Troubled Water

O que fomos e o que somos Já pouco reconhecemos A correr atrás de sonhos Tantos erros cometemos É algo que não se explica O amor que ainda temos No azar que lamentamos No tempo que nós perdemos No escuro em que mergulhamos Há sempre uma luz que vemos E é nessa maravilha Que nós dois ainda cremos E queremos lá saber Qual a sorte que nos espera Dia a dia na rotina Vir à tona e respirar Há sempre uma primavera Quando o inverno passar E ainda nos perguntamos Como é que isto aconteceu Dias, meses, foram anos E ninguém se apercebeu Que por nós passou a vida E o "nós" permaneceu Sinto ainda no meu peito Quando olhas para mim Sei que o caminho perfeito Só pode ser feito assim Com a tua companhia Isto nunca vai ter fim E queremos lá saber Qual a sorte que nos espera Dia a dia na rotina Vir à tona e respirar Há sempre uma primavera Quando o inverno passar

Taking a photo of you taking a photo of me, I see the black snout of the camera framed by hair, where your face should be. I see your arms and one hand on the shutter button, the hedge behind you and beyond, below, overexposed water and sky wiped white. Some flecks out of focus are supposed to be boats. Your back toward what light is left, you’re not recognizable except by those cutoff jeans that I gave you by shooting from above, forgetting your legs. So, if I didn’t know, I wouldn’t know who you are, you know. I do know who, but you, you know, could be anybody. My mistake. It was because I wanted to trip the shutter at the exact moment you did. I did when you did, and you did when I did. I can’t wait to see yours of me. It’s got to be even more awful. A face, facing the light, pulled up into a squint behind the lens, which must reflect the muggy setting sun. Some sort of fright mask or Mardi Gras monster, a big glass Cyclopean eye superimposed on a flattened nose, that print, the on...

Sometimes I get too drunk I feel so goddamned low I have no place to go, no one to turn to I think about your loving arms, where I'd like to be But it's selfish as can be, and I know it And if I'm sorry for myself, I'm sorry for you too 'Cause I'm the same as you, and I'm burning So I sing for everyone who feels there's no way out So maybe if you all shout someone will hear you Listen to them shout I won't say that I love you 'Cause that would be a lie I can only say I try, and you know it Love is something more or less than words can hope to say It's something day to day in the life we're living Lovers come and lovers go but friends are hard to find Yes I can count all mine on one finger So I sing for everyone who feels there's no way out So maybe if you all shout someone will hear you Listen to them shout The distance that's between us It just never seems to change There's a whole mountain range Of misunderstanding So I sing...

In the kitchen of the small thatched farmhouse the mother sat on a low bamboo stool behind the earthen stove and fed grass deftly into the hole where a fire burned beneath the iron cauldron. The blaze was but just caught and she moved a twig here, a handful of leaves there, and thrust in a fresh bit of the dried grass she had cut from the hillsides last autumn. In the corner of the kitchen as near as she could creep to the fire sat a very old and weazened woman, wrapped in a thick padded coat of bright red cotton stuff, whose edges showed under a patched coat of blue she wore over it. She was half blind with a sore disease of the eyes, and this had well-nigh sealed her eyelids together. But through the small slits left open she could see a great deal still, and she watched the flare of the flames as they leaped and caught under the strong and skillful hands of the mother. Now she said, her words hissing softly through her sunken, toothless gums, “Be careful how you feed the fire—th...

[...] Reagindo à depressão, se acende na alma infantil de João Paulo um grande desejo de libertação. De evasão daquela paisagem humana parada e monótona. Desejo imperioso de sair de tudo. De sair de dentro de si mesmo. De sair do círculo fechado da família. Do ciclo do caranguejo. Da cidade do Recife. Um desejo desesperado de arrebentar com tôdas as amarras que ligam à lama pegajosa do vale do Capibaribe e às fôlhas viscosas do mangue, e sair vagando pelo mundo afora como se os navios que passam ao largo da costa soltando com indiferença um arrogante penacho de fumo por suas longas e grossas chaminés que aos olhos de João Paulo pareciam ser a marca inconfundível do sexo dêsses navios: navios machos, de coragem indiscutível. Para o menino precoce na qual a puberdade come­çava a entumescer a carne e as idéias, um homem de verdade devia ser sempre assim, como um navio de alto-mar. Não se colar a nenhum porto. Apenas sentir o contato gostoso com a terra e partir de novo pelo mundo afora, e...

They're on the way, the words of love and freedom, They're flying faster than the moment flies And I am in stage fright before singing - My lips have grown colder than ice. But soon that place, where, leaning to the windows The tender birches make dry rustling sound, The voices will be ringing of the shadows And roses will in blackened wreaths be wound. And further onward still - the light is generous Unbearably as though 't were red hot wine.. And now the wind, all redolent and heated,  In perfect vigor has enflamed my mind. I have ceased and desisted from smiling   The frosty wind chills lips - say so long To one hope of which will be lesser, Instead there will be one more song. And this song, without my volition, I will give out for laughter and parable, For this that the silence of love Is to me simply unbearable. English translation by Ilya Shambat Both in  White Flock No one can hurt me. They've tried to kill me so many times that nobody scares me now. I know what...

Here sits the Unicorn  In captivity;  His bright invulnerability  Captive at last;  The chase long past,  Winded and spent,  By the king’s spears rent;  Collared and tied  To a pomengranate tree-   Here sits the Unicorn  In captivity,  Yet free.  Here sits the Unicorn;  His overtakelessness  Bound by a circle small  As a maid’s embrace;  Ringed by a round corral;  Pinioned in place  By a fence of scarlet rail,  Fragile as a king’s crown,  Delicately laid down  Over horn, hoofs, and tail,  As a butterfly net  Is lightly set.  He could leap the corral,  If he rose  To his full white height;  He could splinter the fencing light,  With three blows  Of his porcelain hoofs in flight-   If he chose.  He could shatter his prison wall,  Could escape them all-   If he rose,  If he chose.  Here sits the Unicorn...

Day in… day out  Just for some time  We all retire… in death  (Sleep at it is called)  Refreshing death.       Comforting death       If only that final rest       Could also be like this.  Oblivious of worries, we sleep  Rather we die…yet temporarily.  Waiting for that eternal sleep  From whose grip  We can’t escape alive      Or could it be  That this is yet another nap       After whose end       (As we are told)       We do wake up? Sleep We call it life And endless strife Of love and hate Of good and bad Of life and lifelessness. We toil, we work And yet there is no rest Until the will shall die On that final day When work will be no more. We laugh We weep  It is our fate To mock ourselves Consoling our loss. We fight To lose or win We march and yet retreat Daring we seem And yet we have our fea...

The 'state' on the modern conception is a legally defined term which refers, at the level of substance, to a state power that possesses both internal and external sovereignty, at the spatial level over a clearly delimited terrain (the state territory) and at the social level over the totality of members (the body of citizens or the people). State power constitutes itself in the forms of positive law, and the people is the bearer of the legal order whose jurisdiction is restricted to the state territory. In political usage, the concepts 'nation' and 'people' have the same extension. But in addition to its legal definition, the term 'nation' has the connotation of a political community shaped by common descent, or at least by a common language, culture, and history. A people becomes a 'nation' in this historical sense only in the concrete form of a particular form of life. The Inclusion of the Other: Studies in Political Theory. (1998)  As historic...

“For both Indians and whites were outnumbered ten to one by hundreds of thousands of Natal Zulus. The Indians, of course, considered themselves to be closer to the whites than to the blacks, both as descendants of an ancient civilization and as adherents to three world religions. But to the whites they were nonwhites and therefore a cultural and political wedge for the masses of blacks. And as everywhere, it was the poorer whites, the petty white traders, and even white labor, whose fears were most vociferous, while the wealthy and landowning class in their economic and political fortresses could well afford to be open-minded in order to keep the influx of Indian labor coming. The law, of course, reflected the sense of threat shared by the majority of whites and had long since begun to control all nonwhites in a web of demeaning police ordinances.” “And as was Gandhi’s wont, he would not only insist on hygienic and social restraints but would preach to this group the basic ethical rule...

Ik geloof dat het inzicht, dat het de plicht van de vrouw is dat zij kinderen krijgt, zich in de loop van de volgende eeuw wel zal veranderen en plaats zal maken voor waardering en bewondering voor haar, die zonder mopperen en grote woorden de lasten op haar schouders neemt! I believe that in the course of the next century the notion that it's a woman's duty to have children will change and make way for the respect and admiration of all women, who bear their burdens without complaint or a lot of pompous words! 13 June 1944 Luiheid mag aantrekkelijk schijnen, werken geeft bevrediging. Laziness may look inviting, but only work gives you true satisfaction. Variant translation: Laziness may appear attractive but work gives satisfaction. Wij leven allen, maar weten niet waarom en waarvoor, wij leven allen met het doel gelukkig te worden, we leven allen verschillend en toch gelijk. We're all alive, but we don't know why or what for; we're all searching for happiness; we...

"Se tiveres de sobejo,  sê liberal como a tamareira; se nada tiveres para dar,  então sê um azad , ou homem  livre, como o cipreste ." Sadi de Shiraz   «Vivemos em cidades, ou não cidades, cada vez mais feias, que nem por isso funcionam melhor; muitos técnicos se têm proposto a salvá-las, em muitos casos à custa de lacerações no seu tecido.» No ano de 1969, Nuno Portas refletia em A Cidade como Arquitetura sobre a problemática da intervenção em grandes cidades, especialmente no seu núcleo consolidado e sobre a dificuldade, num contexto pós-guerra, da sua reconstrução adaptável a novas exigências de salubridade e higienização. Esta reflexão ainda hoje se demonstra essencial e indispensável para o encontro do equilíbrio e da sustentabilidade urbana. A desocupação dos espaços dos pisos térreos do edificado, causada pela desvalorização do comércio tradicional e da sua pouca adaptação a uma sociedade aliciada por grandes pólos comerciais, leva a uma progressiva degradaçã...

Orange, Black and Lilac Squares on Vermilion - Wilhelmina Barns-Graham  (1968)   «A ideia de que somos um povo de brandos costumes é um dos lugares-comuns mais frequentes para descrever a sociedade e a cultura portuguesas, e ainda assim, não deixa de fazer sentido quando olhamos para alguns desenvolvimentos políticos no país, ou melhor dito, para a falta deles. De facto, a verdade é que Portugal escapou a alguns dos principais choques políticos que atingiram a Europa nos últimos anos: não recebeu uma grande vaga de pedidos de asilo durante a crise de refugiados de 2015/2016; não registou uma onda de protestos anti-austeridade tão intensa como a que abalou o resto da Europa do sul na década de 2010; e, no momento em que escrevo este livro, continuo imune à crise de partidos políticos mainstream que tantos outros países enfrentam. Até recentemente, a cobertura mediática e académica internacional de que o país foi alvo, deveu-se precisamente à sua surpreendente estabilidade polí...

«In the modern world the power to persuade is the most important source of social power. But with such persuasiveness, you tend to convince yourself that you are correct, and you become less sensitive to others’ wishes, interests, and plights.» «When human rights are weak or nonexistent as in medieval Europe or on southern plantations, improving technology can easily lead to more intense exploitation of labor.» «For anyone who believes that the productivity benefits necessarily trickle down through society and improve wages and working conditions, these formative episodes are hard to explain. But once you recognize that technology’s advances look after the interests of those who are powerful and whose vision guides its trajectory, everything makes a lot more sense.» «In fact, a thousand years of history and contemporary evidence make one thing abundantly clear: there is nothing automatic about new technologies bringing widespread prosperity. Whether they do or not is an economic, socia...

Do vale à montanha, Da montanha ao monte, Cavalo de sombra, Cavaleiro monge, Por casas, por prados, Por quinta e por fonte, Caminhais aliados. Do vale à montanha, Da montanha ao monte, Cavalo de sombra, Cavaleiro monge, Por penhascos pretos, Atrás e defronte, Caminhais secretos. Do vale à montanha, Da montanha ao monte, Cavalo de sombra, Cavaleiro monge, Por plainos desertos Sem ter horizontes, Caminhais libertos. Do vale à montanha, Da montanha ao monte, Cavalo de sombra, Cavaleiro monge, Por ínvios caminhos, Por rios sem ponte, Caminhais sozinhos. Do vale à montanha, Da montanha ao monte Cavalo de sombra, Cavaleiro monge, Por quanto é sem fim, Sem ninguém que o conte, Caminhais em mim. 24-10-1932 Poesias - Fernando Pessoa Os homens temem as longas viagens, os ladrões da estrada, as hospedarias, e temem morrer em frios leitos e ter sepultura em terra estranha. Por isso os seus passos os levam de regresso a casa, às veredas da infância, ao velho portão em ruínas, à poeira das primeiras...

Falarei do lugar da escrava. Do lugar dos excluídos da res(pública). Daqueles que na condição de não-cidadãos estavam destituídos do direito a educação e, em sendo esta, segundo Adorno, a possibilidade de ‘produção de uma consciência verdadeira’, falo também como alguém portador de uma ‘consciência infeliz’ ou de uma falsa consciência. Dirijo-me a ti Eu hegemônico, falando do lugar do “paradigma do Outro”, consciente de que é nele que estou inscrita e que “graças” a ele em relação a mim expectativas se criaram, que mesmo tentando negá-las, elas podem se realizar posto que me encontro condicionada por uma “unidade histórica e pedagogicamente anterior” da qual eu seria uma aplicação. Uma aplicação histórica cuja consciência se renova permanentemente pela memória d’alma da escravidão herdada de minha ancestralidade e, antes dela, das representações negativas que estiveram desde longe associadas ao meu corpo negro. Uma aplicação histórica também, da modernidade ocidental que dissecou cient...