Friday, February 11, 2011

fragment

...utterly free,
drawn from the cold hard mouth
of the world, derived from the rocky breasts
forever, flowing and drawn, and since
our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown. 

Elizabeth Bishop 

Inverno em Travancinha





"Transforma-se o amador na coisa amada" - diálogo

"Transforma-se o amador na coisa amada"

«Transforma-se o amador na coisa amada», com seu
feroz sorriso, os dentes,
as mãos que relampejam no escuro. Traz ruído
e silêncio. Traz o barulho das ondas frias
e das ardentes pedras que tem dentro de si.
E cobre esse ruído rudimentar com o assombrado
silêncio da sua última vida.
O amador transforma-se de instante para instante,
e sente-se o espírito imortal do amor
criando a carne em extremas atmosferas, acima
de todas as coisas mortas.
Transforma-se o amador. Corre pelas formas dentro.
E a coisa amada é uma baía estanque.
É o espaço de um castiçal,
a coluna vertebral e o espírito
das mulheres sentadas.
Transforma-se em noite extintora.
Porque o amador é tudo, e a coisa amada
é uma cortina
onde o vento do amador bate no alto da janela
aberta. O amador entra
por todas as janelas abertas. Ele bate, bate, bate.
O amador é um martelo que esmaga.
Que transforma a coisa amada.
Ele entra pelos ouvidos, e depois a mulher
que escuta
fica com aquele grito para sempre na cabeça
a arder como o primeiro dia do verão. Ela ouve
e vai-se transformando, enquanto dorme, naquele grito
do amador.
Depois acorda, e vai, e dá-se ao amador,
dá-lhe o grito dele.
E o amador e a coisa amada são um único grito
anterior de amor.
E gritam e batem. Ele bate-lhe com o seu espírito
de amador. E ela é batida, e bate-lhe
com o seu espírito de amada.
Então o mundo transforma-se neste ruído áspero
do amor. Enquanto em cima
o silêncio do amador e da amada alimentam
o imprevisto silêncio do mundo e do amor.
Herberto Helder

Transforma-se o amador na coisa amada
Por virtude do muito imaginar;
Não tenho, logo, mais que desejar,
Pois em mim tenho a parte desejada.
Se nela está minha alma transformada,
Que mais deseja o corpo de alcançar?
Em si somente pode descansar,
Pois com ele tal alma está liada.
Mas esta linda e pura semideia,
Que, como o acidente em seu sujeito
Assim como a alma minha se conforma
Está no pensamento como ideia;
O vivo e puro amor de que sou feito
Como a matéria simples busca a forma.
Luís de Camões

minor


Life


A plot-holder, his wife and their eldest son at lunch, Wheatlands, Randfontein, September, 1962

Egypt

Yasmine El Rashidi
The charred headquarters of the ruling NDP party

A nice memento of the status quo in Egypt..."O povo unido jamais será vencido"  come from Chile into Portugal. I hope it will happen now in Egypt and all over the Middle East...

Anonymous said...

Anonymous said...

"Misty dawn, lilac sky,
Weary spirits look up high.
Early morn, brand new day,
Rising sunlight brightens our way.

Misty dawn, lilac sky,
Each day your beauty maginified.
All the world is in its prime,
Each horizon yields a new springtime.

Misty dawn, lilac sky,
Puffy white clouds float on by.
Across the heavens eagles soar,
While far below the oceans roar.

Misty dawn, lilac sky,
All the earth must comply.
Amber light, coming sunshine,
Time to sing praises to the Divine."

Visions of sunrise By Gil Saenz

Thursday, February 10, 2011

suddenly discovering his soul




After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own. Music always seems to me to produce that effect. It creates for one a past of which one has been ignorant, and fills one with a sense of sorrows that had been hidden from one's tears. I can fancy a man who had led a perfectly commonplace life, hearing by chance some curious piece of music, and suddenly discovering that his soul, without his being conscious of it, had passed through terrible experiences, and known fearful joys, or wild romantic loves, or great renunciations."
                     — Oscar Wilde, "The Critic as Artist"

Já o poeta como sabemos, é um fingidor consumado...

tragedy


The Black Paintings, begun in the year before the artist’s suicide, confirm Rothko’s belief that his work encompassed tragedy.

The Great Wave


closeKatsushika Hokusai
Kanagawa oki namiura (Fuji behind the waves off Kanagawa [The Great Wave])
1831-1833

Full-color woodcut (nishiki-e). Collection UCLA Grunwald Center for the Graphic Arts. Purchased from the Frank Lloyd Wright Collection.

map of nowhere





Grayson PerryMap of Nowhere, 2008. Purple color etching from five plates, ed. 10/15. UCLA Grunwald Center for the Graphic Arts, Hammer Museum. Purchased with funds provided by the Helga K. and Walter Oppenheimer bequest.
British artist Grayson Perry was awarded the Turner Prize for his provocative ceramic vases in 2003. A monumental etching recently acquired by the Grunwald Center for the Graphic Arts demonstrates Perry’s skills as a printmaker. It combines a diagram of the artist’s body with a medieval map of the world. The composition is riddle with allegorical references to the artist’s own identities and witty allusions to current social, political, and economic themes. Churches for Microsoft and Starbucks, and an Elizabethan portrait of a woman titled St. Claire, Perry’s alter ego/patron saint, are a few of the images that adorn this iconographic tour-de-force.

sunrise today



Wednesday, February 9, 2011

all the history of grief

Archibald MacLeish "Ars Poetica" (1926)
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown --

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.

                    *

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind --

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.

                    *

A poem should be equal to
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea --

A poem should not mean
But be.

irrelephant

irrelephant irrelephant irrelephant

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Mata mua



PAUL GAUGUIN - "Mata Mua (in olden times)", 1892 - oil on canvas, 91-69 cm. - Madrid, Thyssen Museum - view high resolution image
Gauguin travelled to the tropics searching an artistic redemption, a comeback to the 'primitive' and the 'exotic' that could help him to find a way in which his Art could be 'purified'. "Mata Mua (in olden times)" is a powerful and fascinating composition divided in two parts by a giant tree that majestically stands over a red and purple river. The two women at the right represent the present of Tahiti, while the group of women in front of a big statue of an idol represent the past, the "primitive" Tahitian way of life.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Leona Aline

Somebody named Leona Aline, just sent me an email...wish she was really somebody, wish it was really an email, not just another computer virus, not just another way of stealing from me...

masses