Sons da Escrita 162





Compasso a compasso, palavra a palavra, alinham-se, rigorosos, os sons da escrita.

Quando um homem interroga a água pura dos sentidos e ousa caminhar, serenamente, os esquecidos atalhos de todas as memórias, acontecem viagens — viagens entre o quase tudo e o quase nada.

Então, da raíz dos nervos da memória surge a planta de uma vida escutada no silêncio dos sons da escrita.

Sons da Escrita – à volta de uma ideia de José-António Moreira.


Sabia ainda os passos (Maria Manuel)

sabia ainda os passos na rota das aves
na erosão oblíqua dos vales.
os nomes em construção profunda onde
as palavras abrigam sua imediata nudez.
com as aves rasgava sonhos
volúveis na distância em volta.
dos sonhos fazia-se ave errante
em torno dos versos de um poema.





Footprints (Paul McCartney)

It's Beautiful Outside, An Old Hand Gathers Wood,
Can He See Me Sitting Here? His Mind Is Somewhere Else.
His Friend Have Flown Away, He's Left Out In The Cold.
He Won't Sit By My Fire, He Says He Likes It In The Snow.
Where Footprints Never Go, He Likes It In The Snow.

It's Getting Dark Outside, The Old Hand's Going Home,
Has He Someone Waiting There? Or Is He Living On His Own?
Where Footprints Never Go, He Likes It In The Snow...

White Blanket, Hiding The Traces Of Tears She Didn't See,
Oh White Blanket Covers The Memory
Of All That Used To Be. All That Used To Be.
But His Heart Keeps Aching In The Same Old Way,
He Can't Help Feeling That She Might Come Back Someday.

It's Beautiful Outside, A Magpie Looks For Food.
The Old Hand Throws A Crumb,
Do You Think He's Found A Friend?
Where Footprints Never Go, He Likes It In The Snow...

White Blanket, Hiding The Traces Of Paths He Didn't Take
Oh White Blanket Covers The Memory
Of Moves He Didn't Make
Oh White Blanket, Hiding The Traces Of Tears She Didn't See

Snow White Blanket Simply Covers The Memory
Of All That Used To Be.
But His Heart Keeps Aching In The Same Old Way



A fabulação da linguagem (Maria Manuel)

a fabulação da linguagem.
uma prece atenta à claridade
aos fragmentos da manhã
na substância pura dos gestos
das memórias.
ou talvez líquidas as palavras
ardam nos breves incêndios
do crepúsculo. como uma
paisagem com espelho ao fundo.

depois as rosas, nomeamos:
paixão ódio amor morte.
esses frutos sanguíneos,
reflexo que nos devolve
à semântica do olhar.





Reflections of my life (Marmalade)

The changing of sunlight to moonlight
Reflections of my life, oh, how they fill my eyes
The greetings of people in trouble
Reflections of my life, oh, how they fill my eyes

All my sorrow, sad tomorrow
Take me back to my old home
All my cryin', feel I'm dyin', dyin'
Take me back (take me back) to my old home

I'm changin', arrangin', I'm changin', I'm changin' everything,
Ah, everything around me
The world is a bad place, a bad place, a terrible place to live
Oh, but I don't wanna die



Tive este sonho (Maria Manuel)

tive este sonho nas teclas de um piano:
marés de ti esvoaçavam em silêncio
as nuvens como dardos por dentro da casa
as rosas como pêndulos deitados nas horas
segredos inscritos no tecido branco da tela
inquieta no vento uma ave um coração
de palavras intactas na sombra dos girassóis
subtileza na aragem na substância dos dias.





Bored by dreams (Marianne Faithfull)

Things are never what they seem
Play a part most of the time.
What is yours cannot be mine
And I'm bored by dreams.

Bored by dreams.

I can't say the words I mean
Make myself go through the line.
Does the payment fit the crime
If I'm bored by dreams?

Take me through the steps my love,
Shall we dance again?
I was older then,
Now we are the same.

Lasse des rêves.

Rêve qui brille dans le noir
Brillera bien, tu peux le croire.
Toujours dire la vérité
Quand je suis lasse des rêves.

Take me through the steps, my love,
Shall we dance again?
Things were always brighter then,
Hear me call your name.

After a certain age
Every artist
Works with injury.

After a certain age
Every artist
Works with injury.

Take me through the steps my love,
Shall we dance again?
I was always older then,
Now we are the same.



A clareira laminada (Maria Manuel)

a clareira laminada de luz
era uma clareira densa por dentro do bosque

descompassadamente
o medo dos homens (re)nascia.

as bocas alteradas na nudez concreta dos frutos
pediam uma espécie de ordem complacente.

as bocas consumidas nas mesmas chamas ténues
onda nebulosa no fundo mais fundo dos olhos,
de onde o apego da espuma às mãos hirtas –

rosas impuras do deserto.
era um lugar sem inscrição na história.





A place among the stones (Maïre Brennan & Davy Spillane)

Is fada mo shúile ort
Thug mé isteach duit
Tusa mo mhian
Tusa mo mhian

(My eyes long for you,
I gave in,
You are my desire)

No heart hangs on distant water
What enchantment in this world
I wander westward my heart desires
With seas alive
Shadow me under the mountains of time
Guide me to the endless paths

No tears fall on stoney highways
That skyline splendour lights my way
We wander westward our heart's desire
With seas of light
Shadow me under the mountains of time
Guide us to endless paths





Genérico final

é tarde na casa do poeta
se a palavra consente
a raiz do silêncio.




Com amizade: Davy Spillane, Paul McCartney, Marmalade, Marianne Faithfull, Maïre Brennan, Maria Manuel e José-António Moreira

Sejam felizes!, pelo menos, nos próximos minutos, nas próximas horas, nos próximos dias… no resto das vossas vidas, se forem capazes!

And in the end
the love you'll take
is equal to the love you make

Posted: sex - março 21, 2008 at 12:00 AM          

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