Nasce o sol e não dura mais que um dia
Gegório de Matos
Nasce o Sol, e não dura mais que um dia,
Depois da Luz se segue a noite escura,
Em tristes sombras morre a formosura,
Em contínuas tristezas a alegria.
Porém se acaba o Sol, por que nascia?
Se formosa a Luz é, por que não dura?
Como a beleza assim se transfigura?
Como o gosto da pena assim se fia?
Mas, no Sol, e na Luz, falte a firmeza,
Na formosura não se dê constância,
E na alegria sinta-se tristeza.
Começa o mundo enfim pela ignorância,
E tem qualquer dos bens por natureza
A firmeza somente na inconstância.
21 julho, 2026
17 julho, 2026
Espantos #724
Quando a Ryanair não voa mais para os Açores...
... continua a publicitar os Açores e a dar negócio a outros.
16 julho, 2026
12 julho, 2026
11 julho, 2026
Palavras lidas #652
Outgrown
Penelope Shuttle
It is both sad and a relief to fold so carefully
her outgrown clothes and line up the little worn shoes
of childhood, so prudent, scuffed and particular.
It is both happy and horrible to send them galloping
back tappity-tap along the misty chill path into the past.
It is both a freedom and a prison, to be outgrown
by her as she towers over me as thin as a sequin
in her doc martens and her pretty skirt,
because just as I work out how to be a mother
she stops being a child.
Penelope Shuttle
It is both sad and a relief to fold so carefully
her outgrown clothes and line up the little worn shoes
of childhood, so prudent, scuffed and particular.
It is both happy and horrible to send them galloping
back tappity-tap along the misty chill path into the past.
It is both a freedom and a prison, to be outgrown
by her as she towers over me as thin as a sequin
in her doc martens and her pretty skirt,
because just as I work out how to be a mother
she stops being a child.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
06 julho, 2026
04 julho, 2026
Parece que estou a ouvir #538
Cantar de Emigração
Adriano Correia de Oliveira (música)
Adriano Correia de Oliveira (música)
Rosalía de Castro (poema)
Este parte, aquele parte
e todos, todos se vão.
Galiza ficas sem homens
que possam cortar teu pão.
Tens em troca órfãos e órfãs
Tens campos de solidão.
Tens mães que não têm filhos
Filhos que não têm pai.
Coração que tens e sofre
Longas ausências mortais.
Viúvas de vivos mortos
Que ninguém consolará.
Este parte, aquele parte
E todos, todos se vão.
Galiza ficas sem homens
Que possam cortar teu pão.
Este parte, aquele parte
e todos, todos se vão.
Galiza ficas sem homens
que possam cortar teu pão.
Tens em troca órfãos e órfãs
Tens campos de solidão.
Tens mães que não têm filhos
Filhos que não têm pai.
Coração que tens e sofre
Longas ausências mortais.
Viúvas de vivos mortos
Que ninguém consolará.
Este parte, aquele parte
E todos, todos se vão.
Galiza ficas sem homens
Que possam cortar teu pão.
03 julho, 2026
02 julho, 2026
Palavras lidas #651
A Velhice
by Rolf Jacobsen (trad. Amadeu Baptista)
Agradam-me os mais velhos.
Sentam-se por ai e olham-nos e não nos veem
e sempre metidos em si,
como os pescadores nas ribeiras dos grandes rios, imóveis como pedras
sob a noite estival.
Agradam-me muito os pescadores nas ribeiras dos rios e os velhos e os que saem à rua após uma longa enfermidade.
Têm algo nos olhos
que o mundo já não vê,
os velhos, como convalescentes
cujos pés ainda não são suficientemente fortes e seguros
e com a face pálida e anteriormente febril.
Os velhos
que voltam a ser eles mesmos lentamente
e se dissolvem lentamente,
como o fumo, e imperceptivelmente se transformam
em sonho
e luz.
by Rolf Jacobsen (trad. Amadeu Baptista)
Agradam-me os mais velhos.
Sentam-se por ai e olham-nos e não nos veem
e sempre metidos em si,
como os pescadores nas ribeiras dos grandes rios, imóveis como pedras
sob a noite estival.
Agradam-me muito os pescadores nas ribeiras dos rios e os velhos e os que saem à rua após uma longa enfermidade.
Têm algo nos olhos
que o mundo já não vê,
os velhos, como convalescentes
cujos pés ainda não são suficientemente fortes e seguros
e com a face pálida e anteriormente febril.
Os velhos
que voltam a ser eles mesmos lentamente
e se dissolvem lentamente,
como o fumo, e imperceptivelmente se transformam
em sonho
e luz.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
01 julho, 2026
30 junho, 2026
Numa sala perto de mim #470
A Private Life (2025) shows Jodie Foster speaking in French! She is a (control freak) psychiatrist with a recently deceased patient, turns into investigating the facts behind such sudden death and finding more than she wished to know about herself and others... some truths, some fantasised realities but in the end, some balance.
29 junho, 2026
28 junho, 2026
27 junho, 2026
Parece que estou a ouvir #537
Another Day
Paul McCartney
Every day she takes a morning bath, she wets her hair
Wraps a towel around her as she's heading for the bedroom chair
It's just another day
Slipping into stockings, stepping into shoes
Dipping in the pocket of her raincoat
It's just another day
At the office where the papers grow she takes a break
Drinks another coffee and she finds it hard to stay awake
It's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day, hey
So sad, so sad, sometimes she feels so sad
Alone in her apartment she'd dwell
Till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell
Ah, stay, don't stand her up
And he comes and he stays, but he leaves the next day
So sad, sometimes she feels so sad
As she posts another letter to the sound of five
People gather 'round her and she finds it hard to stay alive
It's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day, hey
So sad, so sad, sometimes she feels so sad
Alone in her apartment she'd dwell
Till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell
Ah, stay, don't stand her up
And he comes and he stays, but he leaves the next day
So sad, sometimes she feels so sad
Every day she takes a morning bath, she wets her hair
Wraps a towel around her as she's heading for the bedroom chair
It's just another day
Slipping into stockings, stepping into shoes
Dipping in the pocket of her raincoat
Ah, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day, hey
Every day she takes a morning bath, she wets her hair
Wraps a towel around her as she's heading for the bedroom chair
It's just another day
Slipping into stockings, stepping into shoes
Dipping in the pocket of her raincoat
It's just another day
At the office where the papers grow she takes a break
Drinks another coffee and she finds it hard to stay awake
It's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day, hey
So sad, so sad, sometimes she feels so sad
Alone in her apartment she'd dwell
Till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell
Ah, stay, don't stand her up
And he comes and he stays, but he leaves the next day
So sad, sometimes she feels so sad
As she posts another letter to the sound of five
People gather 'round her and she finds it hard to stay alive
It's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day, hey
So sad, so sad, sometimes she feels so sad
Alone in her apartment she'd dwell
Till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell
Ah, stay, don't stand her up
And he comes and he stays, but he leaves the next day
So sad, sometimes she feels so sad
Every day she takes a morning bath, she wets her hair
Wraps a towel around her as she's heading for the bedroom chair
It's just another day
Slipping into stockings, stepping into shoes
Dipping in the pocket of her raincoat
Ah, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day
Du du du du du du, it's just another day, hey
26 junho, 2026
Coisas bonitas #250
I attended a beautiful British citizenship ceremony where tolerance and respect for others were proclaimed, respect for democratic values was defended, and contributions to a more prosperous, generous open nation were wished. These noble British values should be taught in schools.
25 junho, 2026
24 junho, 2026
23 junho, 2026
22 junho, 2026
21 junho, 2026
Palavras lidas #650
The Disappearing
by Franz Wright
There is a heartbreaking beauty
about my crummy street
tonight, at 2 o’clock
in the first snow: I stand looking out
at this window, I think
how everything seen
is something seen for the last time.
At last I turn away,
I give up. I am tired,
I can’t mourn anymore
the loss of what I never asked for
and never understood.
by Franz Wright
There is a heartbreaking beauty
about my crummy street
tonight, at 2 o’clock
in the first snow: I stand looking out
at this window, I think
how everything seen
is something seen for the last time.
At last I turn away,
I give up. I am tired,
I can’t mourn anymore
the loss of what I never asked for
and never understood.
_______________
In the middle of the latest sweltering heatwave in the UK I caught myself thinking of snow...
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
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