tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138523412024-03-19T09:34:53.295+00:00Rua das PretasServe-se poesia aos passantes
(Com guardanapo...)Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comBlogger6284125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-52194376639161834172024-03-19T05:54:00.001+00:002024-03-19T05:54:00.134+00:00Roberto Juarroz (Dar tudo por perdido)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9ajrkcQYklmMwfuNK6k9fDwTWAp-fpEtVifL5FcQTKrYnjxMXYmAQNo8aDMX8ap5uXdWWICSSSGhq_AuhxDE9-K_os4NLEPb9awMkN_QxPIyt2g_nUaxRvq6tZuZEn1zK80eM4fxIzorlQcxpJlfgqbCmdRXosgE3oeDN7fjtclBOAxxIXBaQw/s427/A.Dacosta.2mf08pint_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="427" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9ajrkcQYklmMwfuNK6k9fDwTWAp-fpEtVifL5FcQTKrYnjxMXYmAQNo8aDMX8ap5uXdWWICSSSGhq_AuhxDE9-K_os4NLEPb9awMkN_QxPIyt2g_nUaxRvq6tZuZEn1zK80eM4fxIzorlQcxpJlfgqbCmdRXosgE3oeDN7fjtclBOAxxIXBaQw/s320/A.Dacosta.2mf08pint_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">(24)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Darlo todo por perdido.<br />
Allí comienza lo abierto.<br />
Entonces cualquier paso<br />
puede ser el primero.<br />
O cualquier gesto logra<br />
sumar todos los gestos.<br />
Darlo todo por perdido<br />
Dejar que se abran solas<br />
las puertas que faltan.<br />
O mejor:<br />
dejar que no se abran.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
Roberto Juarroz<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dar tudo por perdido,<br />
aí começa o caminho.<br />
Qualquer passo então<br />
pode ser o primeiro.<br />
Ou qualquer gesto logra<br />
conter todos os gestos.<br />
Dar tudo por perdido,<br />
deixar abrir sozinhas<br />
as portas necessárias.<br />
Ou melhor, <br />
deixar que não se abram.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-64120312283537913522024-03-18T05:44:00.000+00:002024-03-18T05:44:00.131+00:00Cristina Peri Rossi (Teoria literária)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhK2GoOUMAJsS8fGjqGC8lywR17ydnQ0o4TKU3wRreiZGcT2SGC3_7zYEFEhfGDyCnBVpNt2k7M-QX-Ec1TbRz85noj5bec2UZC8MDPayYiJmp2OoqPuq4EmbkQOPraLrit9Q0MQMflrQxkPYHFr6hc5CM2UOxaSwjpD1KZhD0U5XiR441h8LTQ/s1013/Durer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="1013" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhK2GoOUMAJsS8fGjqGC8lywR17ydnQ0o4TKU3wRreiZGcT2SGC3_7zYEFEhfGDyCnBVpNt2k7M-QX-Ec1TbRz85noj5bec2UZC8MDPayYiJmp2OoqPuq4EmbkQOPraLrit9Q0MQMflrQxkPYHFr6hc5CM2UOxaSwjpD1KZhD0U5XiR441h8LTQ/s320/Durer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #666666; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">TEORÍA
LITERARIA</span><span style="color: #666666;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #666666; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #666666; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Escriben
porque tienen el pene corto<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">o la
nariz torcida<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">Porque
un amigo les robó la amante<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">y otro
les ganaba al póker<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">Escriben
porque quieren ser jefes de la tribu<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">y tener
muchas mujeres<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">un cargo
político<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">un
tribunal<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">Por unas
cuantas palabras<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">una
tarima<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">(muchas
mujeres).</span><span style="color: #666666;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #666666; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">No se
leen entre ellos<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">no se lo
toman en serio:<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">Nadie
está dispuesto a morir<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">colocadas
en fila<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">(de
izquierda a derecha,<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">no al
estilo árabe)<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">ni por
unas cuantas mujeres:<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">después
de los cuarenta,<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;">todos
son posmodernos.<br /></span><span style="color: #666666;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #666666; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Cristina
Peri Rossi</span></i><span style="color: #666666;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">[<a href="https://libroemmagunst.blogspot.com/2022/08/cristina-peri-rossi-teoria-literaria.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Emma Gunst</span></a>]</span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> <br /><br /></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Escrevem porque têm o pénis pequeno<br />
ou o nariz torto<br />
Porque um amigo lhes roubou a amante<br />
e outro lhes ganhava ao póquer<br />
Escrevem porque querem ser chefes da tribo<br />
e ter muitas mulheres<br />
um cargo político<br />
um tribunal<br />
Por umas quantas palavras<br />
uma tarimba<br />
(vá, muitas mulheres).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Não se lêem uns aos outros<br />
nem o levam a sério:<br />
Não estão dispostos a morrer<br />
alinhados<br />
(da esquerda para a direita,<br />
não ao estilo árabe)<br />
nem por umas quantas mulheres:<br />
depois dos quarenta,<br />
são todos pós-modernos.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-10075532713739416392024-03-16T02:32:00.001+00:002024-03-16T02:32:00.123+00:00Sebastião da Gama (Cantilena)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYedtQFypxzbvQSV6Z-BHqe3kyxmEKyH4JfFGJgK9bU3ZVyLmJAK1QUIeUWhOZ5_CM7WVTLsBJYZIAkokPFlig3r5A5hJBPkoKJUT2eC_gsRBbe793sFieVAJjdoh4yCHy4rIAjuOIC5II4eUh1WCw92KXHay5VOPSvkGh9GufQODjF5G4EQcfHg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYedtQFypxzbvQSV6Z-BHqe3kyxmEKyH4JfFGJgK9bU3ZVyLmJAK1QUIeUWhOZ5_CM7WVTLsBJYZIAkokPFlig3r5A5hJBPkoKJUT2eC_gsRBbe793sFieVAJjdoh4yCHy4rIAjuOIC5II4eUh1WCw92KXHay5VOPSvkGh9GufQODjF5G4EQcfHg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">CANTILENA<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cortaram as asas<br />
ao rouxinol<br />
Rouxinol sem asas<br />
não pode voar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Quebraram-te o bico,<br />
rouxinol!<br />
Rouxinol sem bico<br />
não pode cantar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Que ao menos a Noite<br />
ninguém, rouxinol!,<br />
ta queira roubar.<br />
Rouxinol sem Noite<br />
não pode viver.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <i>Sebastião da Gama<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-3098866863697343552024-03-14T05:39:00.001+00:002024-03-14T05:39:00.263+00:00Carlos Martínez Aguirre (O amor é um género literário)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrxGkyUZoXs3g9KruhNQwfHrRQF8c-Xr-FbxdIICkJTg2F9sv2AmZshavYJu1rq4XBNnAgf53XbZshBe648Ur4HnxWTuSObqcnxMV3Bwip4c004Fcn2F5UdHFv373V6UgwRPtqLMwxvJ1QkIavyol_VycZhureA0Tq7kzfFxKdANVJJCGix9m79A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img data-original-height="904" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrxGkyUZoXs3g9KruhNQwfHrRQF8c-Xr-FbxdIICkJTg2F9sv2AmZshavYJu1rq4XBNnAgf53XbZshBe648Ur4HnxWTuSObqcnxMV3Bwip4c004Fcn2F5UdHFv373V6UgwRPtqLMwxvJ1QkIavyol_VycZhureA0Tq7kzfFxKdANVJJCGix9m79A=w283-h320" width="283" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">EL AMOR ES UM GÉNERO LITERARIO<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">He pensado escribirte como si no existiera <br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">aún el feminismo. Como si nuestro tiempo <br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">no fuera el fin de siglo, ni nadie conociesee<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">la igualdad de los sexos, ni causara
extrañeza <br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">oír que te dijera que el amor que yo siento <br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">por ti jamás podrías sentirlo tú por nadie.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Tal vez el amor sea solo literatura<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">que cambia con el tiempo. Supongo que nosotros<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">no amamos como Shakespeare, ni Shakespeare como
Dante, <br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">ni Dante como Safo, ni Safo como nadie.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Carlos Martínez Aguirre</span></i><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Pensei em escrever-te como se não existisse<br /></span>ainda o feminismo. Como se o nosso tempo<br />não fosse o fim do século, nem ninguém conhecesse<br />a igualdade dos sexos, nem causasse estranheza<br />ouvir que te dissesse que o amor que eu sinto<br />por ti nunca poderias senti-lo tu por ninguém.<br />Talvez o amor seja apenas literatura<br />que muda com o tempo. Eu suponho que nós<br />não amamos como Shakespeare, nem Shakespeare como
Dante,<br />nem Dante como Safo, nem Safo como ninguém.<br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">(Trad. J.M.Magalhães)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">>> <span style="color: #1155cc;"> </span><a href="https://classicsathome.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Clasicas</span></a> (sitio prof) / <a href="https://publicaciones.unirioja.es/ej/fabula/pdf/fab23008.pdf" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Unirioja</span></a> (<span style="color: #222222;">8p) / </span><a href="https://hectorcastilla.wordpress.com/tag/carlos-martinez-aguirre/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Hector Castilla</span></a> (<span style="color: #222222;">11p) / </span><a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlos_Mart%C3%ADnez_Aguirre" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Wikipedia</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">.</p><br /></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-87219221090940679262024-03-13T06:15:00.000+00:002024-03-13T06:15:00.125+00:00Antonio Porchia (Sei que não tens nada)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7HcGigVRqGkYQUZYPTYDOmMA7Mu2P5ZhiBhZKU-Qn2U8adCA4j82BrvRMw3pdRTlG0mJJvR23xW1oa48O72cP8YqQfvzraY2e5wd2M6N0xPSagD8HF9nurx3ohrvh6mfCTBsYc5G7-WYqppgaPJtvdErjlFZJbThk0DmeM0bfzWF7lSc-OF5Uw/s400/freud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="308" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7HcGigVRqGkYQUZYPTYDOmMA7Mu2P5ZhiBhZKU-Qn2U8adCA4j82BrvRMw3pdRTlG0mJJvR23xW1oa48O72cP8YqQfvzraY2e5wd2M6N0xPSagD8HF9nurx3ohrvh6mfCTBsYc5G7-WYqppgaPJtvdErjlFZJbThk0DmeM0bfzWF7lSc-OF5Uw/s320/freud.jpg" width="246" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sei que não tens nada.<br />Por isso te peço tudo.<br />Para que tenhas tudo.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Antonio Porchia</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Trad. A.M.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-91266616377445446492024-03-11T05:26:00.000+00:002024-03-11T05:26:00.132+00:00Sebastião Alba (Deixa entrar no poema)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEyz1PD2Xvm_UDve8VgfSo2y32s2QpBw46zYHL2GON-hGvZqvcYLz7a9GAs3kcNGe1QxV41Wfl0xUJQ_Y2i841C-ir9i0XBJHpXZfB6SIEiTV0m8GzXMRrsMhNO7Zr-ZpjnVVSWdyzNYZTfefqBqJ-O5rBpTV6AabLWm8haetxeGXihX4CrQ6bA/s400/66_2045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEyz1PD2Xvm_UDve8VgfSo2y32s2QpBw46zYHL2GON-hGvZqvcYLz7a9GAs3kcNGe1QxV41Wfl0xUJQ_Y2i841C-ir9i0XBJHpXZfB6SIEiTV0m8GzXMRrsMhNO7Zr-ZpjnVVSWdyzNYZTfefqBqJ-O5rBpTV6AabLWm8haetxeGXihX4CrQ6bA/s320/66_2045.jpg" width="240" /></a></p></blockquote><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Deixa entrar no poema<br /></span>alguns clichés.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Submetidos à
experiência inefável,<br />sua carga (eléctrica?)<br />escoar-se-á. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Não há uma vala comum
para as palavras<br /></span>decaídas,<br />um dicionário no
inferno; </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">mas deixa-as vir à
tona<br /></span>da claridade,<br />e nada lhes insufles.
Vê: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">não suportam a beleza<br /></span>que as circunda,
abismam-se<br />em seu ridículo.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Sebastião Alba</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">[<a href="http://universosdesfeitos-insonia.blogspot.pt/2014/03/deixa-entrar-no-poema.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Antologia do esquecimento</span></a>]</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />.<br /><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-89560255225402073652024-03-09T06:05:00.002+00:002024-03-09T10:32:03.658+00:00César Cantoni (O poeta da revolução)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bptNJUxqwQ8briwjTBuKoOcShHktPANvN-mOGp6RFowZ0MYk3GvRW0fHukq9JDiWvh1ONqR5_F2WNgZYbGUj5lHKm-EW54LlGXftw1Zvf4UGKWGhVOnky1o8VOmcSzT8IR1JTjtdZ6ly7cYapmBeYgoAaIeMjPvXKNgf9v3U1OdGereT5BIuNA/s315/NadirAfonso.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="315" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bptNJUxqwQ8briwjTBuKoOcShHktPANvN-mOGp6RFowZ0MYk3GvRW0fHukq9JDiWvh1ONqR5_F2WNgZYbGUj5lHKm-EW54LlGXftw1Zvf4UGKWGhVOnky1o8VOmcSzT8IR1JTjtdZ6ly7cYapmBeYgoAaIeMjPvXKNgf9v3U1OdGereT5BIuNA/s1600/NadirAfonso.jpg" width="315" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">EL POETA DE LA REVOLUCIÓN</span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Una vez, siendo joven, <br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">me propuse pegarme <br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">un balazo en el pecho. </span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Ese tributo a Maiakovski<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">–yo era, entonces, marxista–<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">y algunos versos entusiastas que había
escrito <br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">me auguraban, en mi fuero<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">más íntimo, un sitial memorable. </span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">No sé si por cobardía o pura comodidad, <br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">durante un tiempo largo,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">esperé que el balazo anhelado me lo pegara
otro. </span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Al final, la Revolución fracasó,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">nadie colaboró dándome muerte<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">y aquí estoy, poéticamente destronado, <br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">escribiendo estas líneas. <br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">César Cantoni </span></i><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">[<a href="http://campodemaniobras.blogspot.com/2023/07/cesar-cantoni-de-musica-continua.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Otra iglesia</span></a>]</span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Uma vez, em jovem,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">propus-me pregar<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">um balázio no peito.</span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Esse tributo a Maiakovski<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;"> - eu era marxista, por então -<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">e alguns versos entusiastas que tinha escrito<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">auguravam-me, no meu foro<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">mais íntimo, um cadeiral de respeito.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Não sei se por cobardia ou pura comodidade,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">durante largo tempo,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">esperei que o almejado tiro mo atirasse outro.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Afinal, a Revolução fracassou,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">ninguém ajudou a dar-me morte<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">e aqui estou eu, poeticamente destronado,<br /></span><span style="color: #4d4d4d;">a escrever estas linhas.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-85929920658811820922024-03-08T05:39:00.001+00:002024-03-08T05:39:00.132+00:00Vicente García (Ubi sunt?)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0joGbtTVrJ38W6mfXf3avGHyLTO8BsSJvakYDTIPWi7eUk1H4rBHPGFiWYELBKFUpJCT8sTYfgyKfcZXRGXXTyuKqDaiqqRJL5q1Fv-vdKEr4nkx4CJGN8FL5PQUSRi2SxwOknXbTuVoccJG4NfvqZIBpCrpBKv3KnSpIk9G29azXvAxRvUki8w/s1425/L.Afremov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="868" data-original-width="1425" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0joGbtTVrJ38W6mfXf3avGHyLTO8BsSJvakYDTIPWi7eUk1H4rBHPGFiWYELBKFUpJCT8sTYfgyKfcZXRGXXTyuKqDaiqqRJL5q1Fv-vdKEr4nkx4CJGN8FL5PQUSRi2SxwOknXbTuVoccJG4NfvqZIBpCrpBKv3KnSpIk9G29azXvAxRvUki8w/s320/L.Afremov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">UBI SUNT?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lo que han envejecido los poemas<br />
escritos hace años (tres de ellos<br />
podían ser entonces la razón de la vida<br />
y ahora no los quiere ni el recuerdo).<br />
<br />
También nosotros éramos mejores.<br />
También los días eran otra cosa...<br />
En su rincón perduran las fotos de aquel tiempo<br />
y guardan la verdad de aquella historia.<br />
<br />
Quizás en el futuro nuestros libros<br />
parezcan trasnochados<br />
en la memoria de alguien.<br />
Por lo menos,<br />
no hablábamos muy alto.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vicente García<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">O que envelheceram
os poemas<br />
escritos há anos (três deles<br />
podiam ser então a razão da vida<br />
e agora nem a lembrança os quer).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Também nós éramos
melhores,<br />
também os dias eram outra coisa…<br />
No seu canto perduram as fotos desse tempo<br />
e conservam a verdade daquela história.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Talvez no futuro
nossos livros<br />
pareçam antiquados <br />
na lembrança de alguém.<br />
Pelo menos, <br />
não falávamos muito alto.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">>> <a href="https://www.poemas-del-alma.com/vicente-garcia.htm">Poemas del alma</a> (24p) / <a href="http://www.poemaspoetas.com/vicente-garcia">Poemas y poetas</a> (26p) / <a href="https://revistaclarin.com/tag/vicente-garcia/">Clarin</a> (recensão anto/1992-2008)</div><p class="MsoNormal">.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-52135283829257538352024-03-06T02:08:00.001+00:002024-03-06T02:08:00.242+00:00Sandro Penna (Poeta exclusivo)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7IMdLg4VV-vg6U-rZuPOfunXNuX3y1PAETYNv3QwuHdootu1SUkk-aWXYy-lOrMy1vbhylatIX1wz-8PZddKNAcw07MB_z_grfKhPAzGFvyncY1ITPKwS9fDzlW9OWOIe2No063cqblcwfGN7fqas_1P_yhpOvHigGNkop3njsbzBp736-O8QSQ/s320/anjinhos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="231" data-original-width="320" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7IMdLg4VV-vg6U-rZuPOfunXNuX3y1PAETYNv3QwuHdootu1SUkk-aWXYy-lOrMy1vbhylatIX1wz-8PZddKNAcw07MB_z_grfKhPAzGFvyncY1ITPKwS9fDzlW9OWOIe2No063cqblcwfGN7fqas_1P_yhpOvHigGNkop3njsbzBp736-O8QSQ/s1600/anjinhos.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">‘’Poeta esclusivo d’amore”<br />
m’hanno chiamato. E forse era vero.<br />
Ma il vento qui sull’erba ed i rumori<br />
della città lontana<br />
non sono anch’essi amore?<br />
Sotto nuvole calde<br />
non sono ancora i suoni<br />
di un amore che arde<br />
e più non si allontana?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
Sandro Penna<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--></i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Poeta exclusivo de amor”<br />
chamaram-me. E era talvez verdade.<br />
Mas o vento aqui na relva e os rumores<br />
da cidade ao longe<br />
não são também eles amor?<br />
Sob as nuvens do calor<br />
não são ainda os sons<br />
de um amor que arde<br />
e não se afasta mais?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-29351639838595394082024-03-04T01:40:00.001+00:002024-03-04T01:40:00.130+00:00Cecilia Casanova (Tema de pássaros)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbaoLK6vtj6EtuJiHWo3c7xpIQH5TlRWLkl9eXZM9Mjw6w5-iZwzxl3jsUe6flTfDFimYkJJdSMmc6zJRBJlh6yZO0QCN5Pet-wdAkoLkA6ITSx-mtozRTi5HvKu4DLR65HNnSUXMDgEtrodRpY3ctJ8QlD6oqhDVQho52AuoIw_hFml3aMUB_g/s1280/Chichorro%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1026" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbaoLK6vtj6EtuJiHWo3c7xpIQH5TlRWLkl9eXZM9Mjw6w5-iZwzxl3jsUe6flTfDFimYkJJdSMmc6zJRBJlh6yZO0QCN5Pet-wdAkoLkA6ITSx-mtozRTi5HvKu4DLR65HNnSUXMDgEtrodRpY3ctJ8QlD6oqhDVQho52AuoIw_hFml3aMUB_g/s320/Chichorro%20(3).jpg" width="257" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">TEMA DE PÁJAROS<br /><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Porque tenemos mucho que decir<br />
callamos de una manera torpe.<br />
Habituados a oírnos<br />
en el movimiento de las manos<br />
en la actitud de volver los ojos.<br />
La ventana nos brinda temas de pájaros<br />
pero cuando voy a señalártelos<br />
el cielo está solo.<br />
Regresamos perdidos cada uno en un bosque<br />
demasiado cerca para rozarnos.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
Cecilia Casanova<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Porque temos muito para dizer,<br />
calamo-nos sem jeito,<br />
habituados a ouvir-nos<br />
no movimento das mãos,<br />
ou no gesto de voltar os olhos.<br />
A janela brinda-nos com temas de pássaros,<br />
mas quando eu vou a apontar-tos<br />
o céu está deserto.<br />
Regressamos perdidos cada um num bosque<br />
demasiado perto para embarrarmos.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-48448468714985886752024-03-03T04:51:00.003+00:002024-03-03T04:51:00.256+00:00Begoña Abad (Que fizeste na tua vida?)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzwyQMdoUVv3iaotNaULYOyGz_Mu-hceZ5sxzJ_80X_usBNoZKepq_-UNmVMU1Bmscr0V0Glsxd-KJT21-US8H8-1aa7q3uPDhpPsFPP8EFS3GjyJru97eWUUQ0Q88PDxtib3qlMfN6ZgucZCd4UT_7PMenkT2iSFOJM8QbdadPL_1S-eD2ORPw/s1400/Artur_Bual_1400x550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="1400" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzwyQMdoUVv3iaotNaULYOyGz_Mu-hceZ5sxzJ_80X_usBNoZKepq_-UNmVMU1Bmscr0V0Glsxd-KJT21-US8H8-1aa7q3uPDhpPsFPP8EFS3GjyJru97eWUUQ0Q88PDxtib3qlMfN6ZgucZCd4UT_7PMenkT2iSFOJM8QbdadPL_1S-eD2ORPw/w400-h158/Artur_Bual_1400x550.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">¿Qué
hiciste en tu vida?<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Caer y
levantarme.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Aprender
a curar rodillas magulladas.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Echar
remiendos en los desgarros.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Inventar
menús para los que tenían <br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">hambre.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Caer y
levantarme.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Escuchar
los gritos silenciosos del miedo.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Hacer
hueco para que cupieran todos.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Sumar y
multiplicar la alegría de diario.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Restar y
dividir la angustia y la tristura.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Abrir
puertas.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Caer y
mirar desde ahí.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Caer y
levantarme.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Begoña
Abad</span></i><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Que
fizeste tu na tua vida?<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Cair e
erguer-me.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Aprender
a curar joelhos magoados.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Deitar
remendos nos rasgões.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Inventar
menus para os que tinham<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">fome.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Cair e
erguer-me.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Escutar
os gritos silenciosos do medo.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Abrir
espaço para todos caberem.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Somar e
multiplicar a alegria de cada dia.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Tirar e
dividir angústias e tristezas.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Abrir
portas.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Cair e
observar, de baixo.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222;">Cair e
erguer-me.</span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-48617476336639851642024-03-01T01:32:00.001+00:002024-03-01T01:32:00.138+00:00Salvatore Quasimodo (Verão)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis596tkcBRPeoqhQixxFZCxZ7xfTsOWxgUsiPn9DmIah75ce4DnKjNXqlUq_8f-BXcP7mBVxj1fbZqis0R-FqFBkGeFUruBrvFy7GR2VCm10Av5SJmiSwBrPMVaeJ6Tdzke4zPa5d0QiwzwXwP5SIESigrFUVJNKn7SejyDre9S_xyJqXu0Mp2KQ/s658/AngelEspoy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="658" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis596tkcBRPeoqhQixxFZCxZ7xfTsOWxgUsiPn9DmIah75ce4DnKjNXqlUq_8f-BXcP7mBVxj1fbZqis0R-FqFBkGeFUruBrvFy7GR2VCm10Av5SJmiSwBrPMVaeJ6Tdzke4zPa5d0QiwzwXwP5SIESigrFUVJNKn7SejyDre9S_xyJqXu0Mp2KQ/s320/AngelEspoy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">ESTATE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cicale, sorelle, nel sole<br />
con voi mi nascondo<br />
nel folto dei pioppi<br />
e aspetto le stelle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
Salvatore Quasimodo<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cigarras, irmãzinhas,<br />
na terra convosco me escondo,<br />
à sombra dos choupos,<br />
e espero as estrelas.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-51215478648656254762024-02-28T04:44:00.001+00:002024-02-28T04:44:00.133+00:00Antonio Fernández Lera (A mentira embrulha-se)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNi-56x6GIOrqqGYSRoeqnzf8mk_NCBJpc6hgBTvHVFvpuTIzmnA1Tp5aGU-ZvKjVEgaLp1pCzEW2YVJzKLEEA5nqc6foD365K_IGSt6NnjvTvk-yLm75FvSVusaG-oecv47czsy83P2INV6KNp2i8J1leOD1EnGVkcUPQPLizzWJuB9riR9MPxQ/s600/Bosch_garden_earthly_delights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNi-56x6GIOrqqGYSRoeqnzf8mk_NCBJpc6hgBTvHVFvpuTIzmnA1Tp5aGU-ZvKjVEgaLp1pCzEW2YVJzKLEEA5nqc6foD365K_IGSt6NnjvTvk-yLm75FvSVusaG-oecv47czsy83P2INV6KNp2i8J1leOD1EnGVkcUPQPLizzWJuB9riR9MPxQ/s320/Bosch_garden_earthly_delights.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">La mentira se envuelve en una luz<br />
estridente. No tiene castigo<br />
ni oscuridad eterna. La verdad<br />
está en el fondo del mar.<br />
El silencio es atronador<br />
La mentira es la verdad.<br />
La verdad es la mentira.<br />
La contradicción es inaceptable.<br />
Las piezas no coinciden.<br />
El engranaje no funciona.<br />
El camino se bifurca.<br />
La vida se abre como una flor<br />
y nunca retrocede.<br />
Un espejo se rompe,<br />
un corazón estalla.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Antonio Fernández Lera<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A mentira embrulha-se numa luz<br />
estridente. Sem castigo<br />
nem eterna escuridão. A verdade<br />
está no fundo do mar.<br />
O silêncio é ensurdecedor.<br />
A mentira é a verdade.<br />
A verdade é a mentira.<br />
A contradição é inaceitável.<br />
As peças não encaixam.<br />
A engrenagem não funciona.<br />
O caminho bifurca-se.<br />
A vida abre como uma flor<br />
e jamais retrocede.<br />
Um espelho parte-se,<br />
um coração explode.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-25312428605925487852024-02-27T07:02:00.001+00:002024-02-27T07:02:00.139+00:00Antonio Deltoro (Real política)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-tzbTquae08UPEHoFGYip-KBVgCBGaDwa68tkLFZXEaEpKL1FRwzPOjVS4WG55JNmsUa_yoNYkE6jR91_537VI0uJLmh-Qc8BbNU2dXqHVN8Uqxa8imr5RVDmxpmwr-qbB_8yGtt-zjEwy3OnVvpwzhH5TwPm4p7uQtgdDbYdy8MBaTajScbz3A/s1206/IMG_0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="1206" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-tzbTquae08UPEHoFGYip-KBVgCBGaDwa68tkLFZXEaEpKL1FRwzPOjVS4WG55JNmsUa_yoNYkE6jR91_537VI0uJLmh-Qc8BbNU2dXqHVN8Uqxa8imr5RVDmxpmwr-qbB_8yGtt-zjEwy3OnVvpwzhH5TwPm4p7uQtgdDbYdy8MBaTajScbz3A/s320/IMG_0723.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">REAL POLÍTICA<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
La mosca en el rayo de sol sonríe,<br />
sonríe la araña, sonríe la mariposa,<br />
pero la araña ríe al último:<br />
<br />
la araña, la mosca,<br />
el sol, la sonrisa y la risa<br />
y la mariposa<br />
<br />
son los protagonistas de este poema,<br />
<br />
pero la araña<br />
se lleva la palma<br />
<br />
y la sonrisa<br />
del verdugo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i>Antonio Deltoro<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>[</o:p><a href="https://campodemaniobras.blogspot.com/2014/05/antonio-deltoro-tres-poemas.html">Otra iglesia</a>]</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A mosca sorri ao raio de sol,<br />
sorri a aranha, e a borboleta,<br />
mas quem ri por último é a aranha:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">a aranha, a mosca, <br />
o sol, o sorriso, mais o riso <br />
e a borboleta<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">são os protagonistas aqui do poema,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">mas é a aranha<br />
quem leva a palma<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">assim como o sorriso<br />
do carrasco.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-44963256204476856952024-02-25T00:34:00.001+00:002024-02-25T00:34:42.156+00:00Ricardo Silvestrin (Lixo sem luxo)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKgQFvaaO7jtMGV3aPqekWmd6kXglD_Ucpd-5g1Wtf9XlU8wC18hdhcn8B9pkO5BX-AXWGtUvl6OQfG2pVZQJK_y42uH-S0R4XPImguB4tF2lQmU1tdSyndL_0gv1tZ4StLM4WeCkUuyRNbrJ7PVnTHx5DsTvbB3Oq_rYR7APZRp2GNDTn23MjYQ/s1024/Botero%20-%20El%20presidente.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKgQFvaaO7jtMGV3aPqekWmd6kXglD_Ucpd-5g1Wtf9XlU8wC18hdhcn8B9pkO5BX-AXWGtUvl6OQfG2pVZQJK_y42uH-S0R4XPImguB4tF2lQmU1tdSyndL_0gv1tZ4StLM4WeCkUuyRNbrJ7PVnTHx5DsTvbB3Oq_rYR7APZRp2GNDTn23MjYQ/s320/Botero%20-%20El%20presidente.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">LIXO SEM LUXO<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ele sabe que será jogado <br />
na lata de lixo da história,<br />
mas esperneia.<br />
Tira de sua cabeça,<br />
como um coelho morto<br />
de uma podre cartola,<br />
ideias sem serventia.<br />
Os medíocres que o seguem<br />
aplaudem sua iniciativa<br />
e votam em assembleia<br />
os dejetos que se transformam<br />
em decretos.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Ricardo Silvestrin</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">[<a href="http://antoniocicero.blogspot.com/2022/03/ricardo-silvestrin-lixo-sem-luxo.html" target="_blank">Acontecimentos</a>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-22674837120876128392024-02-23T05:57:00.001+00:002024-02-23T05:57:00.248+00:00Ana Pérez Cañamares (Quando o sol)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSZlwCTvTZ8sdyz4UArMTiglBfwkm3cuQKZFNsA-KYkNa8DoObaD3BJmM2LFQzWWMWqTssG4AuJcWRreA4xV5-YOzOiTLcDUwER6zTu4hfi-vb0d5ZAm036jdTOU4bjKsXcZ-pQbCTHS7eJZ6uehuwAWzkPP0BsJKTwXACKT5rXGGlbNKdN7ZCQ/s436/LGA-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSZlwCTvTZ8sdyz4UArMTiglBfwkm3cuQKZFNsA-KYkNa8DoObaD3BJmM2LFQzWWMWqTssG4AuJcWRreA4xV5-YOzOiTLcDUwER6zTu4hfi-vb0d5ZAm036jdTOU4bjKsXcZ-pQbCTHS7eJZ6uehuwAWzkPP0BsJKTwXACKT5rXGGlbNKdN7ZCQ/s320/LGA-2.jpg" width="313" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Cuando el sol ya sólo se adivina<br /></span>en su reflejo sobre los pájaros<br />que vuelan fuera de tu alcance </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">es la hora de cerrar los oídos<br /></span>a los gritos que te apremian<br />y escuchar los ecos que vienen<br />de lejos para susurrarte: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">defiende tus alas.<br /></span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ana Pérez Cañamares</i> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">[<a href="http://apologadelaluz-jorgeespina.blogspot.pt/2013/12/ana-perez-canamares-las-sumas-y-los_28.html" target="_blank">Apología de la luz</a>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Quando o sol já só se adivinha<br />pelo seu reflexo nos pássaros<br />que voam fora do teu alcance </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">é hora de fechar os ouvidos<br />aos gritos que te oprimem<br /> escutar os ecos que chegam<br />de longe a sussurrar-te: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">defende as tuas asas.<br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-83838128351890835422024-02-22T05:42:00.001+00:002024-02-22T05:42:00.140+00:00Ángel Campos Pámpano (Ofício de palavras)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpkzx7ECTA-m00ldc1ybL3JD85D5m-9up25tWKVucaksah-1GzC7Rh3xQxr78-Xtuxo7_ldZVm6_U1K12KJdyEaNFYZhtiN1aRqBVvNwhLtGcUBJyjPSp6GbuGxrnEHGgwFa3bXvM6xDJ5F0YogrepOKJMARpgX_0R1fpyDxmp0eYwzI2LoeM1g/s400/Armando%20Aguiar%20%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="400" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpkzx7ECTA-m00ldc1ybL3JD85D5m-9up25tWKVucaksah-1GzC7Rh3xQxr78-Xtuxo7_ldZVm6_U1K12KJdyEaNFYZhtiN1aRqBVvNwhLtGcUBJyjPSp6GbuGxrnEHGgwFa3bXvM6xDJ5F0YogrepOKJMARpgX_0R1fpyDxmp0eYwzI2LoeM1g/s320/Armando%20Aguiar%20%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">OFÍCIO DE PALABRAS<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Conforme a la costumbre<br />
antigua de su oficio,<br />
las palabras anuncian<br />
el drama lentamente.<br />
Ocupan los objetos<br />
y enseguida los niegan.<br />
Se dan al desamparo<br />
de los nombres perdendo<br />
el tiempo si fabulan<br />
historias que no existen.<br />
No es casual que a veces<br />
procuren el poema,<br />
la vigilia, la muerte,<br />
la idea de la rosa.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Ángel Campos Pámpano<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Conforme ao costume<br />
antigo de seu ofício,<br />
as palavras anunciam<br />
o drama lentamente.<br />
Ocupam os objectos <br />
e a seguir negam-nos.<br />
Dão-se ao desamparo<br />
dos nomes perdendo<br />
o tempo a fabular<br />
histórias que não existem.<br />
Às vezes, não por acaso,<br />
procuram o poema,<br />
a vigília, a morte,<br />
a ideia pura da rosa.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-76491900567309424552024-02-20T05:37:00.001+00:002024-02-20T05:37:00.139+00:00Pier Paolo Pasolini (Súplica à mãe)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Zx9JY9T3d1QwjHo5QmY_YraOmyONcXA_2A-FP8fIdLkEbt01cxsJD98gOCxizlH40FaMluX_kKHKTQaNc4fYlEs5CHuInauqoGoAS8deQ9uriR44LHyqr2y1BkixeR4mQ-z1eTgesBw5LN7-zm_NpKmwbzYqEN1jTDXb-CjxUPo2klE_O1dI1A/s252/almada_maternidade-p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="250" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Zx9JY9T3d1QwjHo5QmY_YraOmyONcXA_2A-FP8fIdLkEbt01cxsJD98gOCxizlH40FaMluX_kKHKTQaNc4fYlEs5CHuInauqoGoAS8deQ9uriR44LHyqr2y1BkixeR4mQ-z1eTgesBw5LN7-zm_NpKmwbzYqEN1jTDXb-CjxUPo2klE_O1dI1A/s1600/almada_maternidade-p.jpg" width="250" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">SUPPLICA A MIA MADRE <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">È difficile dire con parole di figlio<br />
ciò a cui nel cuore ben poco assomiglio.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tu sei la sola al mondo che sa, del mio cuore,<br />
ciò che è stato sempre, prima d’ogni altro amore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Per questo devo dirti ciò ch’è orrendo conoscere:<br />
è dentro la tua grazia che nasce la mia angoscia.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sei insostituibile. Per questo è dannata<br />
alla solitudine la vita che mi hai data.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">E non voglio esser solo. Ho un’infinita fame<br />
d’amore, dell’amore di corpi senza anima.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perché l’anima è in te, sei tu, ma tu<br />
sei mia madre e il tuo amore è la mia schiavitù:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">ho passato l’infanzia schiavo di questo senso<br />
alto, irrimediabile, di un impegno immenso.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Era l’unico modo per sentire la vita,<br />
l’unica tinta, l’unica forma: ora è finita.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sopravviviamo: ed è la confusione<br />
di una vita rinata fuori dalla ragione.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ti supplico, ah, ti supplico: non voler morire.<br />
Sono qui, solo, con te, in un futuro aprile…<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Pier Paolo Pasolini<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
É difícil dizer isto, com palavras de filho,<br />
a quem lá no fundo do peito bem pouco me pareço.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tu és a única pessoa que sabe, do meu coração,<br />
o que ele foi sempre, antes de qualquer outro amor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Por isso devo dizer-te isto que é horrível de saber:<br />
que é na tua graça que nasce a minha angústia.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ninguém te pode substituir, por isso a vida que me deste<br />
está condenada à solidão.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">E eu não quero estar só, tenho fome de amor,<br />
do amor de corpos sem alma.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Porque a alma em ti está, és tu, mas tu és minha mãe<br />
e eu sou escravo do teu amor:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">escravo desde a infância, deste sentido alto,<br />
irremediável, de um empenho imenso.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Era o único modo para sentir a vida,<br />
a única tinta, a única forma: agora, acabada.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sobrevivemos, na confusão de uma vida<br />
renascida fora da razão.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Suplico-te, ah, suplico-te: não queiras morrer.<br />
Eu estou aqui, sozinho, contigo, num Abril futuro…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-14011325424610556342024-02-18T05:22:00.000+00:002024-02-18T05:22:00.134+00:00César Cantoni (Álbum de família)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRT4v0Dl_vptKmX3PbURMpwCkt6kq2Cz_Dqpk78Da-v_z0uQAbRwhsKNSBRgdcrbGJS6N8iQxNYdQE9AtljfAjja1zhODNTyz6OKVu0dGua1crKOTrPbme866BrSeGBhgkAqq5Pdlgzqx7p1IpWkW8i4TDBZVhvGDar5z0WrGU96KCkcB2wkVow/s300/Hockney%20self.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="224" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRT4v0Dl_vptKmX3PbURMpwCkt6kq2Cz_Dqpk78Da-v_z0uQAbRwhsKNSBRgdcrbGJS6N8iQxNYdQE9AtljfAjja1zhODNTyz6OKVu0dGua1crKOTrPbme866BrSeGBhgkAqq5Pdlgzqx7p1IpWkW8i4TDBZVhvGDar5z0WrGU96KCkcB2wkVow/s1600/Hockney%20self.jpg" width="224" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">ÁLBUM DE FAMILIA<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<br />
Murió mi padre, murieron mis abuelos,<br />
murieron mis tíos carnales y políticos.<br />
Una familia entera de herreros,<br />
ebanistas, curtidores, albañiles,<br />
yace ahora sin fuerzas bajo tierra.<br />
<br />
Y yo, el más inútil de todos,<br />
el que no sabe hacer nada con las manos,<br />
he logrado sobrevivir impunemente<br />
para llorar delante de una foto<br />
lo mejor de mi sangre.<br /><br />
<i><br />
César Cantoni<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">[<a href="https://dichtungundportraete.blogspot.com/2024/01/cesar-cantoni-album-de-familia.html">La ceniza</a>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Morreu meu pai, meus avós,<br />
meus tios de sangue e afins.<br />
Uma família inteira de ferreiros,<br />
marceneiros, curtidores, pedreiros,<br />
jaz agora sem forças, por baixo da terra.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">E eu, o mais inútil de todos,<br />
o que não sabe fazer nada com as mãos,<br />
logrei sobreviver impunemente<br />
para diante duma foto<br />
chorar o melhor do meu sangue.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-29494127137690682072024-02-17T04:52:00.000+00:002024-02-17T04:52:00.128+00:00Alfredo Buxán (A marca de Eros)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxducRPiw80HPTprVif7gclIuCj4GGUZFFYu8BhkpdELfPSLJ-Zsc879dy-4rKUr0hOxKZ-t6axYdacbfVuzHhe_UD2Pxzjd1oVSfacOQ4mSTCHq9Z5oFCY_M4Ukj-AsK6-kocj8bZ1otFB-rIOEgn-xC5mVyluo-CGWWbpCN9t9UtEoVq1Ej1A/s850/IMG_1857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="850" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxducRPiw80HPTprVif7gclIuCj4GGUZFFYu8BhkpdELfPSLJ-Zsc879dy-4rKUr0hOxKZ-t6axYdacbfVuzHhe_UD2Pxzjd1oVSfacOQ4mSTCHq9Z5oFCY_M4Ukj-AsK6-kocj8bZ1otFB-rIOEgn-xC5mVyluo-CGWWbpCN9t9UtEoVq1Ej1A/s320/IMG_1857.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">LA
HUELLA DE EROS<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">No
olvida mi cuerpo las más profundas<br />
heridas que otros cuerpos le han grabado<br />
en lo más indefenso de la carne.<br />
Sangran y me despiertan en la noche.<br />
Escucho lo que vienen a decirme,<br />
reconozco su origen, les devuelvo<br />
el calor que me dejaron.<br />
Algunas,<br />
más que heridas, son besos inmortales<br />
o pájaros en vuelo para siempre<br />
(la biblioteca, al fondo, nos miraba<br />
discreta, pura gloria entre la gente<br />
que pasaba intranquila a nuestro lado,<br />
no me vas a decir que no te acuerdas).<br />
Le duelen de verdad algunas veces,<br />
es mentira que el tiempo se las lleve<br />
al territorio oscuro del olvido.<br />
El cuerpo las reconoce sin temores.<br />
No le importa sufrir. Las agradece.<br />
Ha sabido morir cuando ha hecho falta.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
Alfredo Buxán</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">[<a href="https://lifevestunderyourseat.wordpress.com/2016/01/06/la-huella-de-eros/" target="_blank">Life vest under your seat</a>]</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Não esquece meu corpo as mais profundas<br />
feridas que outros corpos lhe deixaram<br />
no mais indefeso da carne.<br />
Que sangram e me despertam de noite.<br />
Escuto o que me vêm dizer,<br />
reconheço-lhes a origem, devolvo-lhes<br />
o calor que me deixaram.<br />
Algumas, <br />
mais que feridas, são beijos imortais<br />
ou pássaros em perpétuo voo<br />
(a biblioteca, ao fundo, observava-nos<br />
muito discreta, pura glória<br />
no meio das pessoas que <br />
nos passavam ao lado, intranquilas,<br />
não me vais dizer que não te lembras).<br />
Doem de verdade algumas vezes,<br />
não é verdade que as leve o tempo<br />
para a terra escura do esquecimento.<br />
Reconhece-as o corpo sem temor.<br />
Não se lhe dá de sofrer, agradece-as.<br />
Soube morrer quando foi preciso.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-72292544222913637382024-02-15T05:16:00.007+00:002024-02-15T08:42:34.010+00:00Paulo Henriques Britto (Ao leitor)<blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zE0kzb_sIgWGdv9rA3loLmNnEizXRCAZqISAa_O9WIfFdffYD4FJPowskrhFUn9hGdE2g3-NdSEdO_jRruwFB0aem2I7lPDQ-V-Efv004TpBMmqi7g1YVHtRWg_qaMMbnl5m20kLs5GIyI34F4UTRoGRK4OXh_s43m5IonE_gh_Fc1galh_19w/s960/IMG_1883.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="960" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zE0kzb_sIgWGdv9rA3loLmNnEizXRCAZqISAa_O9WIfFdffYD4FJPowskrhFUn9hGdE2g3-NdSEdO_jRruwFB0aem2I7lPDQ-V-Efv004TpBMmqi7g1YVHtRWg_qaMMbnl5m20kLs5GIyI34F4UTRoGRK4OXh_s43m5IonE_gh_Fc1galh_19w/s320/IMG_1883.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">AO LEITOR<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Se fosse o Ser quem fala no poema<br />
eu calaria a boca, e é até possível<br />
que o escutasse, um pouco. Sem problema;<br />
seria, eu sei, um papo de alto nível.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mas esta fala aqui -- garanto – vem<br />
de um mero estar, minúsculo, mortal,<br />
prosaico e costumeiro, a voz de alguém<br />
que embora sonhe no condicional<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">habita -- na vigília -- o indicativo,<br />
e fala sempre, sempre, na primeira<br />
e singular pessoa que está sendo<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">agora e aqui, como qualquer ser vivo<br />
com o dom da palavra (a trapaceira),<br />
tal qual faz quem me lê neste momento.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Paulo Henriques Britto<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">[<a href="http://antoniocicero.blogspot.com/2022/02/ao-leitor-se-fosse-o-ser-quem-fala-no.html">Acontecimentos</a>]<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">.</p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-29006347396376998352024-02-13T07:35:00.001+00:002024-02-13T07:35:00.135+00:00Alfonso Brezmes (Autobiografia)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lD7l3aLNC1Dl3SWJjZPrMN2oDwFx5y_qdIWCZxCs_XTqu3JRPpq0zz95vAED0psU6QCxJsQaHn5ER1sk4bVYgZDHODTb-tSsTGNnHm_LfYePAY9jQbzJFho2IC8CFHkHG-1bvsLlDITdTpvWiGjjVKiUNfM8q4gx1oo3vUoOOWQ6fz5txxB6rg/s1497/Alberto%20Giacometti%20-%20Nu%20debout%20%5BI%5D%20(ancien%20titre%20Annette)%20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1497" data-original-width="1117" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lD7l3aLNC1Dl3SWJjZPrMN2oDwFx5y_qdIWCZxCs_XTqu3JRPpq0zz95vAED0psU6QCxJsQaHn5ER1sk4bVYgZDHODTb-tSsTGNnHm_LfYePAY9jQbzJFho2IC8CFHkHG-1bvsLlDITdTpvWiGjjVKiUNfM8q4gx1oo3vUoOOWQ6fz5txxB6rg/s320/Alberto%20Giacometti%20-%20Nu%20debout%20%5BI%5D%20(ancien%20titre%20Annette)%20.jpg" width="239" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">AUTOBIOGRAFIA<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Venho de um lugar<br />
que me persegue;<br />
vou para um lugar<br />
que me foge.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Entre um e outro aconteço:<br />
este espaço entre parênteses,<br />
estes pontos suspensos<br />
na neve<br />
das folhas de um livro<br />
que se apaga ao escrever-se.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Traços de alguém<br />
que diz que sou eu.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
ALFONSO BREZMES<br />
<i>Don de Lenguas</i><br />
(2015)<o:p></o:p></p>(Trad. A.M.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-47554128688939327392024-02-12T07:37:00.000+00:002024-02-12T07:37:00.126+00:00Aldo Luis Novelli (O oleiro-II)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgInxbQ2XBjYqD97tuD4XtVfBa3PdGvq9mkcT0AYLHprGHPq0xkbcFvOFU0osLHSH00hhbdGiqrUwsIxPgzdtbNTuqxyzBXxilOY-tDC0i6ziM_SgKk_ORr4ngQe6EbDMt_QPg6bZzRS3C2Eg6I3khL4DSg38FHyfdbcrZUypEpbuo_3-CfSMfvuA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgInxbQ2XBjYqD97tuD4XtVfBa3PdGvq9mkcT0AYLHprGHPq0xkbcFvOFU0osLHSH00hhbdGiqrUwsIxPgzdtbNTuqxyzBXxilOY-tDC0i6ziM_SgKk_ORr4ngQe6EbDMt_QPg6bZzRS3C2Eg6I3khL4DSg38FHyfdbcrZUypEpbuo_3-CfSMfvuA=w400-h240" width="400" /></a></div></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">EL
ALFARERO-II</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">(7)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">contemplar
el cielo<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">mientras
las manos construyen<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">nuestro
hogar de barro.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">acariciar
a la amada<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">con
manos de agua de luna<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">en el
cuenco de su cuerpo.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">formar
los hijos<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">con
manos rugosas<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">colmadas
de ternura de arcilla.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">donarles
nuestra agua de sol<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">todos
los días de la vida<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">hasta el
momento final<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">de
regresar a la tierra.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">ellos
seguirán el camino<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">con un
sol en la espalda.<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Aldo
Luis Novelli</span></i><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">[<a href="https://ustedleepoesia2.blogspot.com/2020/07/arcilla.html"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Marcelo Leites</span></a>]</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">(7)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Contemplar
o céu<br />
enquanto as mãos constroem<br />
a nossa casa de barro.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Acariciar
a amada<br />
com mãos de água de lua<br />
na concha do seu corpo.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Formar
os filhos<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">com mãos
rugosas<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">cheias de ternura de argila.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444;">Dar-lhes
da nossa água de sol<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">todos os
dias da vida<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">até ao
momento final<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">de regressar à terra.</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">Eles
continuarão o caminho<br />
com um sol pelas costas.<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #444444; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT;">(Trad.
A.M.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> .</o:p></p></div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-21535022392627616442024-02-10T03:59:00.009+00:002024-02-10T03:59:00.131+00:00Patrizia Cavalli (Se sou capaz de perdoar)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBDbMmznuIHzHxSeQeloTX8GvCJbSXPqLpF2m9P2QWGO4i_fF7ufUlCImlQNu5vHEv1bqM4C5iTV8PHmcvtx2K-gRmoW445K5jHwa96oSu1V81L7oujbAWCQl1hpGSppU23b5R4zQ9sNNIP47kOYwa6qRrA8hyyiEL2GuHrRTmsFZe608Kceejg/s520/annick%20bouvattier%20cbcb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBDbMmznuIHzHxSeQeloTX8GvCJbSXPqLpF2m9P2QWGO4i_fF7ufUlCImlQNu5vHEv1bqM4C5iTV8PHmcvtx2K-gRmoW445K5jHwa96oSu1V81L7oujbAWCQl1hpGSppU23b5R4zQ9sNNIP47kOYwa6qRrA8hyyiEL2GuHrRTmsFZe608Kceejg/s320/annick%20bouvattier%20cbcb.jpg" width="231" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">Se posso perdonare, allora devo<br />
riuscire a perdonare anche me stessa<br />
e smetterla di starmi a giudicare<br />
per come sono o come dovrei essere.<br />
Qui non si tratta di consapevolezza<br />
ma è la superbia che mi tiene stretta<br />
in una stolta morsa che mi danna.<br />
Eccomi infatti qui dannata a chiedermi<br />
che cosa fare per essere perfetta.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tenersi all’apparenza, forse descrivere<br />
soltanto cose in mutua tenerezza.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <i>Patrizia Cavalli<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">[<a href="https://internopoesia.com/2020/09/25/patrizia-cavalli-4/" target="_blank">Interno poesia</a>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Se sou capaz de perdoar, então devia<br />
perdoar a mim própria<br />
e deixar de estar sempre a julgar<br />
como é que sou ou como é que devia ser.<br />
Não se trata aqui de consciência,<br />
é antes a soberba que me aperreia<br />
num torno estúpido que me atormenta.<br />
Eis-me aqui condenada a interrogar-me<br />
o que fazer para ser perfeita.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ficar-me pela aparência, quiçá descrever <br />
apenas as coisas com ternura.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13852341.post-87247865392261809192024-02-08T05:06:00.001+00:002024-02-08T05:06:00.148+00:00Eduardo Galeano (Fogueiras)<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjay9f8l3d4Y0_g6fwOo2KUP1ZTjcotEJwWkrTXKkcm-dTRhTK0OIzrA4aO5xAj15Rqna3Xdg90r4VtZIP0SE_DKfHmmz7_5YS6oXXIRCZfmLDEQ95m18mT2f2M4Ze2Ijl-AK_gOkFNEafoPKOmiB5VFPWB4c8TTE6pnGnB2iLjZQ44jt_b-_gfqA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img data-original-height="980" data-original-width="730" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjay9f8l3d4Y0_g6fwOo2KUP1ZTjcotEJwWkrTXKkcm-dTRhTK0OIzrA4aO5xAj15Rqna3Xdg90r4VtZIP0SE_DKfHmmz7_5YS6oXXIRCZfmLDEQ95m18mT2f2M4Ze2Ijl-AK_gOkFNEafoPKOmiB5VFPWB4c8TTE6pnGnB2iLjZQ44jt_b-_gfqA=w239-h320" width="239" /></a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">FUEGOS<br />
<br />
<br />
Cada persona brilla con luz propia<br />
entre todas las demás.<br />
No hay dos fuegos iguales.<br />
Hay fuegos grandes y fuegos chicos<br />
y fuegos de todos los colores.<br />
Hay gente de fuego sereno, que ni se entera del viento,<br />
y hay gente de fuego loco, que llena el aire de chispas.<br />
Algunos fuegos, fuegos bobos,<br />
no alumbran ni queman;<br />
pero arden la vida con tantas ganas<br />
que no se puede mirarlos sin parpadear,<br />
y quien se acerca, se enciende.<br /><br />
<i><br />
Eduardo Galeano<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">[<a href="https://dichtungundportraete.blogspot.com/2024/01/eduardo-galeano-fuegos.html">La ceniza</a>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Cada pessoa brilha com luz própria<br />
entre todas as mais.<br />
Não há duas chamas iguais,<br />
há chamas grandes e chamas pequenas<br />
e chamas de todas as cores.<br />
Há gente de chama serena, que nem dá conta do vento,<br />
e gente de chama louca, que deita chispas à volta.<br />
Certas chamas, chamas tolas<br />
não alumiam nem queimam;<br />
mas ardem com tanta gana<br />
que não se podem olhar sem pestanejar,<br />
e quem se chegar muito, pega fogo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
(Trad. A.M.)<o:p></o:p></p>.</div>Albino M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07808540640148194276noreply@blogger.com