quarta-feira, 17 de outubro de 2007



I am going to bury the two roses. On account of their already very weak scarlet shade, they had, a long time ago, breathed their last. All this rhymes with homesickness. Not too bad. I miss Her through them: she touched them and arranged them in a flower-pot standing on the desk. By an absolutely inadvertence of hers, she forgot her eyes upon them. As she could have dropped an earring or a ring in a haunted corner... I have just made them cosy in a paper coffin that will carry them to their final flowerbed. First of all, I was careful enough to collect and capture her eyes that remained there strayed as a flock of myriad of lights at night sown on the mountain ridge of São Jorge’s island... Thus, I still get a different breath and a more fortified fire. I do hope that their shroud should be ecological, so that their corollas may rot in peace and their essences may rest and rise to the ethereal flowerbeds where they came from. Later on, they will return with the desire of flourishing again in other or the same stalks, in other beings that may come to be roses, daisies, violets, pansies or anthuriums... For example, the orchids of our reunion in a December still very young, or the chrysanthemums of each end of Sunday afternoon that agonizes first in my eyes before reclining on the horizon. And all the other corollas, folded or single, that She spelled to me, petal by petal, in the gardens that we sow with the fertilizer of affection in the inside of the days! But I, with this incurable habit of wanting to perpetuate everything, was determined to extend them the vigour as I do with things, people, animals and even me ─ I must be a mix of all this, plus the mishap I represent, free and naked, before the mirror of myself... How sweet should it be to a certain sense still not invented to relish the fruit of being eternal! But at least within me, and while life does not deny me the bread of my breath, I believe that I have achieved it. So they stayed, like many other corollas that have been and will some day be, and She herself, past, present and future, conjugated in the unique voice of a single verb, perhaps mixed, regular or irregular, restrictive or non-restrictive, no matter, made flesh and blood, nerves, verses and semen... She only inherited the vivid virtues, transitive or intransitive and some of those other verbs that in the shroud of grammar find its natural bed of a serene and irremissible death. And She, crowned with daisies, shall prevail upon all of them!

7 comentários:

Lumife disse...

Por falta de oportunidade não tinha ainda agradecido a sua passagem pelo "Alvito".

O comentário escrito em árabe...(?) ainda que sendo alentejano não me ajudou nada a compreender.

Mas aqui vim visitá-lo e conhecer o seu espaço e também a figura de Cristóvão de Aguiar.

Irei aprofundar a leitura.

Um abraço

Paul disse...

Roses are lovely. " A rose by any other name is still a rose. "

José Guimarães disse...

Muito obrigado pelo seu comentário em meu blog.
Virei sempre aqui.
É a oportunidade de aprender inglês.

Rodolfo N disse...

Me gusta mucho la variación y el contenido de este blog, amigo.
Cultura y poesía.
Un abrazo

Te mandé el URL que pediste.

NORKA disse...

Mi estimado mil gracias por pasar por mi espacio, saludos desde venezuela.

Livingsword disse...

Lady Wisdom
Lady Wisdom goes out in the street and shouts.
At the town center she makes her speech.
In the middle of the traffic she takes her stand.
At the busiest corner she calls out:

"Simpletons! How long will you wallow in ignorance?
Cynics! How long will you feed your cynicism?
Idiots! How long will you refuse to learn?
About face! I can revise your life.
Look, I'm ready to pour out my spirit on you;
I'm ready to tell you all I know.
As it is, I've called, but you've turned a deaf ear;
I've reached out to you, but you've ignored me.

"Since you laugh at my counsel
and make a joke of my advice,
How can I take you seriously?
I'll turn the tables and joke about your troubles!
What if the roof falls in,
and your whole life goes to pieces?
What if catastrophe strikes and there's nothing
to show for your life but rubble and ashes?
You'll need me then. You'll call for me, but don't expect
an answer.
No matter how hard you look, you won't find me.

"Because you hated Knowledge
and had nothing to do with the Fear-of-God,
Because you wouldn't take my advice
and brushed aside all my offers to train you,
Well, you've made your bed—now lie in it;
you wanted your own way—now, how do you like it?
Don't you see what happens, you simpletons, you idiots?
Carelessness kills; complacency is murder.
First pay attention to me, and then relax.
Now you can take it easy—you're in good hands."

- - Proverbs 1:20-33 (The Message)

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Cyrano de Bergerac

Cyrano de Bergerac
Eugénio Macedo - 1995


A Cristóvão de Aguiar, junto
do qual este poema começou a nascer.

Atlântico até onde chega o olhar.
E o resto é lava
e flores.
Não há palavra
com tanto mar
como a palavra Açores.

Manuel Alegre
Pico 27.07.2006