Showing posts with label poesia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poesia. Show all posts
do tempo...
Espera-se. O tempo apaga muitas coisas e é como o
vento que traz coisas que não se espera, quando se
espera coisas que não traz.
H. L. S. Maia, Porto, 18 Dez 1957
Al Cabo...
Al Cabo
Al cabo, son muy pocas las palabras
que de verdad nos duelen, y muy pocas
las que consiguen alegrar el alma.
Y son también muy pocas las personas
que mueven nuestro corazon, y menos
aún las que lo mueven mucho tiempo.
Al cabo, son poquíssimas las cosas
que de verdad importan en la vida:
poder querer a alguien, que nos quieran
y no morri después que nuestros hijos.
Amalia Bautista
A marriage ought to be based on a friendship; not primarily just on physical attraction...
... Well... first and foremost... because the physical attraction is going to go away, sooner or later.
Mary Wollstonecraft - Her Life and Key Ideas
Sobre Mary Wollstonecraft
Mais coisas:
The Love Letters Of Mary Wollstonecraft To Gilbert Imlay
Letters to a Young Poet: aqui e aqui
Maria Popova:
The Difficult Art of Giving Space in Love: Rilke on Freedom, Togetherness, and the Secret to a Good Marriage
The Original Marriage of Equals: The Love Letters of Feminism Founding Mother Mary Wollstonecraft and Political Philosopher William Godwin
"I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other. For, if it lies in the nature of indifference and of the crowd to recognize no solitude, then love and friendship are there for the purpose of continually providing the opportunity for solitude. And only those are the true sharings which rhythmically interrupt periods of deep isolation."
Rainer Maria Rilke
Optimism
Optimism from kellianderson on Vimeo.
More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam
returns over and over to the same shape, but the sinuous
tenacity of a tree: finding the light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another. A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers,
mitochondria, figs – all this resinous, unretractable earth.
Jane Hirshfield
The Universe in Verse - 2018 - The science of the Earth / Holy stardust!!
The Universe in Verse 2018: full show from Maria Popova on Vimeo.
"Celebrating science through poetry with an element of protest to remind us just how vital the truth and beauty are to human life, to civic life, to our flourishing as individuals, as a community and as a species."
Links:
Maria Mitchell (1818-1889) - astrónoma
Rachel Carson (1907-1964) - bióloga marinha. Mais aqui.
Maya Angelou - poetisa e bióloga
Denise Levertov (1923-1997) - poetisa
Natalie Batalha (1966) - astrónoma
James Gleick (1954) - autor de ciência
Terrance Hayes (1971) - poeta
Marie Howe (1950) - poetisa
Amy M. Homes (1961) - poetisa
Jane Hirshfield (1953) - poetisa
Kelli Anderson - designer
Robin Wall Kimmerer (1953) - botânica
Poems:
A Brave and Startling Truth
Sojourns in the Parallel World
World Below the Brine
Renascence
The Fish in the Stone
Cutting Greens
The Singularity
The Explorers
Optimism
Jabberwocky
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky
Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky
Volver a los diecisiete
Aqui
Volver a los diecisiete
Después de vivir un siglo
Es como descifrar signos
Sin ser sabio competente
Volver a ser de repente
Tan frágil como un segundo
Volver a sentir profundo
Como un niño frente a Dios
Eso es lo que siento yo
En este instante fecundo
Se va enredando, enredando
Como en el muro la hiedra
Y va brotando, brotando
Como el musguito en la piedra
Ay si si si
Mi paso retrocedido
Cuando el de ustedes avanza
El arco de las alianzas
Ha penetrado en mi nido
Con todo su colorido
Se ha paseado por mis venas
Y hasta las duras cadenas
Con que nos ata el destino
Es como un diamante fino
Que alumbra mi alma serena
Lo que puede el sentimiento
No lo ha podido el saber
Ni el mas claro proceder
Ni el más ancho pensamiento
Todo lo cambia el momento
Cual mago condescendiente
Nos aleja dulcemente
De rencores y violencias
Sólo el amor con su ciencia
Nos vuelve tan inocentes
El amor es torbellino
De pureza original
Hasta el feroz animal
Susurra su dulce trino
Detiene a los peregrinos
Libera a los prisioneros
El amor con sus esmeros
Al viejo lo vuelve niño
Y al malo solo el cariño
Lo vuelve puro y sincero
De par en par en la ventana
Se abrió como por encanto
Entró el amor con su manto
Como una tibia mañana
Al son de su bella diana
Hizo brotar el jazmín
Volando cual serafín
Al cielo le puso aretes
Y mis años en diecisiete
Los convirtió el querubín
Violeta Parra Sandoval
Mission accomplished
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
- But O heart! heart! heart!
- O the bleeding drops of red,
- Where on the deck my Captain lies,
- Fallen cold and dead.
- Where on the deck my Captain lies,
- O the bleeding drops of red,
O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
- Here captain! dear father!
- This arm beneath your head;
- It is some dream that on the deck,
- You've fallen cold and dead.
- It is some dream that on the deck,
- This arm beneath your head;
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
- Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
- But I, with mournful tread,
- Walk the deck my captain lies,
- Fallen cold and dead.
- Walt Whitman
- Walk the deck my captain lies,
- But I, with mournful tread,
A rose is a rose
Suppose, to suppose, suppose a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
To suppose, we suppose that there arose here and there that here
and there there arose and instance of knowing that there are
here and there that there are there that they will prepare, that
they do care to come again.
Are they to come again.
To suppose, we suppose that there arose here and there that here
and there there arose and instance of knowing that there are
here and there that there are there that they will prepare, that
they do care to come again.
Are they to come again.
Gertrude Stein
Vídeo Youtube: Пионеры модерна - 1900е - Loie Fuller
Cidade visível
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Life While You Wait
"Reality is that which doesn't go away even if you don't believe in it", some one said.
"Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans.", some one else said.
Life While-You-Wait.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.
I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot
just what this play's all about.
just what this play's all about.
Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can't conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can't conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can't take back,
stars you'll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run ?
the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
stars you'll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run ?
the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn't even clear my throat offstage).
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn't even clear my throat offstage).
You'd be wrong to think that it's just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I'm standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there's no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I've done.
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I'm standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there's no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I've done.
~ Wislawa Szymborska ~
(Poems New and Collected 1957-1997,
trans. S. Baranczak and C. Cavanagh)
Drácula Apaixonado
quero o teu
colar
o teu pescoço
o teu arfar
(e quero-te, claro,
a veia jugular)
João Habitualmente
Apocalipse
1
recatai-vos velhas
fugi para a igreja
abanai o sino
fechai bem no quarto
o vosso netinho
o vosso menino
para que não veja
para que não saiba
para que não seja
assim como esses
que são cabeludos
que só têm barba
dizem palavrões
e dão encontrões
nas ruas da baixa
aos senhores sisudos
são uns parvalhões
recatai-vos velhas
trazei um polícia
uma esquadra inteira
ai tanta sujeira
imaginem só
andam-se a drogar
até metem dó
a cambalear
isto está perdido
ó velhas fugi
ide para ali
que aqui está fodido
recatai-vos velhas
tapai as orelhas
guardai o menino
fechai-o no quarto
metei-o na cama
para que não veja
para que não ouça
para que não seja
para que não tenha
para que não venha
perdeu-se o respeito
já não há moral
ó velhas fugi
olhem para ali
beijam-se na rua
fodem ao luar
antes de casar
já nem vão à tropa
só querem dinheiro
todo para estourar
já nem vão às putas
mostrar que são homens
ó senhor prior
já nem vão à missa
não têm missal
isto é um horror
vamos mesmo mal
fechai os olhos
não vejais o netinho
guardai-o no fundo
de um quarto comprido
para que não veja
para que não tenha
para que não seja
para que não venha
recatai-vos velhas
que já nem na praia
se consegue estar
ó virgem maria
ó senhor do céu
essas estrangeiras
deu-lhes para andar
de mamas ao léu
a tremelicar
ó velhas cuidado
assim é que não
inda a procissão
só vai no adro
não deixes que a merda
se ponha a medrar
gritai pelas ruas
falai prós jornais
morra a juventude
fine a desvergonha
chamemos quem ponha
estes animais
c'o a corda rente
ó velhas chamai
o presidente
2
libertai-vos velhas
vinde para o sol
dançar rock n' roll
ide até a lua
c'uma ganza fixe
esticai o dedo
apanhai boleia
fumai muito haxixe
ponde a casa cheia
dos nossos poetas
dos nosso malucos
andai de autocarro
a fugir ao pica
libertai-vos velhas
não pagueis a taxa
acabai com a graxa
aos vossos patrões
cagai no juízo
nas boas maneiras
cagai nas peneiras
ó velhas então?
vinde para aqui
para a confusão
ó velhas vesti
uma mini-saia
deixai que vos caia
esse ar tão mortiço
essa cara chocha
mostrai a coxa
gritai uma asneira
uma malandrice
pelos microfones
das rádios-pirata
ouvi os Police
os Rolling Stones
não vos afoguei
em mais água benta
bebei um bagaço
jogai a dinheiro
ide ao cangalheiro
adiai a morte
ide pelo mundo
por estradas à sorte
vinde para aqui
para o reviralho
e se não quiserdes
ide para o caralho!
João Habitualmente
You learn / The Division of Gravity
You Learn
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth…
And you learn and learn…
With every good-bye you learn.
Jorge Luis Borges
The Division of Gravity, de Rob Chiu
Em Português:
Após um tempo,
Aprendemos a diferença subtil
Entre segurar uma mão
E acorrentar uma alma,
E aprendemos
Que o amor não significa deitar-se
E uma companhia não significa segurança
E começamos a aprender...
Que os beijos não são contratos
E os presentes não são promessas
E começamos a aceitar as derrotas
De cabeça levantada e os olhos abertos
Aprendemos a construir
Todos os caminhos no hoje,
Porque a terra amanhã
É demasiado incerta para planos...
E os futuros têm um forma de ficarem
Pela metade.
E depois de um tempo
Aprendemos que se for demasiado,
Até um calorzinho do sol queima.
Assim plantamos nosso próprio jardim
E decoramos nossa própria alma,
Em vez de esperarmos que alguém nos traga flores.
E aprendemos que realmente podemos aguentar,
Que somos realmente fortes,
Que valemos realmente a pena,
E aprendemos e aprendemos...
E em cada dia aprendemos.
Em castelhano:
Y Uno Aprende
Después de un tiempo,
uno aprende la sutil diferencia
entre sostener una mano
y encadenar un alma,
y uno aprende
que el amor no significa acostarse
y una compañía no significa seguridad
y uno empieza a aprender...
Que los besos no son contratos
y los regalos no son promesas
y uno empieza a aceptar sus derrotas
con la cabeza alta y los ojos abiertos
y uno aprende a construir
todos sus caminos en el hoy,
porque el terreno del mañana
es demasiado inseguro para planes...
y los futuros tienen una forma de caerse
en la mitad.
Y después de un tiempo
uno aprende que si es demasiado,
hasta el calorcito del sol quema.
Así que uno planta su propio jardín
y decora su propia alma,
en lugar de esperar a que alguien le traiga flores.
Y uno aprende que realmente puede aguantar,
que uno realmente es fuerte,
que uno realmente vale,
y uno aprende y aprende...
y con cada día uno aprende.
Wild is the wind
Love me, love me, say you do
Let me fly away with you
For my love is like the wind
And wild is the wind
Give me more than one caress
Satisfy this hungriness
Let the wind blow through your heart
For wild is the wind
You touch me
I hear the sound of mandolins
You kiss me
With your kiss my life begins
You're spring to me
All things to me
Don't you know you're life itself
Like a leaf clings to a tree
Oh my darling, cling to me
For we're creatures of the wind
And wild is the wind
So wild is the wind
Dimitri Tiomkin & Ned Washington
Matemática e poesia
Final proof that maths and poetry have a special relationship.
"From pi to the Fibonacci sequence, poets' imaginations have been fired by the elegance of numbers – and mathematicians have returned the compliment."
Aqui
