedo.
Há muita sede no país,
é preciso entregá-lo cedo.
Há no país uma legenda,
que ladrão se mata com tiro.

Então o moço que é leiteiro
de madrugada com sua lata
sai correndo e distribuindo
leite bom para gente ruim.
Sua lata, suas garrafas,
e seus sapatos de borracha
vão dizendo aos homens no sono
que algúem acordou cedinho
e veio do último subúrbio
trazer o leite mais frio
e mais alvo da melhor vaca
para todos criarem força
na luta brava da cidade.

Na mão a garrafa branca
não tem tempo de dizer
as coisas que lhe atribuo
nem o moço leiteiro ignaro,
morador na Rua Namur,
empregado no entreposto,
com 21 anos de idade,
sabe lá o que seja impulso
de humana compreensão.
E já que tem pressa, o corpo
vai deixando à beira das casas 
uma apenas mercadoria.

E como a porta dos fundos
também escondesse gente
que aspira ao pouco de leite 
disponível em nosso tempo,
avancemos por esse beco,
peguemos o corredor,
depositemos o litro...
Sem fazer barulho, é claro,
que barulho nada resolve.

Meu leiteiro tão sutil
de passo maneiro e leve,
antes desliza que marcha.
É certo que algum rumor
sempre se faz: passo errado,
vaso de flor no caminho, 
cão latindo por princípio,
ou um gato quizilento.
E há sempre um senhor que acorda,
resmunga e torna a dormir.

Mas este acordou em pânico
(ladrões infestam o bairro),
não quis saber de mais nada.
O revólver da gaveta
saltou para sua mão.
Ladrão? se pega com tiro.
Os tiros na madrugada
liquidaram meu leiteiro.
Se era noivo, se era virgem,
se era alegre, se era bom,
não sei,
é tarde para saber.

Mas o homem perdeu o sono
de todo, e foge pra rua.
Meu Deus, matei um inocente.
Bala que mata gatuno
também serve pra furtar
a vida de nosso irmão.
Quem quiser que chame médico,
polícia não bota a mão
neste filho de meu pai.
Está salva a propriedade.
A noite geral prossegue,
a manhã custa a chegar,
mas o leiteiro
estatelado, ao relento,
perdeu a pressa que tinha.

Da garrafa estilhaçada,
no ladrilho já sereno
escorre uma coisa espessa
que é leite, sangue... não sei.
Por entre objetos confusos,
mal redimidos da noite,
duas cores se procuram
suavemente se tocam, 
amorosamente se enlaçam,
formando um terceiro tom
a que chamamos aurora.

(Poema extraído de Poesia completa. 5a. ed. Rio de Janeiro: José Olympio, 1973, p. 106-107.)


encontrado aqui

we honnor the original

One Art The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three beloved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. -- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster. Elizabeth Bishop

le poéte

centenario-de-roberto-matta-en-el-ivam

Morning flowers

- Mornings are long…

That is what I was about to say, to the girl

who comes to sit in front of me on the train,

poised in her imperial white dress,

mouth like a meaty flower on her small face

-  Mornings are long, dearest, but come evening flowers close all the same.

Falcoaria

"A falcoaria ou cetraria é a arte de criar, treinar e cuidar de falcões e outras aves rapaces para a caça. Em geral pode-se dizer que é uma caça de aves e pequenos quadrúpedes, praticada desde a Idade Média com falcões, açores, francelhos e outros rapaces, que têm a capacidade de perseguir uma presa no ar ou no solo até derrubá-la ou matá-la.

Os vestígios e documentos sobre a falcoaria mostram que se tratava de um desporto aristocrático, do qual participavam reis e outros membros poderosos das cortes.

O costume possui forte tradição em Portugal, onde é praticado desde a fundação da nacionalidade."

Da Wikipedia.

fotos obtidas aqui

Mister Heartbreak

Gérard Castello Lopes (1925 - 2011)

gerard-castello-lopes-cronista-do-seculo-xx-portugues