Friday, February 5, 2010
Americana(2)
Dorothea Lange (American, 1895-1965) The Road West, New Mexico. 1938. Gelatin silver print, 9 5/8 x 13 1/16" (24.5 x 33.2 cm) The Museum of Modern Art, New York
Americana
Robert Adams (American, born 1937), Colorado Springs, Colorado. 1968. Gelatin silver print, 5 15/16 x 5 15/16" (15.2 x 15.2 cm) The Museum of Modern Art, New York (c) 2008 Robert Adams
I was looking for you,
going long, lonely dusty roads...
Silence, I found, empty space.
Sua Alteza Serenissima
il Cavaliere
A ideia de ver Silvio Berlusconi a responder em tribunal volta a ser cenário remoto. O Parlamento acaba de aprovar uma lei que permite ao primeiro-ministro italiano evitar os tribunais nos próximos 18 meses, período que deverá ser aproveitado pela maioria que o apoia para preparar uma alteração constitucional que dê imunidade às principais figuras do Estado.
Silvio Berlusconi já recuperou a imunidade perdida o ano passado (Dario Pignatell/Reuters)
A chamada lei do "impedimento legítimo", que na prática bloqueia os julgamentos contra Berlusconi e os membros da sua equipa, foi anteontem aprovada numa agitada sessão, com os votos favoráveis de 316 deputados e a oposição de 239. O diploma será agora votado pelo Senado.
O "impedimento legítimo" já existia, mas era examinado caso a caso. Os juízes, recordou a agência AFP, aceitaram como justificação a participação do chefe do Governo num Conselho de Ministros, mas rejeitaram a inauguração de uma estrada. Na prática, os pedidos de Berlusconi que invoquem afazeres governativos não poderão ser rejeitados.
Berlusconi queixa-se de perseguição e acusa juízes de serem de esquerda e de o quererem afastar da política por meios judiciais. Um diploma aprovado poucas semanas depois de ter voltado ao poder, em Abril de 2008, protegia o primeiro-ministro de processos judiciais, mas em Outubro do ano passado o Tribunal Constitucional revogou essa lei e a perspectiva de julgamentos voltou. Berlusconi é arguido em dois processos - um por fraude fiscal, outro por corrupção de testemunho - e aguarda a decisão de um juiz que poderia levá-lo a ter de responder num terceiro processo, por abuso de confiança, enriquecimento ilícito e fraude fiscal.
Fabrizio Cicchitto, líder parlamentar do Povo da Liberdade, partido de Berlusconi, disse, segundo a Reuters, que, sem esta lei, "Il Cavaliere" passaria vários dias da semana nos tribunais. A esquerda considera que o diploma foi desenhado à medida do chefe do Governo. "Há um primeiro-ministro que não quer ser julgado e mantém a Itália numa guerra louca entre política e justiça", disse Pier Luigi Bersani, líder da principal força da oposição, o Partido Democrata. Cáustico, o antigo juiz Antonio De Pietro, líder da Itália dos Valores, fala em "morte da legalidade".
Público, 4 de Fevereiro de 2010
Insisto no Sr. Berlusconi, porque ele é bem um sinal dos tempos.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Judith Slaying Holofernes(2)
c. 1612-1613
Oil on canvas.
1.59m by 1.26m
Museo di Capolodimonte, Naples.
"This is a dramatic and brutally graphic version of this biblical scene, but less so than a larger and even bloodier setting by Artemisia around 1620. She based her first glimpse of Caravaggio's famous painting from c. 1598-1599, but enlivens the action with realism and powerful female protagonists.
Judith was a Jewish widow of noble rank in Bethulia, a town besieged by the army of the Assyrian general Holofernes. She approached his tent as an emissary and captivated him with her beauty. He ordered a feast with much wine. After he passed out in his tent, Judith and her maid Abra saw their opportunity. Judith decapitated Holofernes with his sword and smuggled his head back to Bethulia. On seeing her trophy, the townsfolk routed the leaderless Assyrians. The story is an allegory picturing Judith as Judaism in triumph over its pagan enemy.
Artemisia may have painted the scene during or just after the trial of Tassi for raping her. He denied the charges but couldn't shrug off his record of sex crimes. He had previously served time for raping his sister-in-law and conspiring to murder his wife, whom he "acquired" by rape.
It appears that after a long period of sexual harassment by Tassi and the other male artists in his studio, he violated Artemisia's virginity, a requisite for marriage between decent people. A consensual sexual relationship continued because he promised to marry her. It is likely that Artemisia hoped that he would marry her to restore her reputation. Her father discovered the assault and charged Tassi with rape.
The trial was a painful public humiliation for Artemisia. During the proceedings, she underwent vaginal examination and torture with thumbscrews. She was accused of being unchaste when she met Tassi and also of promiscuity. He also attacked her professional reputation. A transcript of the seven-month court case survives.
It was not until recent years that research by Lapierre revealed that Tassi was found guilty. He was given the choice of five years hard labour or exile from Rome. He choose the latter, but he was back in Rome within 4 months, probably due to influence in high places.
Is this painting Artemisia's means of brandishing symbolic justice for herself and other victims?"
taken from here
Fado
Tenho um problema com o Fado,
quando gosto acho sempre que não é Fado,
porque eu não gosto de Fado.
Judith Slaying Holofernes
Artemisia Gentileschi, “Judith Slaying Holofernes.”
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, “Judith Slaying Holofernes.”
Poem from a three year old
And will the flowers die?
And will the people die?
And every day do you grow old, do I
grow old, no I’m not old, do
flowers grow old?
Old things – do you throw them out?
Do you throw old people out?
And how you know a flower that’s old?
The petals fall, the petals fall from flowers,
and do the petals fall from people too,
every day more petals fall until the
floor where I would like to play I
want to play is covered with old
flowers and people all the same
together lying there with petals fallen
on the dirty floor I want to play
the floor you come and sweep
with the huge broom.
The dirt you sweep, what happens that,
what happens all the dirt you sweep
from flowers and people, what
happens all the dirt? Is all the
dirt what’s left of flowers and
people, all the dirt there in a
heap under the huge broom that
sweeps everything away?
Why you work so hard, why brush
and sweep to make a heap of dirt?
And who will bring new flowers?
And who will bring new people? Who will
bring new flowers to put in water
where no petals fall on to the
floor where I would like to
play? Who will bring new flowers
that will not hang their heads
like tired old people wanting sleep?
Who will bring new flowers that
do not split and shrivel every
day? And if we have new flowers,
will we have new people too to
keep the flowers alive and give
them water?
And will the new young flowers die?
And will the new young people die?
And why?
(Brendan Kennelly)
And will the people die?
And every day do you grow old, do I
grow old, no I’m not old, do
flowers grow old?
Old things – do you throw them out?
Do you throw old people out?
And how you know a flower that’s old?
The petals fall, the petals fall from flowers,
and do the petals fall from people too,
every day more petals fall until the
floor where I would like to play I
want to play is covered with old
flowers and people all the same
together lying there with petals fallen
on the dirty floor I want to play
the floor you come and sweep
with the huge broom.
The dirt you sweep, what happens that,
what happens all the dirt you sweep
from flowers and people, what
happens all the dirt? Is all the
dirt what’s left of flowers and
people, all the dirt there in a
heap under the huge broom that
sweeps everything away?
Why you work so hard, why brush
and sweep to make a heap of dirt?
And who will bring new flowers?
And who will bring new people? Who will
bring new flowers to put in water
where no petals fall on to the
floor where I would like to
play? Who will bring new flowers
that will not hang their heads
like tired old people wanting sleep?
Who will bring new flowers that
do not split and shrivel every
day? And if we have new flowers,
will we have new people too to
keep the flowers alive and give
them water?
And will the new young flowers die?
And will the new young people die?
And why?
(Brendan Kennelly)
The Hug by Tess Gallagher
A woman is reading a poem on the street
and another woman stops to listen. We stop too,
with our arms around each other...
Suddenly, a hug comes over me and I'm
giving it to you, like a variable star shooting light
off to make itself comfortable, then
subsiding. I finish but keep holding
you. A man walks up to us and we know he hasn't
come out of nowhere, but if he could, he
would have. He looks homeless because of how
he needs. "Can I have one of those?" he asks you,
and I feel you nod. I'm surprised,
surprised you don't tell him how
it is -- that I'm yours, only
yours, exclusive as a nose to
its face. Love -- that's what we're talking about, love
that nabs you with "for me only" and holds on.
So I walk over to him and put my
arms around him and try to
hug him like I mean it. He's got an overcoat on
so thick I can't feel
him past it. I'm starting the hug
and thinking, "How big a hug is this supposed to be?
How long shall I hold this hug?" Already
we could be eternal, his arms falling over my
shoulders, my hands not
meeting behind his back, he is so big!
I put my head into his chest and snuggle
in. I lean into him. I lean my blood and my wishes
into him. He stands for it. This is his
and he's starting to give it back so well I know he's
getting it. This hug. So truly, so tenderly
we stop having arms and I don't know if
my lover has walked away or what, or
if the woman is still reading the poem...
Clearly, a little permission is a dangerous thing.
But when you hug someone you want it
to be a masterpiece of connection, the way the button
on his coat will leave the imprint of
a planet on my cheek
when I walk away. When I try to find some place
to go back to.
and another woman stops to listen. We stop too,
with our arms around each other...
Suddenly, a hug comes over me and I'm
giving it to you, like a variable star shooting light
off to make itself comfortable, then
subsiding. I finish but keep holding
you. A man walks up to us and we know he hasn't
come out of nowhere, but if he could, he
would have. He looks homeless because of how
he needs. "Can I have one of those?" he asks you,
and I feel you nod. I'm surprised,
surprised you don't tell him how
it is -- that I'm yours, only
yours, exclusive as a nose to
its face. Love -- that's what we're talking about, love
that nabs you with "for me only" and holds on.
So I walk over to him and put my
arms around him and try to
hug him like I mean it. He's got an overcoat on
so thick I can't feel
him past it. I'm starting the hug
and thinking, "How big a hug is this supposed to be?
How long shall I hold this hug?" Already
we could be eternal, his arms falling over my
shoulders, my hands not
meeting behind his back, he is so big!
I put my head into his chest and snuggle
in. I lean into him. I lean my blood and my wishes
into him. He stands for it. This is his
and he's starting to give it back so well I know he's
getting it. This hug. So truly, so tenderly
we stop having arms and I don't know if
my lover has walked away or what, or
if the woman is still reading the poem...
Clearly, a little permission is a dangerous thing.
But when you hug someone you want it
to be a masterpiece of connection, the way the button
on his coat will leave the imprint of
a planet on my cheek
when I walk away. When I try to find some place
to go back to.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
andando pelo rio
O monte não estava consolidado, durantes algumas semanas fortes chuvadas, abalaram a sua consistência. Toneladas de terra desabaram sobre a estrada, uma artéria vital para a alimentação da cidade.
Seguiram-se semanas e depois meses, de filas e contratempos, até que o monte fosse levado para outra parte, a sua terra usada para outros fins.
A vida prosseguiu na cidade contudo, outros caminhos, mesmo velhos, serviram para continuar a alimentar a cidade de tudo o que precisa. A vida não pára.
Tinha ganho o gosto de caminhar todas as tardes – de manhã, não. Demasiado frio, o corpo não lhe pedia.
Mas passado o meio da tarde, pela hora do lanche, pegava no chapéu e lá ia, atravessava rápido as ruas até ao rio. Chegado lá, fazia 2 quilómetros pela margem na direção da nascente, aí chegado parava um pouco, olhava em redor – engraçado como o rio sempre o mesmo, nunca era igual.
Uns dias estava nevoeiro, outros dias sol, uns dias voavam pássaros ligeiros, fazendo tangentes sobre a água. Outros dias não.
Um dia, sentiu qualquer coisa na perna esquerda, quando voltava já na direção da foz, não devia ser nada, uma pequena dor, também já não era nada novo, chegamos a uma altura em que o nosso corpo só nos dá vergonhas...
Nessa noite começou a doer-lhe o peito, no dia seguinte não tinha apetite e não foi andar.
Todos os dias anda muita gente ao longo do rio, é bom - faz bem à saúde e descontrai, mas aos domingos não, aos domingos não é bom ir, demasiada gente conhecida, muito tempo perdido em cumprimentos...aos domingos não, não vale a pena.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
smorgasbord
smorgasbord
One entry found.
Main Entry: smor·gas·bord
Pronunciation: \ˈsmȯr-gəs-ˌbȯrd\
Function: noun
Etymology: Swedish smörgåsbord, from smörgås open sandwich + bord table
Date: 1879
1 : a luncheon or supper buffet offering a variety of foods and dishes (as hors d'oeuvres, hot and cold meats, smoked and pickled fish, cheeses, salads, and relishes)
2 : an often large heterogeneous mixture : mélange
“20 Things that Happen in 1 Minute” Graphic
“20 Things that Happen in 1 Minute” Graphic: "
"
p.j. sent me this graphic that shows a number of things that happen in 1 minute. She found it at a website that gives insurance quotes, oddly enough, but in general the sources don’t appear to me to be ones that would be prone to industry-friendly bias:
NOTE: Readers are making some really interesting points about the representations here in the comments, so check ‘em out.
(View original at http://contexts.org/socimages)
"
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