Se uma gaivota viesse
Trazer-me o céu de Lisboa
No desenho que fizesse,
Nesse céu onde o olhar
É uma asa que não voa,
Esmorece e cai no mar.
Que perfeito coração
No meu peito bateria,
Meu amor na tua mão,
Nessa mão onde cabia
Perfeito o meu coração.
Se um português marinheiro,
Dos sete mares andarilho,
Fosse quem sabe o primeiro
A contar-me o que inventasse,
Se um olhar de novo brilho
No meu olhar se enlaçasse.
Que perfeito coração
No meu peito bateria,
Meu amor na tua mão,
Nessa mão onde cabia
Perfeito o meu coração.
Se ao dizer adeus à vida
As aves todas do céu,
Me dessem na despedida
O teu olhar derradeiro,
Esse olhar que era só teu,
Amor que foste o primeiro.
Que perfeito coração
No meu peito morreria,
Meu amor na tua mão,
Nessa mão onde perfeito
Bateu o meu coração.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgQeJ6BqRLI
sexta-feira, 25 de setembro de 2009
"Nome de rua"
Ouçam! Um fado de Amália revisitado pelo grupo Amália Hoje.
Deste-me um nome de rua
Duma rua de Lisboa.
Muito mais nome de rua,
Do que nome de pessoa.
Um desse nomes de rua
Que são nomes de canoa.
Nome de rua quieta,
Onde à noite ninguém passa,
Onde o ciúme é uma seta,
Onde o amor é uma taça.
Nome de rua secreta,
Onde à noite ninguém passa,
Onde a sombra do poeta,
De repente, nos abraça!
Com um pouco de amargura,
Com muito da Madragoa.
Com a ruga de quem procura,
E o riso de quem perdoa.
Deste-me um nome de rua,
Duma rua de Lisboa!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjPWCEuQmBs
Deste-me um nome de rua
Duma rua de Lisboa.
Muito mais nome de rua,
Do que nome de pessoa.
Um desse nomes de rua
Que são nomes de canoa.
Nome de rua quieta,
Onde à noite ninguém passa,
Onde o ciúme é uma seta,
Onde o amor é uma taça.
Nome de rua secreta,
Onde à noite ninguém passa,
Onde a sombra do poeta,
De repente, nos abraça!
Com um pouco de amargura,
Com muito da Madragoa.
Com a ruga de quem procura,
E o riso de quem perdoa.
Deste-me um nome de rua,
Duma rua de Lisboa!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjPWCEuQmBs
quarta-feira, 16 de setembro de 2009
sábado, 5 de setembro de 2009
"Poema da malta das naus"
Lancei ao mar um madeiro,
espetei-lhe um pau e um lençol.
Com palpite marinheiro
medi a altura do sol.
Deu-me o vento de feição,
levou-me ao cabo do mundo.
Pelote de vagabundo,
rebotalho de gibão.
Dormi no dorso das vagas,
pasmei na orla das praias,
arreneguei, roguei pragas,
mordi peloiros e zagaias.
Chamusquei o pêlo hirsuto,
tive o corpo em chagas vivas,
estalaram-me as gengivas,
apodreci de escorbuto.
Com a mão direita benzi-me,
com a direita esganei.
Mil vezes no chão, bati-me,
outras mil me levantei.
Meu riso de dentes podres
ecoou nas sete partidas.
Fundei cidades e vidas,
rompi as arcas e os odres.
Tremi no escuro da selva,
alambique de suores.
Estendi na areia e na relva
mulheres de todas as cores.
Moldei as chaves do mundo
a que outros chamaram seu,
mas quem mergulhou no fundo
do sonho, esse, fui eu.
O meu sabor é diferente.
Provo-me e saibo-me a sal.
Não se nasce impunemente
nas praias de Portugal.
In Teatro do Mundo, 1958
Desconheço o autor do poema.
espetei-lhe um pau e um lençol.
Com palpite marinheiro
medi a altura do sol.
Deu-me o vento de feição,
levou-me ao cabo do mundo.
Pelote de vagabundo,
rebotalho de gibão.
Dormi no dorso das vagas,
pasmei na orla das praias,
arreneguei, roguei pragas,
mordi peloiros e zagaias.
Chamusquei o pêlo hirsuto,
tive o corpo em chagas vivas,
estalaram-me as gengivas,
apodreci de escorbuto.
Com a mão direita benzi-me,
com a direita esganei.
Mil vezes no chão, bati-me,
outras mil me levantei.
Meu riso de dentes podres
ecoou nas sete partidas.
Fundei cidades e vidas,
rompi as arcas e os odres.
Tremi no escuro da selva,
alambique de suores.
Estendi na areia e na relva
mulheres de todas as cores.
Moldei as chaves do mundo
a que outros chamaram seu,
mas quem mergulhou no fundo
do sonho, esse, fui eu.
O meu sabor é diferente.
Provo-me e saibo-me a sal.
Não se nasce impunemente
nas praias de Portugal.
In Teatro do Mundo, 1958
Desconheço o autor do poema.
Encontrei-o em http://www.donagataempontodecruz.com/, quando procurava o poema de Fernando Pessoa "O amor não se sabe revelar" (também copiei daí a imagem do quadro de René Magritte).
Se já o conhecesse há uns anitos atrás, tê-lo-ia lido aos mesu alunos quando falávamos dos Descobrimentos. Compreenderiam certamente muito melhor a força de ânimo dos nossos marinheiros de antanho.
"O amor não se sabe revelar"
O amor, quando se revela,
Não se sabe revelar.
Sabe bem olhar p’ra ela,
Mas não lhe sabe falar.
Não se sabe revelar.
Sabe bem olhar p’ra ela,
Mas não lhe sabe falar.
Quem quiser dizer o que sente
Não sabe o que há-de dizer.
Fala: parece que mente…
Cala: parece esquecer…
Ah, mas se ela adivinhasse,
Se pudesse ouvir o olhar,
E se um olhar lhe bastasse
P’ra sabe que a estão a amar!
Mas quem sente muito, cala;
Quem quer dizer quanto sente
Fica sem alma, nem fala,
Fica só, inteiramente!
Mas se isto puder contar-lhe
O que não lhe ouso contar,
Já não terei que falar-lhe
Porque lhe estou a falar…
Fernando Pessoa (1888 – 1935)
(Imagem: René Magritte "Les Amants" 1928)
(Imagem: René Magritte "Les Amants" 1928)
Passeio a Aveiro
Fomos ontem a Aveiro visitar a Isabel. Claro que primeiro fomos ao Forum, almoçámos por lá tendo sido desde logo estabelecido que iríamos comer "porcariazitas", a comida saudável é só em casa e nem sempre porque pode dar cabo da nossa saúde...que o diga o Nelo (nós cá nos entendemos, não é? Batatinha frita todos os dias para eliminar o colasterol....). Vi um casaquinho e uma mantinha rosa lindos de morrer numa loja de bébés e apeteceu-me logo comprá-los para a Dádá, mas eram carotes e se contra todos os vaticínios nos aparece um Salvador? Não vai andar de rosa no carrinho...Ainda tentei fazer chantagem com a minha nova mãmã, tipo, se prometeres que na próxima ecografia deixas que o médico diga se é menino ou menina, compro já, mas não resultou. Vai ser um enxoval muiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiito difícil de fazer. Ela própria já constatou que há coisas maravilhosas, mas praticamente tudo em rosa ou azul....Não admira, quase todas as mães querem saber o sexo dos bébés. Enfim, já me conformei...Mas também só faço nhónhós! Quando ela nascer vou a correr comprar coisinhas lindas em rosa, com fitinhas e laços.Depois da visita à Isabel, ía eu, muito certinha, pela Lourenço Peixinho abaixo, já sem pensar em compras, quando me deparo com uns sapatinhos numa montra que já estavam a piscar-me o olho e a sorrir descaradamente para mim ainda eu não os tinha visto. Moderníssimos! Em camurça, azul cobalto,com cunha em preto, cinzento e azulão. Um must! E ainda por cima com um preço óptimo! Bom, vieram comigo, claro!
Começou a minha perdição de Outono!
Ida ao cinema
Alexis GeorgoulisQuase "arrancada" de casa à força pela filha, lá fui ver uma comediazinha romântica, na passada 2ª feira: " A minha vida em ruínas", passado na Grécia, por entre aquele "montão de pedras" que eu anseio por conhecer (se continuar a adiar, já só lá vou em espírito, esvoaçando, invisível, envolta num diáfano manto branco!!!!!!!!!!!). No princípio do filme aparece como personagem muito secundário, um brutamontes cabeludo e com barba de 500 anos a que não se dá atenção nenhuma porque coisas feias é o que nós mais vemos por aí, não vale a pena pagar 5,80€ para ver mais uma. Mais umas cenas adiante o "coisa" aparece de barba cortada e já começamos a suspeitar que aquele monstrinho tem potencialidades para se tornar aceitável...No final, qual borboleta saída do casulo, eis que o sapo se tranforma num príncipe!!!!! Este príncipe!
Dá vontade de bater no realizador por só maravilhar os nossos (meus) olhos com esta aparição nos minutos finais !!!!!!
My name is Ted Kennedy Jr. ...
My name is Ted Kennedy Jr., a name I share with my son, a name I shared with my father. Although it hasn't been easy at times to live with this name, I've never been more proud of it than I am today.
Your Eminence, thank you for being here. You've graced us with your presence. To all the musicians who have come here, my father loved the arts and he would be so pleased for your performances today.
My heart is filled. And I first want to say thank you. My heart is filled with appreciation and gratitude to the people of Massachusetts, my father's loyal staff, who -- in many ways my dad's loss is just as great for them as it is for those of us in our family. And to all of my father's family and friends who have come to pay their respects.
Listening to people speak about how my father impacted their lives and the deep personal connection that people felt with my dad has been an overwhelming emotional experience.
My dad had the greatest friends in the world. All of you here are also my friends, and his greatest gift to me. I love you just as much as he did.
Sarah Brown, Beticia (ph), President Obama, President Clinton, Secretary Clinton, President Bush, President Carter, you honor my family by your presence here today. I remember how my dad would tell audiences years ago, I don't mind not being president; I just mind that someone else is.
There is much to say and much will be said about Ted Kennedy, the statesman, the master of the legislative process and bipartisan compromise, work horse of the Senate, beacon of social justice, and protector of the people.
There's also much to be said and much will be said about my father, the man, the story teller, the lover of costume parties, the practical joker, the accomplished painter.
He was a lover of everything French, cheese, wine, and women. He was a mountain climber, navigator, skipper, tactician, airplane pilot, rodeo rider, ski jumper, dog lover and all around adventurer.
Our family vacations left us all injured and exhausted.
He was a dinner table debater and devil's advocate. He was an Irishman, and a proud member of the Democratic party.
Here is one you may not know. Out of Harvard, he was a Green Bay Packers recruit, but decided to go to law school instead. He was a devout Catholic, whose faith helped him survive unbearable losses, and whose teaching teachings taught him that he had a moral obligation to help others in need.
He was not perfect, far from it. But my father believed in redemption. And he never surrendered, never stopped trying to right wrongs, be they the results of his own failings or of ours.
Dad instilled in me also the importance of history and biography. He loved Boston, and the amazing writers and philosophers and politicians from Massachusetts. He took me and my cousins to the old North Church and to Walden Pond and to the homes of Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne in the Berkshires.
He thought that Massachusetts was the greatest place on Earth. And he had letters from many of its former senators, like Daniel Webster and John Quincy Adams, hanging on his walls, inspired by things heroic.
He was a Civil War buff. When we were growing up, he would pack us all into his car or rented camper, and we would travel around to all the great battlefields. I remember he would frequently meet with his friend, Shelby Foot, at a particular site on the anniversary of a historic battle, just so he could appreciate better what the soldiers must have experienced on that day.
He believed that in order to know what to do in the future, you had to understand the past.
My father loved other old things. He loved his classic wooden schooner, the Mya. He loved light houses and his 1973 Pontiac convertible.
My father taught me to treat everyone I meet, no matter what station in life, with the same dignity and respect. He could be discussing arms control with the president at 3 p.m. and meeting with a union carpenter for -- on fair wage legislation or a New Bedford fisherman on fisheries policy at 4:30.
He was a Civil War buff. When we were growing up, he would pack us all into his car or rented camper, and we would travel around to all the great battlefields. I remember he would frequently meet with his friend, Shelby Foot, at a particular site on the anniversary of a historic battle, just so he could appreciate better what the soldiers must have experienced on that day.
He believed that in order to know what to do in the future, you had to understand the past.
My father loved other old things. He loved his classic wooden schooner, the Mya. He loved light houses and his 1973 Pontiac convertible.
My father taught me to treat everyone I meet, no matter what station in life, with the same dignity and respect. He could be discussing arms control with the president at 3 p.m. and meeting with a union carpenter for -- on fair wage legislation or a New Bedford fisherman on fisheries policy at 4:30.
I once told him that he had accidentally left some money -- I remember this when I was a little kid -- on the sink in our hotel room. And he replied, Teddy, let me tell you something, making beds all day is back breaking work. The woman who has to clean up after us today has a family to feed. And just -- that's just the kind of guy he was.
He answered Uncle Joe's call to patriotism, Uncle Jack's call to public service, and Bobby's determination to seek a newer world. Unlike them, he lived to be a grandfather. And knowing what my cousins have been through, I feel grateful that I have had my father as long as I did.
He even taught me some of life's harder lessons, such as how to like Republicans. He once told me -- he said Teddy, Republicans love this country just as much as I do. I think that he felt like he had something in common with his Republican counterparts, the vagaries of public opinion, the constant scrutiny of the press, the endless campaigning for the next election. But most of all, the incredible shared sacrifice that being in public life demands.
He understood the hardship that politics has on a family and the hard work and commitment that it requires. He often brought his Republican colleagues home for dinner. And he believed in developing personal relationships and honoring differences.
And one of the wonderful experiences that I will remember today is how many of his Republican colleagues are sitting here right before him. That's a true testament to the man.
And he always told me that -- always be ready to compromise, but never compromise on your principles. He was an idealist and a pragmatist. He was restless, but patient. When he learned that a survey of Republican senators named him the Democratic legislator they most wanted to work with and that John McCain called him the single most effective member of the U.S. Senate, he was so proud, because he considered the combination of accolades from your supporters and respect from your sometime political adversaries as one of the ultimate goals of a successful political life.
At the end of his life, my dad returned home. He died at the place he loved more than any other, Cape Cod. The last months of my dad's life were not sad or terrifying, but full -- filled with profound experiences, a series of moments more precious than I could have imagined.
He taught me more about humility, vulnerability, and courage than he had taught me in my whole life.
Although he lived a full and complete life by any measure, the fact is, he wasn't done. He still had work to do. He was so proud of where we had recently come as a nation. And although I do grieve for what might have been, for what he might have helped us accomplish, I pray today that we can set aside this sadness and instead celebrate all that he was and did and stood for.
I will try to live up to the high standard that my father set for all of us when he said, the work goes on; the cause endures; the hope still lives; and the dream shall never die.
I love you, dad. I always will. And I miss you already.
Ted Kennedy Junior, 28/08/09
Your Eminence, thank you for being here. You've graced us with your presence. To all the musicians who have come here, my father loved the arts and he would be so pleased for your performances today.
My heart is filled. And I first want to say thank you. My heart is filled with appreciation and gratitude to the people of Massachusetts, my father's loyal staff, who -- in many ways my dad's loss is just as great for them as it is for those of us in our family. And to all of my father's family and friends who have come to pay their respects.
Listening to people speak about how my father impacted their lives and the deep personal connection that people felt with my dad has been an overwhelming emotional experience.
My dad had the greatest friends in the world. All of you here are also my friends, and his greatest gift to me. I love you just as much as he did.
Sarah Brown, Beticia (ph), President Obama, President Clinton, Secretary Clinton, President Bush, President Carter, you honor my family by your presence here today. I remember how my dad would tell audiences years ago, I don't mind not being president; I just mind that someone else is.
There is much to say and much will be said about Ted Kennedy, the statesman, the master of the legislative process and bipartisan compromise, work horse of the Senate, beacon of social justice, and protector of the people.
There's also much to be said and much will be said about my father, the man, the story teller, the lover of costume parties, the practical joker, the accomplished painter.
He was a lover of everything French, cheese, wine, and women. He was a mountain climber, navigator, skipper, tactician, airplane pilot, rodeo rider, ski jumper, dog lover and all around adventurer.
Our family vacations left us all injured and exhausted.
He was a dinner table debater and devil's advocate. He was an Irishman, and a proud member of the Democratic party.
Here is one you may not know. Out of Harvard, he was a Green Bay Packers recruit, but decided to go to law school instead. He was a devout Catholic, whose faith helped him survive unbearable losses, and whose teaching teachings taught him that he had a moral obligation to help others in need.
He was not perfect, far from it. But my father believed in redemption. And he never surrendered, never stopped trying to right wrongs, be they the results of his own failings or of ours.
Dad instilled in me also the importance of history and biography. He loved Boston, and the amazing writers and philosophers and politicians from Massachusetts. He took me and my cousins to the old North Church and to Walden Pond and to the homes of Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne in the Berkshires.
He thought that Massachusetts was the greatest place on Earth. And he had letters from many of its former senators, like Daniel Webster and John Quincy Adams, hanging on his walls, inspired by things heroic.
He was a Civil War buff. When we were growing up, he would pack us all into his car or rented camper, and we would travel around to all the great battlefields. I remember he would frequently meet with his friend, Shelby Foot, at a particular site on the anniversary of a historic battle, just so he could appreciate better what the soldiers must have experienced on that day.
He believed that in order to know what to do in the future, you had to understand the past.
My father loved other old things. He loved his classic wooden schooner, the Mya. He loved light houses and his 1973 Pontiac convertible.
My father taught me to treat everyone I meet, no matter what station in life, with the same dignity and respect. He could be discussing arms control with the president at 3 p.m. and meeting with a union carpenter for -- on fair wage legislation or a New Bedford fisherman on fisheries policy at 4:30.
He was a Civil War buff. When we were growing up, he would pack us all into his car or rented camper, and we would travel around to all the great battlefields. I remember he would frequently meet with his friend, Shelby Foot, at a particular site on the anniversary of a historic battle, just so he could appreciate better what the soldiers must have experienced on that day.
He believed that in order to know what to do in the future, you had to understand the past.
My father loved other old things. He loved his classic wooden schooner, the Mya. He loved light houses and his 1973 Pontiac convertible.
My father taught me to treat everyone I meet, no matter what station in life, with the same dignity and respect. He could be discussing arms control with the president at 3 p.m. and meeting with a union carpenter for -- on fair wage legislation or a New Bedford fisherman on fisheries policy at 4:30.
I once told him that he had accidentally left some money -- I remember this when I was a little kid -- on the sink in our hotel room. And he replied, Teddy, let me tell you something, making beds all day is back breaking work. The woman who has to clean up after us today has a family to feed. And just -- that's just the kind of guy he was.
He answered Uncle Joe's call to patriotism, Uncle Jack's call to public service, and Bobby's determination to seek a newer world. Unlike them, he lived to be a grandfather. And knowing what my cousins have been through, I feel grateful that I have had my father as long as I did.
He even taught me some of life's harder lessons, such as how to like Republicans. He once told me -- he said Teddy, Republicans love this country just as much as I do. I think that he felt like he had something in common with his Republican counterparts, the vagaries of public opinion, the constant scrutiny of the press, the endless campaigning for the next election. But most of all, the incredible shared sacrifice that being in public life demands.
He understood the hardship that politics has on a family and the hard work and commitment that it requires. He often brought his Republican colleagues home for dinner. And he believed in developing personal relationships and honoring differences.
And one of the wonderful experiences that I will remember today is how many of his Republican colleagues are sitting here right before him. That's a true testament to the man.
And he always told me that -- always be ready to compromise, but never compromise on your principles. He was an idealist and a pragmatist. He was restless, but patient. When he learned that a survey of Republican senators named him the Democratic legislator they most wanted to work with and that John McCain called him the single most effective member of the U.S. Senate, he was so proud, because he considered the combination of accolades from your supporters and respect from your sometime political adversaries as one of the ultimate goals of a successful political life.
At the end of his life, my dad returned home. He died at the place he loved more than any other, Cape Cod. The last months of my dad's life were not sad or terrifying, but full -- filled with profound experiences, a series of moments more precious than I could have imagined.
He taught me more about humility, vulnerability, and courage than he had taught me in my whole life.
Although he lived a full and complete life by any measure, the fact is, he wasn't done. He still had work to do. He was so proud of where we had recently come as a nation. And although I do grieve for what might have been, for what he might have helped us accomplish, I pray today that we can set aside this sadness and instead celebrate all that he was and did and stood for.
I will try to live up to the high standard that my father set for all of us when he said, the work goes on; the cause endures; the hope still lives; and the dream shall never die.
I love you, dad. I always will. And I miss you already.
Ted Kennedy Junior, 28/08/09
Saudades...
do nosso Raul Solnado e de Morais e Castro. Não esquecer o pedido do Raul: "Façam favor de ser felizes!"
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