domingo, 31 de julho de 2016


                                                              «Esgotam-se as lágrimas do meu
                                                                                                                       corpo.»


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 125

''Puta de festa.''


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 125

«como quem passa um dedo humedecido sobre feridas.»


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 123

«uma pequena porta, mesmo, esquecerás.»

João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 122

«Os ramos são toda a floresta.»


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 119

DOR CRÓNICA

Marilyn Monroe posing with a photo of Abraham Lincoln, who she greatly admired


sábado, 30 de julho de 2016

Certas aves

Suicidário

Hypnos


Estar contigo sentado perto de Tebas sob o som
dos cabelos do teu corpo curvado corpo onde fica o 
paraíso?

Rapazinho ferido
o mar ficou tão escuro
tão estranho como os olhos do falcão o teu amigo
encontrado em Marion dizendo-te «Nada!»
-«Eu não quero nadar aqui».

Os que roem as unhas sabem que são tristes os
olhos do turco debruçado sobre o meu túmulo enquanto
na Europa há música nas ruas e as raparigas
já não cantam à luz de uma lanterna
uma lanterna de papel morrendo como morre Chatterton
rasgadas todas as cartas ruivos os cabelos «Eu 
sou o homem empurrado para o meio do chão».

«Estado de sítio » o
o estar sentado contigo perto de Tebas
no inverno do agosto americano.


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 83

sexta-feira, 29 de julho de 2016



Havia um mar. Havia um vento. Havia um mar e um vento.
E depois aquela carta escrita a um negro com nome de rapariga.
Sob a pressão do sangue. Porquê? O perigo vem sempre da sua
                                                                                      ausência

fragmento diálogo narração ruptura.


Abril sem abril. Sonho tomado pelo movimento. O
sonho também é político atravessa o corpo o mais leve sinal
sonhado à nossa volta. Eu não digo a palavra.


Havia um mar um mar e um vento.
Qualquer coisa conhecida. O tempo. Um mês sem mar. A
ilha ao fim do mar. A ilha prolongando o mar porque


nem todo o homem vive ou reflecte.
Pode de facto escrever um olhar querer um corpo
trazendo sob os dedos o sono pondo sobre os montes altos de sua casa.
Nas pedras lisas do silêncio está a sua parte. Sua casa.


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 80

quinta-feira, 28 de julho de 2016


«Importa que não haja ilusões sobre este ponto: é
que todos podemos morrer de sede em pleno mar.»


João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 76

«Olha
vamos morrer? mas morrer não é tudo: seria preciso morrer
muito tarde (...)»

João Miguel Fernandes JorgePoemas Escolhidos. Cadernos peninsulares/literatura 21., 1982., p. 72

quarta-feira, 27 de julho de 2016

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez by Daniel Kramer, 1965


"Dizem
que o primeiro amor é o mais importante.
É muito romântico,
mas não é o meu caso.
Algo entre nós houve e não houve,
deu-se e perdeu-se.
Não me tremem as mãos
quando encontro pequenas lembranças,
aquele maço de cartas atadas com um cordel,
se ao menos fosse uma fita.
O nosso único encontro, passados anos,
foi uma conversa de duas cadeiras
junto a uma mesa fria.
Outros amores
continuam até hoje a respirar dentro de mim.
A este falta fôlego para respirar.
No entanto, sendo como é.
não lembrado,
nem sequer sonhado,
consegue o que os outros ainda não conseguem:
acostuma-se com a morte."


-"Instante"
Wislawa Szymborska

“Good art is never made in studio,” Abramović says. “Good art I make in life.”

Let’s start with a quick quiz: what do Marina Abramović (Serbian performance artist) and Tony Abbott (Australian prime minister) have in common?
Answer: they’ve both been filmed eating a raw onion. A whole one. In fact, Abramović ate three. “The first time, the light on video wasn’t so good. The second, sound was lousy. Third, I couldn’t speak or talk, my throat was burning.”
The Onion is one of 13 self-portraits at the beating heart of Private Archaeology, a new exhibition of Abramović’s work at Mona, the Museum of Old and New Art in Tasmania. Filmed between 1975 and 2002, these extreme video close-ups show the artist furiously brushing her hair, gnawing her cuticles, meditating, being strangled by a boa constrictor, and lying: under a pile of crystals, in shallow water, or upside down.
“Good art is never made in studio,” Abramović says. “Good art I make in life.”


The show is not a retrospective. Both Mona and Abramović are quite clear about that. Instead, it mixes recordings of her live performances – some solo, others made with the one-time love of her life, Ulay – with installations and interactive exercises from her Method, a series of mindfulness exercises developed at theMarina Abramović Institute in New York. There are also four cabinets filled with photos and notes from the artist’s personal archive in Amsterdam (the archaeology of the show title).

At the same time, she makes sure to resist nostalgia. “I change so many houses and places where I live; I change them like I change socks. I don’t have this absolute, kind of, how you say, attachment. My brother, if he just has to go to holiday to sleep in different bed, for him it is a disaster. I can sleep under this table or in a five-star hotel, I don’t care.
“The idea of being in the right place in the right time is most important.”


Right now, that place is Australia, three decades on from her first visit for the 1979 Sydney Biennale. It was after that trip that Abramović negotiated – throughland rights activist Philip Toyne, who died last week – a seven-month stay with the Pitjantjatjara and Pintupi people of the Western Desert. The experience was transformative, she says, something I hear her repeat many times to many people over the course of the weekend.
“It was a big base of my performance art – the idea of here and now – because their Dreamtime and songlines are not something that’s happening in the past or the future. It’s always happening. It’s always now. And that’s the same as time-based art; it’s immaterial. Only what matters is the present.”
She learned the same lesson in different ways, she says, from the monks of Tibet and the shamans of Brazil.

Waterfall (2003), Marina Abramović
Pinterest
 Waterfall (2003), a video projection of 108 images of Tibetan monks and nuns Abramović filmed chanting in meditation. Photograph: MONA/Rémi Chauvin/Marina Abramović Archives and LIMA

But it’s this kind of logic (or lack of it) that tends to drive Mona’s David Walshbonkers. When the pair share a stage on Sunday for a spirited public Q&A – Abramović in black jeans and biker boots this time, wearing her wry Slavic wit on her sleeve – he acknowledges as much: “Your sparkling magical thinking and my unpolished reductionist reality, these aren’t world views that coincide.”
Abramović: “I believe in everything by the way.”
Walsh: “And I don’t believe in anything.”
Abramović: “And this is our main connection here.”


Pinterest
 Ulay and Abramović in their 1978 work, AAA AAA

“Everyone has his own love story,” Marina answers, with an imperceptible twinge. “That moment, that guy sitting in front of me, my whole life went through my head. Never mind this is life, never mind this is performance. This is pure human emotion. And that’s why everyone reacting. It’s performance that break into life.”
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If there’s an ambiguity here, Abramović is happy to sit with it. At Sunday’s Q&A, she says: “There are three Marinas in me. The one Marina is very heroic. I just go for it. I don’t care how much pain inside. Then we have second Marina – very different, very spiritual, very emotional. Too emotional. Can cry all the time. Is kind of pain in arse. And then there is third one who really like bullshit. Who like fashion, who like eating chocolate. Who like to be lazy and doing nothing and try to avoid any hardship, any confrontation. All these are real.”
Like the onions, I think. Even if only one makes the final cut, they all counted. I’ve certainly met three Marinas in as many days at Mona.
An audience member asks if Abramović will add her voice to the campaign against the closure of Aboriginal communities – perhaps return to the desert and make a new work. “Art can’t change the world,” she responds, gentle but forceful at the same time. “It can only bring the consciousness and ask the questions. Like: why are politicians always oversexed, corrupt and do terrible things, yet we are the ones who are voting them?” The idea is left hanging.
“It’s not possible for one single artist to do all this – it’s a group work.”
Nancy Groves travelled to Hobart courtesy of Mona and Tourism Tasmania
ver aqui

terça-feira, 26 de julho de 2016

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