COISAS SIMPLES

rita maltez

Categoria: Pares

Coisas péssimas

literary-joust (1)

“Almost every kids’ classic worth reading has been censored by some school district. Recently, a Mississippi school board voted to remove Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird from an eighth-grade reading list because, according to the board vice president, “There is some language in the book that makes people uncomfortable.” One could argue that a vital function of literature is to make people uncomfortable—a position unlikely to change the board’s mind.”

Chuva

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Guardei esta fotografia para a chuva. Cá está ela.

it is the individual and private that demands our sympathy

“The bodies are strewn everywhere along the beach. Burials are complicated because nobody knows the names of the dead—mostly women and children fleeing famine and poverty, trying to reach the land of plenty that has been promised to them but finding, instead, an early end in turbulent waters. Spectators gape at the debris from the recent shipwreck “cracked up like an eggshell on the rocks,” while others go about their business.

“In the very midst of the crowd about this wreck,” writes an eyewitness to the aftermath of the disaster, “there were men with carts busily collecting seaweed which the storm had cast up, and conveying it beyond the reach of the tide, though they were often obliged to separate fragments of clothing from it.”

This scene of devastation and indifference seems torn from the latest headlines or photos from around the world, just one more group of refugees appearing fleetingly on our screens and in our consideration. In fact, the victims of this particular wreckage were 140 Irish immigrants who perished when the St. John, the ship upon which they had sailed to “the New World, as Columbus and the Pilgrims did,” crashed off the coast of Cohasset, Massachusetts, during a huge storm in October 1849. The eyewitness referred to above, without whom we might not remember the incident at all, was none other than Henry David Thoreau.”

Daqui.

 

Manhã

Com Schostakovich.

Noite

HARALD SOHLBERG winter-night-night-in

Noite de Inverno, Harald Sohlberg

Valham-nos os estudos…

“At Facebook, we offer four months of maternity and paternity leave because studies show that when working parents take time to be with their newborns, it’s good for the entire family.”

Coisas sérias

I’d like to think that the way things turned out would serve as a lesson in future crises. But I wouldn’t bet on it.

Manhã

No labirinto.

contra o tempo e a carne

Um poema cresce inseguramente
na confusão da carne,
sobe ainda sem palavras, só ferocidade e gosto,
talvez como sangue
ou sombra de sangue pelos canais do ser.

Fora existe o mundo. Fora, a esplêndida violência
ou os bagos de uva de onde nascem
as raízes minúsculas do sol.
Fora, os corpos genuínos e inalteráveis
do nosso amor,
os rios, a grande paz exterior das coisas,
as folhas dormindo o silêncio,
as sementes à beira do vento,
– a hora teatral da posse.
E o poema cresce tomando tudo em seu regaço.

E já nenhum poder destrói o poema.
Insustentável, único,
invade as órbitas, a face amorfa das paredes,
a miséria dos minutos,
a força sustida das coisas,
a redonda e livre harmonia do mundo.

– Em baixo o instrumento perplexo ignora
a espinha do mistério.
– E o poema faz-se contra o tempo e a carne.

Sobre um poema, Herberto Helder

No museu

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Andy Wharol, autor dos filmes por detrás do rapazinho que olha para o seu telemóvel, teria gostado mesmo desta fotografia, estou certa.