O Nome Já Diz
Rosana Hermann


Eve of Destruction
Barry McGuire - 1965

The eastern world, it is exploding
Violence flarin’, bullets loadin’
You’re old enough to kill, but not for votin’
You don’t believe in war, but what’s that gun you’re totin’
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin’

But you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

Don’t you understand what I’m tryin’ to say
Can’t you feel the fears I’m feelin’ today?
If the button is pushed, there’s no runnin’ away
There’ll be no one to save, with the world in a grave
[Take a look around ya boy, it's bound to scare ya boy]

And you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

Yeah, my blood’s so mad feels like coagulatin’
I’m sitting here just contemplatin’
I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation.
Handful of senators don’t pass legislation
And marches alone can’t bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin’
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin’

And you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

Think of all the hate there is in Red China
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama
You may leave here for 4 days in space
But when you return, it’s the same old place
The poundin’ of the drums, the pride and disgrace
You can bury your dead, but don’t leave a trace
Hate your next-door neighbor, but don’t forget to say grace
And… tell me over and over and over and over again, my friend
You don’t believe
We’re on the eve
Of destruction
Mm, no no, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.


That Ain't Right
Fats Waller & Ada Brown


Solo de Violino Country Irlandês
Pitada de Rapé
Irish Country Fiddle Solo
Pinch of Snuff


Cab Calloway - 1934


The Ducktators


Bem Melhor
Much Better
Fernando Joe


Marcia Baliza


Amazing Grace
Wintley Phipps

Words by John Newton
Melody by Unknown

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I'm found.
Was blind, but now I see.

When we've been dead ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Then when we first begun.
Hallelujah, hallelujah,


Poemas favoritos LXXXIX
Favorite poems LXXXIX

Da Eterna Procura

Mário Quintana

Só o desejo inquieto, que não passa,
Faz o encanto da coisa desejada...
E terminamos desdenhando a caça
Pela doida aventura da caçada.
On The Circuit
W. H. Auden

Among pelagian travelers,
Lost on their lewd conceited way
To Massachusetts, Michigan,
Miami or L.A.,

An airborne instrument I sit,
Predestined nightly to fulfill
Unfathomable will,

By whose election justified,
I bring my gospel of the Muse
To fundamentalists, to nuns,
to Gentiles and to Jews,

And daily, seven days a week,
Before a local sense has jelled,
From talking-site to talking-site
Am jet-or-prop-propelled.

Though warm my welcome everywhere,
I shift so frequently, so fast,
I cannot now say where I was
The evening before last,

Unless some singular event
Should intervene to save the place,
A truly asinine remark,
A soul-bewitching face,

Or blessed encounter, full of joy,
Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan,
With, here, an addict of Tolkien,
There, a Charles Williams fan.

Since Merit but a dunghill is,
I mount the rostrum unafraid:
Indeed, 'twere damnable to ask
If I am overpaid.

Spirit is willing to repeat
Without a qualm the same old talk,
But Flesh is homesick for our snug
Apartment in New York.

A sulky fifty-six, he finds
A change of mealtime utter hell,
Grown far too crotchety to like
A luxury hotel.

The Bible is a goodly book
I always can peruse with zest,
But really cannot say the same
For Hilton's Be My Guest.

Nor bear with equanimity
The radio in students' cars,
Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!--
Girl-organists in bars.

Then, worst of all, the anxious thought,
Each time my plane begins to sink
And the No Smoking sign comes on:
What will there be to drink?

Is this my milieu where I must
How grahamgreeneish! How infra dig!
Snatch from the bottle in my bag
An analeptic swig?

Another morning comes: I see,
Dwindling below me on the plane,
The roofs of one more audience
I shall not see again.

God bless the lot of them, although
I don't remember which was which:
God bless the U.S.A., so large,
So friendly, and so rich.



Piano Freaks


Obvious Child
Paul Simon & Olodum

I'm accustomed to a smoother ride
Or maybe I'm a dog who's lost its bite
I don't expect to be treated like a fool no more
I don't expect to sleep through the night
Some people say a lie is just a lie
But I say
Why deny the obvious child?
Why deny the obvious child?

And in remembering a road sign
I am remembering a girl when I was young
And we said these songs are true
These days are ours
These tears are free
And hey now
The cross is in the ballpark
The cross is in the ballpark

We had a lot of fun
We had a lot of money
We had a little son and we thought we'd call him sonny
Sonny gets married and moves away
Sonny has a baby and bills to pay
Sonny gets sunnier
Day by day by day by day

I've been waking up at sunrise
I've been following the light across my room
I watch the night receive the room of my day
Some people say the sky is just the sky
But I say
Why deny the obvious child?
Why deny the obvious child?

Sonny sits by his window and he thinks to himself
How it's strange that some rooms are like cages
Sonny's yearbook from high school
Is down from the shelf
And he idly thumbs through the pages
Some have died
Some have fled from themselves
Or struggled from here to get there
Sonny wanders beyond his interior walls
He runs his hand through his thinning brown hair

Well, I'm accustomed to a smoother ride
Maybe I'm a dog that's lost his bite
I don't expect to be treated like a fool no more
I don't expect to sleep through night
Some people say a lie is just a lie
But I say the cross is in the ballpark
Why deny the obvious child?


Tristeza do Jeca
Tonico e Tinoco

Nestes verso tão singelo
Minha bela, meu amor
Pra mecê quero contar
O meu sofrer e a minha dor
Eu sô que nem sabiá
Quando canta é só tristeza
Desde o gaio onde ele tá

Nesta viola eu canto e gemo de verdadi
Cada quadra representa uma saudade

Eu nasci naquela serra
Num ranchinho beira chão
Tudu cheio de buraco
Adonde a lua fai clarão
Quando chega a madrugada
Lá no mato a passarada
Principia um baruião




Joe Louis


Chico Anysio


Soweto Blues
Miriam Makeba


O Concerto do Gato
The Cat Concerto
Tom & Jerry - 1946




Poemas favoritos LXXXVIII
Favorite poems LXXXVIII

Das Utopias

Mário Quintana

Se as coisas são inatingíveis... ora!
Não é motivo para não querê-las...
Que tristes os caminhos, se não fora
A presença distante das estrelas!
The Third Temptation
W. H. Auden

He watched with all his organs of concern
How princes walk, what wives and children say;
Re-opened old graves in his heart to learn
What laws the dead had died to disobey.

And came reluctantly to his conclusion:
"All the arm-chair philosophers are false;
To love another adds to the confusion;
The song of pity is the Devil's Waltz."

And bowed to fate and was successful so
That soon he was the king of all creatures:
Yet, shaking in an autumn nightmare, saw,

Approaching down a ruined corridor,
A figure with his own distorted features
That wept, and grew enormous, and cried Woe.



Terça Insana - Tô Puto


Nocautes de Mike Tyson
Mike Tyson's Knockouts


Os aviões e o vento 2
Airplanes and the wind 2


The Three Kings – Cornelius
King’s College Choir


Família Trapo - 1


Família Trapo - 2


Suicídio de Getúlio
Getúlio's suicide


Little Black Sheep
Hall Johnson Choir- 1940


Poemas favoritos LXXXVII
Favorite poems LXXXVII

Da Observação

Mário Quintana

Não te irrites, por mais que te fizerem...
Estuda, a frio, o coração alheio.
Farás, assim, do mal que eles te querem,
Teu mais amável e sutil recreio...
The Second Temptation
W. H. Auden

The library annoyed him with its look
Of calm belief in being really there;
He threw away a rival's silly book,
And clattered panting up the spiral stair.

Swaying upon the parapet he cried:
"O Uncreated Nothing, set me free,
Now let Thy perfect be identified,
Unending passion of the night, with Thee."

And his long suffering flesh, that all the time
Had felt the simple cravings of the stone
And hoped to be rewarded for her climb,

Took it to be a promise when he spoke
That now at last she would be left alone,
And plunged into the college quad, and broke.



Terça Insana - Seu Merda


Balé Moderno - Hanói
Modern Ballet - Hanoi


Escultura Magnética
Magnetic Sculpture


A Boy Named Sue
Johnny Cash

My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue."

Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named "Sue."

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I'd search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name.

Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud,
There at a table, dealing stud,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me "Sue."

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: "My name is 'Sue!' How do you do!
Now your gonna die!!"

Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell ya, I've fought tougher men
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.

And he said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong."

He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you "Sue.'"

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him
Bill or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!


Mauritius Cornelius Escher


José Dumont e Elba Ramalho
João Cabral de Melo Neto


Muhammad Ali


Motos depravadas
Vicious Cycles


Poemas favoritos LXXXVI
Favorite poems LXXXVI

Da Preguiça

Mário Quintana

Suave preguiça, que do mau-querer
E de tolices mil ao abrigomnos pões...
Por causa tua, quantas más ações
Deixei de cometer!
The Unknown Citizen
W. H. Auden

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.



Aniversário Adversário
Sergio Pinheiro Lopes

Lá se vão 54 anos e
Esse diacho de
Sabedoria que
Custa-me a chegar.


Culto em memória de
Graham Chapman
Graham Chapman's
memorial service


Polaco Loco Paca (2)
Paulo Leminski


Polaco Loco Paca (1)
Paulo Leminski


Uma curta história dos EUA
A short history of America
Robert Crumb


Os aviões e o vento
Airplanes and the wind


Vila Maasai - África
Maasai Village - Africa


Discurso de Político
José Vasconcelos


Poemas favoritos LXXXV
Favorite poems LXXXV

O Verbo no Infinito

Aníbal Machado

Não se apoderar daquilo que se descobre.
Nem esconder. Mostrar aos outros.
Passar adiante...
The Fall of Rome
W. H. Auden

The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.

Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
On a pink official form.

Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.



Locutor de futebol gago
José Vasconcelos




Ella Fitzgerald

Summertime and the livin’ is easy
Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high
Oh your daddy’s rich and your ma is good lookin’
So hush little baby, don’t you cry
One of these mornings
You’re goin’ to rise up singing
Then you’ll spread your wings
And you’ll take the sky
But till that morning
There’s a nothin’ can harm you
With daddy and mammy standin’ by
Don't you cry!


Desenho rápido
Speed drawing


St. Louis Blues
Bessie Smith

By W. C. Handy

My man
My man
My man
My man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea
My man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea
My man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea

I hate to see that evening sun go down
I hate to see that evening sun go down
'Cause, my baby, he's gone left this town

Feelin' tomorrow like I feel today
If I'm feelin' tomorrow like I feel today
I'll pack my business and make my give-a-way

I knew a woman with her diamond ring
Pulls that man around by her
If it wasn't for her and her
That man I love would have gone nowhere, nowhere

I got the St. Louis Blues
Blues as I can be
My man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea
Or else he wouldn't have gone so far from me

I love my baby like a school boy loves his pie
Like a Kentucky colonel loves his mint'n rye
I love my man till the day I die


Hillary Clinton
Grande Irmã - "1984"
Hillary Clinton
Big Sister - "1984"


Ministro da Cultura Gilberto Gil
Afinação da Interioridade
Minister of Culture Gilberto Gil
Tuning of the interiority



Desenhando com areia
Drawing with sand


Poemas favoritos LXXXIV
Favorite poems LXXXIV

Navegar é Preciso
Fernando Pessoa

Navegadores antigos tinham uma frase gloriosa:

"Navegar é preciso; viver não é preciso".

Quero para mim o espírito [d]esta frase,
transformada a forma para a casar como eu sou:

Viver não é necessário; o que é necessário é criar.
Não conto gozar a minha vida; nem em gozá-la penso.
Só quero torná-la grande, ainda que para isso tenha de ser o meu corpo e a (minha alma) a lenha
desse fogo.

Só quero torná-la de toda a humanidade;
ainda que para isso tenha de a perder como minha.
Cada vez mais assim penso.

Cada vez mais ponho da essência anímica do meu sangue
o propósito impessoal de engrandecer a pátria e contribuir
para a evolução da humanidade.

É a forma que em mim tomou o misticismo da nossa Raça.

Nota: "Navigare necesse; vivere non est necesse" - latim, frase de Pompeu, general romano, 106-48 aC., dita aos marinheiros, amedrontados, que recusavam viajar durante a guerra, cf. Plutarco, in Vida de Pompeu.

Epitaph on a Tyrant
W. H Auden

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.



Gabriel de Oliveira

O fadista quando canta,
Se tiver no pensamento
Um sorriso de mulher,
Vibra-lhe a voz na garganta,
Canta com mais sentimento
Faz da garganta o que quer.

A mulher tem o condão
Que nos encanta e domina
De ameigar a nossa voz...
E uma estranha sensação
Da sua graça divina
Palpita dentro de nós.

Será por isso que a gente,
Cantando um fado qualquer,
Canta melhor, sendo amado:
- Há-de haver eternamente
Uma sombra de mulher
No sentimento dum fado!


Cartola - Peito Vazio
Cartola e Elton Medeiros

Nada consigo fazer
Quando a saudade aperta
Foge-me a inspiração
Sinto a alma deserta
Um vazio se faz em meu peito
E de fato eu sinto
Em meu peito um vazio
Me faltando as tuas carícias
As noites são longas
E eu sinto mais frio.
Procuro afogar no álcool
A tua lembrança
Mas noto que é ridícula
A minha vingança
Vou seguir os conselhos
De amigos
E garanto que não beberei
Nunca mais
E com o tempo
Essa imensa saudade que sinto
Se esvai


Filme silencioso
Silent Movie
Kerouac, Ginsberg & friends
New York, 1959


Linguagem de Tambores
Drum Language


Tentativa de Sorriso
Attempt at a Smile
por / by Carolina Oliviero


Paulo Leminski


Thanksgiving Prayer
William Burroughs

Thanks for the wild turkey and
passenger pigeons, destined
to be shit out through wholesome
American guts.

Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.

Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and

Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.

Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.

Thanks for the KKK.

For nigger-killin' lawmen,
feelin' their notches.

For decent church-goin' women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.

Thanks for "Kill a Queer for
Christ" stickers.

Thanks for laboratory AIDS.

Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.

Thanks for a country where
nobody's allowed to mind his
own business.

Thanks for a nation of finks.

Yes, thanks for all the
memories-- all right let's see
your arms!

You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.

Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams.


Lawrence Ferlinghetti


Terça Insana - Irmã Selma



Feliz Aniversário, meu filho!
Happy Birthday Daniel!


Manhã de Carnaval - Instrumental
Luis Bonfá


Man in Black
Johnny Cash

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance always have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
And I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But still is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who's never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, yes, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believin' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believin' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
To tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black.


Arte Caída
Fallen Art


Paco Ibañez
La Mala Reputacion
Georges Brassens

En mi pueblo sin pretensión
Tengo mala reputación,
Haga lo que haga es igual
Todo lo consideran mal,
Yo no pienso pues hacer ningún daño
Queriendo vivir fuera del rebaño;
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
Todos todos me miran mal
Salvo los ciegos es natural.

Cuando la fiesta nacional
Yo me quedo en la cama igual,
Que la música militar
Nunca me supo levantar.
En el mundo pues no hay mayor pecado
Que el de no seguir al abanderado
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
Todos me muestran con el dedo
Salvo los mancos, quiero y no puedo.

Si en la calle corre un ladrón
Y a la zaga va un ricachón
Zancadilla doy al señor
Y he aplastado el perseguidor
Eso sí que sí que será una lata
Siempre tengo yo que meter la pata
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
Todos tras de mí a correr
Salvo los cojos, es de creer.

No hace falta saber latín
Yo ya se cual será mi fin,
En el pueblo se empieza a oir,
Muerte, muerte al villano vil,
Yo no pienso pues armar ningún lío
Con que no va a Roma el camino mío,
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
No, a la gente no gusta que
Uno tenga su propia fe
Todos todos me miran mal,
Salvo los ciegos, es natural.


Labirinto Escher
Labyrinth Escher


The Raven read by Christopher Walken

The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
"'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered,
"Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said,"Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door,
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--- nevermore!



Pobre repórter
Poor reporter

Ele está bem, pelo que pude saber.
He's all right, I heard.




Janis Joplin - Summertime

Child, you're living easy.
Fish are jumping, fish are jumping out
And the cotton, Lord, Cotton’s high, Lord, so high.

Your daddy’s rich
And your ma, I think she's mighty good-looking, baby.
She’s looking pretty fine to me now, oh yeah
Hush, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby,
No, no, no, no, don’t you cry.

One of these mornings
Child, you’ll rise up singing, baby,
I said, you’re gonna go,
Honey, you're gonna spread your wings,
Honey take, take to the sky,
Lord, the sky.

Until that morning
Honey, no, nothing’s gonna harm you, baby,
I said, honey, nothing is ever gonna mess it up,
All you just ought to do, hush,
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby,
No, no, no, no,
Don't you cry!


Palabras para Julia
Paco Ibañez y
José Agustin Goytisolo

Tú no puedes volver atrás
Porque la vida ya te empuja
Como un aullido interminable
Te sentirás acorralada
Te sentirás perdida o sola
Talvez querrás no haber nacido
No haber nacido
Pero tú siempre acuérdate
De lo que un día yo escribí
Pensando en ti, pensando en ti
Como ahora pienso

La vida es bella, ya verás
Como a pesar de los pesares
Tendrás amigos, tendrás amor
Tendrás amigos
Un hombre solo, una mujer
Así tomados de uno en uno
Son como polvo, no son nada
No son nada
Entonces siempre acuérdate
De lo que un día yo escribí
Pensando en ti, pensando en ti
Como ahora pienso

Nunca te entregues ni te apartes
Junto al camino, nunca digas:
No puedo más y aquí me quedo
La vida es bella, ya verás
Como a pesar de los pesares
Tendrás amigos, tendrás amor
Tendrás amigos
Y siempre, siempre acuérdate
De lo que un día yo escribí
Pensando en ti, pensando en ti
Como ahora pienso


Dance Comigo
Dance With Me
Bande A Part


M. C. Escher – Hallucii


Poemas favoritos LXXXII
Favorite poems LXXXII

O Corvo

Edgar Allan Poe
(Tradução de Fernando Pessoa, ritmicamente conforme o original)

Numa meia-noite agreste, quando eu lia, lento e triste,
Vagos, curiosos tomos de ciências ancestrais,
E já quase adormecia, ouvi o que parecia
O som de algúem que batia levemente a meus umbrais.
"Uma visita", eu me disse, "está batendo a meus umbrais.
É só isto, e nada mais."

Ah, que bem disso me lembro! Era no frio dezembro,
E o fogo, morrendo negro, urdia sombras desiguais.
Como eu qu'ria a madrugada, toda a noite aos livros dada
P'ra esquecer (em vão!) a amada, hoje entre hostes celestiais -
Essa cujo nome sabem as hostes celestiais,
Mas sem nome aqui jamais!

Como, a tremer frio e frouxo, cada reposteiro roxo
Me incutia, urdia estranhos terrores nunca antes tais!
Mas, a mim mesmo infundido força, eu ia repetindo,
"É uma visita pedindo entrada aqui em meus umbrais;
Uma visita tardia pede entrada em meus umbrais.
É só isto, e nada mais".

E, mais forte num instante, já nem tardo ou hesitante,
"Senhor", eu disse, "ou senhora, decerto me desculpais;
Mas eu ia adormecendo, quando viestes batendo,
Tão levemente batendo, batendo por meus umbrais,
Que mal ouvi..." E abri largos, franqueando-os, meus umbrais.
Noite, noite e nada mais.

A treva enorme fitando, fiquei perdido receando,
Dúbio e tais sonhos sonhando que os ninguém sonhou iguais.
Mas a noite era infinita, a paz profunda e maldita,
E a única palavra dita foi um nome cheio de ais -
Eu o disse, o nome dela, e o eco disse aos meus ais.
Isso só e nada mais.

Para dentro então volvendo, toda a alma em mim ardendo,
Não tardou que ouvisse novo som batendo mais e mais.
"Por certo", disse eu, "aquela bulha é na minha janela.
Vamos ver o que está nela, e o que são estes sinais."
Meu coração se distraía pesquisando estes sinais.
"É o vento, e nada mais."

Abri então a vidraça, e eis que, com muita negaça,
Entrou grave e nobre um corvo dos bons tempos ancestrais.
Não fez nenhum cumprimento, não parou nem um momento,
Mas com ar solene e lento pousou sobre os meus umbrais,
Num alvo busto de Atena que há por sobre meus umbrais,
Foi, pousou, e nada mais.

E esta ave estranha e escura fez sorrir minha amargura
Com o solene decoro de seus ares rituais.
"Tens o aspecto tosquiado", disse eu, "mas de nobre e ousado,
Ó velho corvo emigrado lá das trevas infernais!
Dize-me qual o teu nome lá nas trevas infernais."
Disse o corvo, "Nunca mais".

Pasmei de ouvir este raro pássaro falar tão claro,
Inda que pouco sentido tivessem palavras tais.
Mas deve ser concedido que ninguém terá havido
Que uma ave tenha tido pousada nos meus umbrais,
Ave ou bicho sobre o busto que há por sobre seus umbrais,
Com o nome "Nunca mais".

Mas o corvo, sobre o busto, nada mais dissera, augusto,
Que essa frase, qual se nela a alma lhe ficasse em ais.
Nem mais voz nem movimento fez, e eu, em meu pensamento
Perdido, murmurei lento, "Amigo, sonhos - mortais
Todos - todos já se foram. Amanhã também te vais".
Disse o corvo, "Nunca mais".

A alma súbito movida por frase tão bem cabida,
"Por certo", disse eu, "são estas vozes usuais,
Aprendeu-as de algum dono, que a desgraça e o abandono
Seguiram até que o entono da alma se quebrou em ais,
E o bordão de desesp'rança de seu canto cheio de ais
Era este 'Nunca mais'".

Mas, fazendo inda a ave escura sorrir a minha amargura,
Sentei-me defronte dela, do alvo busto e meus umbrais;
E, enterrado na cadeira, pensei de muita maneira
Que qu'ria esta ave agoureira dos maus tempos ancestrais,
Esta ave negra e agoureira dos maus tempos ancestrais,
Com aquele "Nunca mais".

Comigo isto discorrendo, mas nem sílaba dizendo
À ave que na minha alma cravava os olhos fatais,
Isto e mais ia cismando, a cabeça reclinando
No veludo onde a luz punha vagas sobras desiguais,
Naquele veludo onde ela, entre as sobras desiguais,
Reclinar-se-á nunca mais!

Fez-se então o ar mais denso, como cheio dum incenso
Que anjos dessem, cujos leves passos soam musicais.
"Maldito!", a mim disse, "deu-te Deus, por anjos concedeu-te
O esquecimento; valeu-te. Toma-o, esquece, com teus ais,
O nome da que não esqueces, e que faz esses teus ais!"
Disse o corvo, "Nunca mais".

"Profeta", disse eu, "profeta - ou demônio ou ave preta!
Fosse diabo ou tempestade quem te trouxe a meus umbrais,
A este luto e este degredo, a esta noite e este segredo,
A esta casa de ânsia e medo, dize a esta alma a quem atrais
Se há um bálsamo longínquo para esta alma a quem atrais!"
Disse o corvo, "Nunca mais".

"Profeta", disse eu, "profeta - ou demônio ou ave preta!
Pelo Deus ante quem ambos somos fracos e mortais.
Dize a esta alma entristecida se no Éden de outra vida
Verá essa hoje perdida entre hostes celestiais,
Essa cujo nome sabem as hostes celestiais!"
Disse o corvo, "Nunca mais".

"Que esse grito nos aparte, ave ou diabo!", eu disse. "Parte!
Torna á noite e à tempestade! Torna às trevas infernais!
Não deixes pena que ateste a mentira que disseste!
Minha solidão me reste! Tira-te de meus umbrais!
Tira o vulto de meu peito e a sombra de meus umbrais!"
Disse o corvo, "Nunca mais".

E o corvo, na noite infinda, está ainda, está ainda
No alvo busto de Atena que há por sobre os meus umbrais.
Seu olhar tem a medonha cor de um demônio que sonha,
E a luz lança-lhe a tristonha sombra no chão há mais e mais,
Libertar-se-á... nunca mais!



Música Country Iraquiana
Iraqi Country Music


Maria Xangai
Agostinho dos Santos


Tambores Japoneses
Japanese Drums


Tocando colheres
Playing spoons


River Dance


A Cicatriz e a Escrita
Sergio Pinheiro Lopes

O poema
Desde sempre.
À espera do
Precede a
Cicatriz invisível
Antes da faca
Que a

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?