28 fevereiro 2013






e depois há também aquelas canções que ouvimos vezes sem conta e nunca nos disseram nada, ou de que até não gostamos mesmo. é o caso do original da menina ciccone que, tal como uma virgem, se fazia tão desentendida a cantá-la que conseguiu cativar uma legião planetária de fãs. porém, sem que nada o fizesse prever, há alguns anos uma outra menina, lisa bassenge, teve um rasgo de génio e percebeu que mesmo numa melodia de pop-song pode estar algo mais - e esta cover foi-se tornando numa das canções da minha vida.
por isso te digo, madonna, passaste ao lado de algo, não foi?…



I made it through the wilderness
Somehow I made it through
Didn't know how lost I was
Until I found you

I was beat incomplete
I'd been had, I was sad and blue
But you made me feel
Yeah, you made me feel
Shiny and new

Chorus:
Like a virgin
Touched for the very first time
Like a virgin
When your heart beats 
Next to mine

Gonna give you all my love, boy
My fear is fading fast
Been saving it all for you
'Cause only love can last

You're so fine and you're mine
Make me strong, yeah you make me bold
Oh your love thawed out
Yeah, your love thawed out
What was scared and cold

(Chorus)

Oooh, oooh, oooh

You're so fine and you're mine
I'll be yours 'till the end of time
'Cause you made me feel
Yeah, you made me feel
I've nothing to hide

(Chorus)

Like a virgin, ooh, ooh
Like a virgin
Feels so good inside
When you hold me, and your heart beats, and you love me

Hey, oh, oh, oh, oh, hey, oh, oh, oh
Ooh, baby




















quai d'anjou
eugène atget











27 fevereiro 2013










as the poems go






as the poems increase into the thousand you
realize that you’ve created very
little.

it all comes down to rain, the sunlight,
the traffic, the nights and the days of the
years, the faces.

leaving this will be easier than living
it.

typing one more line now as
a man plays a piano through the radio.

the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.







charles bukowski





















dimanche au bord de la marne
henri cartier-bresson




















Se a palavra desistiu de ser um apelo
e sabe que não é mais que um fogo-fátuo
é porque a sua fragilidade ainda cintila
como um princípio que em si mesmo se consuma


E se volúveis são as sílabas é a sua sede que fulgura
e ela procura a sua boca inocente
para saborear a doçura salgada
de uma outra boca que nasce do seu movimento ingénuo


Talvez assim ela reencontre o corpo
da sua ténue nudez tão gratuita e tão leve
e sendo apenas um sopro que atravessa as imagens


as desnude até serem vagas luas
sobre a maré branca de um silêncio iluminado
pelo seu abandono ao corpo que deseja









António Ramos Rosa










26 fevereiro 2013










poucas vezes uma letra de uma canção é um poema assim, 
um retrato tão denso numa reflexão sobre uma relação - 
mas esse é um dos muitos dons de peter hammill.




Citadel reverberates to a thousand voices, now dumb: 
what have we become? What have we chosen to be?
 Now, all history is reduced to the syllables of our name -
 nothing can ever be the same, now the Immortals are here. 
At the time, it seemed a reasonable course to harness all the force of life without the threat of death, 
but soon we found
 that boredom and inertia are not negatives, 
but all the law we know and dead are will and words like survival.






Arrival at immunity from all age, all fear and all end...
 Why do I pretend? Our essence is distilled
 and all familiar taste is now drained
 and though purity is maintained it leaves us sterile,
 living through the millions of years,
 a laugh as close as any tear... Living, if you claim that all that entails is
 breathing, eating, defecating, screwing, drinking, 
spewing, sleeping, sinking ever down and down 
and ultimately passing away time
, which no longer has any meaning.






Take away the threat of death 
and all you're left with is a round of make-believe; 
marshal every sullen breath
 and though you're ultimately bored by endless ecstasy
 that's still the ring by which you hope to be engaged
 to marry the girl who will give you forever - 
it's crazy, and plainly
 that simply is not enough.






What is the dullest and bluntest of pains,
 such that my eyes never close without feeling it there?
 What abject despair demands an end to all things of infinity?
 If we have gained, how do we now meet the cost?
 What have we bargained, and what have we lost?
 What have we relinquished, never even knowing it was there?






What chance now of holding fast the line,
 defying death and time
 when everything we had is gone? 
Everything we laboured for and favoured more
 than earthly things reveals the hollow ring 
of false hope and of false deliverance.






But now the nuptial bed is made,
 the dowry has been paid; 
the toothless, haggard features of Eternity
 now welcome me between the sheets
 to couple with her withered body - my wife.




 Hers forever, 
hers forever, 
hers forever
 in still life.



























victory boogie boogie
piet mondrian












25 fevereiro 2013











Love letter







Dear Samson,
I put your hair
in a jar
by the pear tree
near the well.
I been thinkin’
over what I done
and I still don’t think
God gave you
all that strenght
for you to kill
my people.

Love – Delilah










Carole C. Gregory























[ o castelo e a sé vistos de santa catarina ]





















sam john hopkins confessou que sentiu os azuis dentro de si aos oito anos de idade, 
depois de ter ouvido tocar blind lemon jefferson. não sei se era ciumento, 
mas este é um dos azuis mais violentos de sempre...



Oh, go bring me my shotgun
I got start shooting again
Oh, go bring me my shotgun
you know i just got to start shooting again
You know, I'm gonna shoot my woman
Cause she's fooling around with too many men

Yes, I said, go bring me my shotgun
Oh, bring me back some shells
Yes, I said, go bring me my shotgun
Oh, bring me back a pocket full of shells
Yes, if I don't get some competition
You know there's gonna be trouble here

Yes, you know my woman tried to quit me
When I ain't done nothin' wrong
She done put me out of doors
But I even ain't got no home as it goes
Bring me my shotgun
Oh Lord and a pocket full of shells
Yes, if I don't get some competition
You know there's gotta be trouble here

Yes, you know that my momma told me
The day that I left the door
She said "I ain't gonna have bad luck son
And I don't care where you go"
Just bring me my shotgun
Boy you can bring just one or two shells
Yes, if I don't get some competition
You know there's gotta be trouble here

Well I cried "bye-bye baby
You know you done me wrong"
I'm gonna take my little shotgun now
And I'm gonna carry it back home
I said one in the morning'
I'm gonna carry my shotgun home
Yes, I figure the best thing I can do
Why did I leave that woman alone












24 fevereiro 2013

23 fevereiro 2013










Ah, quem sabe, quem sabe,
Se não parti outrora, antes de mim,
Dum cais; se não deixei, navio ao sol
Oblíquo da madrugada,
Uma outra espécie de porto?









Álvaro de Campos




















[ praça camões ...transmutada em olival ]











22 fevereiro 2013










penso às vezes no que deve ter sido a tomada de consciência da loucura por parte de syd barrett.
recordando as sessões de gravação desta canção em 1970, o baterista jerry shirley confessou: "ele nunca tocava duas vezes a mesma coisa; por vezes o que tocava não fazia sentido nenhum, mas noutras ocasiões era pura magia"; 
david gilmour, que aqui toca baixo e órgão, recorda que "ele nunca nos dava indicações sobre a orientação desejada para uma canção, ficava calado, ou então dizia coisas como perhaps we could make the middle darker and maybe the end a bit middle afternoonish; at the moment it's too windy and icy"...



Grooving around in a trench coat
with the satin on trail
Seems to be all around in tin and lead pail, we pale
Jiving on down to the beach
to see the blue and the gray
seems to be all and it's rosy-it's a beautiful day!

Will you please keep on the track
'cause I almost want you back
'cause I know what you are
you are a gigolo aunt, you're a gigolo aunt!
Yes I know what you are
you are a gigolo aunt, you're a gigolo aunt!

Heading down with the light, the dust in your way
she was angrier than, than her watershell male
life to this love to me - heading me down to me
thunderbird shale
seems to be all and it's rosy - it's a beautiful day!
will you please keep on the track
'cause I almost want you back
'cause I know what you are
you are a gigolo aunt

Grooving on down in a knapsack superlative day
some wish she move and just as she can move jiving away
she made the scene should have been-superlative day
everything's all and it's rosy, it's a beautiful day
will you please keep on the track
'cause I almost want you back
'cause I know what you are
you are a gigolo aunt...




















Ego







vou procurar-te em toda a extensão do meu corpo,
sei que me habitas,
sepultado algures no meu ego.
se não estás aqui, estás nas entranhas das estrelas e é igual,
é a língua de um filme que achaste medíocre por ser abstracto,
é o leque cromático da gramática
que me impinges,
são os nervos exaltados que gritam com o poema
e é o poema que grita 
e as palavras que estremecem até aos tendões.
cravo cada letra até à mais profunda solidão
e as folhas lamentam o peso das sílabas.









Sara F. Costa
























[jardins gulbenkian]













21 fevereiro 2013










más allá de cualquier zona prohibida






más allá de cualquier zona prohibida
hay un espejo para nuestra triste transparencia









Alejandra Pizarnik















e, por falar em canções mais-que-perfeitas... 
mr. harper strikes again:



There's a lady who knows you know

All the to's and the fro's they go

When they're changing their minds

As the passion unwinds


But she knows as she watches

Over the evening star

That they'll all be together

No matter where they all are



There's a prince on a mountain top

And the mystery fills his cup

With the call of the wild

And a beautiful child


And she knows as she watches

Over the evening star

That they'll all be together

No matter where they all are







20 fevereiro 2013















covered car, long beach, california
robert frank




















Tento empurrar-te de cima do poema







Tento empurrar-te de cima do poema
para não o estragar na emoção de ti:
olhos semi-cerrados, em precauções de tempo
a sonhá-lo de longe, todo livre sem ti.

Dele ausento os teus olhos, sorriso, boca, olhar:
tudo coisas de ti, mas coisas de partir...
E o meu alarme nasce: e se morreste aí,
no meio de chão sem texto que é ausente de ti?

E se já não respiras? Se eu não te vejo mais
por te querer empurrar, lírica de emoção?
E o meu pânico cresce: se tu não estiveres lá?
E se tu não estiveres onde o poema está?

Faço eroticamente respiração contigo:
primeiro um advérbio, depois um adjectivo,
depois um verso todo em emoção e juras.
E termino contigo em cima do poema,
presente indicativo, artigos às escuras.









Ana Luísa Amaral









[ lê-se e vê-se muito melhor aqui ]


19 fevereiro 2013














hotel eden
joseph cornell

















voltei a recordar os roxy music há tempos - e fui dar com esta canção. 
diz-se que o senhor ferry se inspirou na supermodel texana jerry hall
quando escreveu sobre essa rosa da pradaria, que depois foi sua namorada
- e mais tarde se mudou para o jardim do senhor jagger, com quem veio
a casar e ter quatro filhos. ah, a vida das flores...



Texas That's where I belong It seems to me
Texas Lonesome star Shine on the big country
Texas With open skies And you for company
Texas Oh prairie rose How happy I should be

Hey hey you can take it from me
Hey hey I'll be coming, you'll see
Hey hey oh what a state to be in
Hey hey you're tantalizing me

Texas I will compose In fancy rhyme or just plain prose
Texas A song of praise To you prairie rose
Texas Though I'm not sure I can explain your strange allure
Texas Oh Prairie rose A crown of thorns a scented flower

Hey hey I'd better leave right away
Hey hey I can hear you calling me
Prairie rose


















campo de flores
egon schiele