tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17910239210931656712024-03-06T03:45:02.612+00:00A Sinceridade IntelectualTempo para a poesia.Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.comBlogger273125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-23304624242839951642018-12-24T12:38:00.000+00:002018-12-24T12:38:04.008+00:00História do Mar e da Ria.<div align="left">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2N5THmEsb-fRHwMgCj4VLiMLpAIngl6a61K5LMaKa-YK5ocMqJLoN1i8NrCF_XeOH33zF1ZemOfz2YxXse5XwAl9nQeVPWL6N99bYls23y4EuENAZRzYgQ7adJr2WVmgmZr3_VHvwz4/s1600-h/02-105.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="159" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172087079410795170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2N5THmEsb-fRHwMgCj4VLiMLpAIngl6a61K5LMaKa-YK5ocMqJLoN1i8NrCF_XeOH33zF1ZemOfz2YxXse5XwAl9nQeVPWL6N99bYls23y4EuENAZRzYgQ7adJr2WVmgmZr3_VHvwz4/s320/02-105.jpg" style="float: left; height: 154px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 194px;" width="320" /></a> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;">Todos os dias, João se levantava, sem erro e exactamente, às cinco e um quarto da manhã. A cada dia, levantava-se e repetia, ao mínimo detalhe, o mesmo gesto. Olhava suas mãos, cansadas, preenchidas de pequenas marcas que indicavam o seu longo acumular de experiência. Olhava-as, cansado, tomava um banho frio, e vestia os seus calções, uma simples camisola de algodão, e por cima desta, um casaco de ganga, para evitar a nortada. Beijava sua mulher, que àquela hora, sempre dormia. Ao sentir seu ínfimo toque, estremecia ligeiramente e isso bastava para que João esboçasse um custoso sorriso. Fechava a porta da sua minúscula casa, sem olhar para trás, e descia as longas escadas. Levava consigo, no seu cesto de vime, a comida que melhor lhe iria permitir suportar o longo dia, e na sua canastra, as esperanças de um bom dia, na marinha. Consigo também, a sua motocicleta, companheira de longas horas, que o conduzia, desde a aldeia, longe da ria, longe do mar, longe de tudo, até à marinha, onde seus companheiros já o esperavam. Todos os dias, a partir das sete da manhã, os seus camaradas, três, e com ele próprio quatro, enfrentavam a marinha.<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;">Naquele dia, seu último dia, João estava atrasado. Os seus camaradas esperavam-no para abrir o barraco, enquanto se perguntavam se o dia iria ser longo. “Conforme o trabalho que houver para fazer”, respondeu o mais velho dos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">marnotos</span>. No dia anterior, a viva tinha inundado toda a marina, da água <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">marulha</span>, e com a pá cova, os quatro tinham retirado toda a lama e moliço, daquela suja água. João havia chegado entretanto, aberto o barroco, e estavam os quatro, então, prontos para começar verdadeiramente o trabalho. Apanhavam o sal, que boiava no cimo da água, de mãos desnudas, secas dos longos anos de ofício e iam colocando-o, dentro das <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">canastras</span>. Passavam-se sempre assim duas ou mais horas e era agora a vez de, com a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">razoila</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">rer</span> o sal até à hora de almoço. Os <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">estômagos</span>, por aquela altura, naquele e em todos os outros dias, já <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">esmolavam</span> alimento. Mas João e seus companheiros resistiam, nobremente, e por mais que a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">razoila</span> lhes pesasse nas mãos e nos braços <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">exangues</span>, o trabalho precisava de ser feito, e nenhum queixume o ia mudar. Assim continuaram, enquanto João os tentava animar, “Vamos lá, daqui a pouco já comemos o bom do bacalhau. Até vai saber melhor, aqui e com o estômago vazio.” Passado algum tempo, João chamou-os para perto do barraco, e estes sentaram-se, à volta da mesa de madeira, que ficava guardada, religiosamente, dentro do barraco. João anunciou o que todos já sabiam. “Camaradas, como sabem, hoje despeço-me de vocês. Foi um prazer. De vocês, levo bons momentos e daqui, desta marina, das longas horas, do vento que esfria os ossos, da água que nos seca a pele e o corpo, as mãos mais cansadas.” Riram-se tristes, enquanto ensopavam a broa na sopa, e brindaram, por cima de toda a fadiga e da rotineira conversa, com vinho tinto. O almoço estendeu-se um pouco mais do que o habitual, mas até isso João, para todos os efeitos “chefe”, da marina, perdoou. Era altura, agora, de bulir a água, e o sol, apesar do vento frio, estava lá bem no alto, amorenando a tez dos quatro. Enquanto os quatro conversavam, o tempo foi-se esvaindo. As cinco horas da tarde, o entardecer, o fim do dia afinal, rapidamente se aproximaram. Era hora de João sair. Sabia que saía com a canastra cheia, e com o coração, quiçá, algo mais vazio. Levantou-se, limpou as mãos, e abraçou os moços, dirigindo-lhes algumas palavras, de conforto e força. “Amigos, despeço-me. A todos, uns bons belos anos, aqui ou noutro sítio qualquer.” Pegou na motocicleta, equilibrou a canastra na parte traseira e partiu. O som do motor inundou os céus, e os colegas regressaram à labuta, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">dir</span>-se-ia indiferentes.<br /></span></div>
Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-1083858505760823082018-12-24T12:31:00.000+00:002018-12-24T12:31:54.994+00:00Chuva lá fora.<br />
Chuva cá dentro.<br />
Onde estou eu<br />
que nem em mim entro?Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-28694059287664364392018-12-24T12:29:00.001+00:002018-12-24T12:29:20.963+00:00My MEU ( Model European Union) experience.<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">I confess. Being Portuguese and thus suffering of a severe case of chronic pessimism I wasn’t really expecting to be selected to MEU. When the news arrived I calmed myself down and embraced the challenge of being a Minister of one of the most powerful countries in the World – the United Kingdom.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">On the day of my flight I guess I felt a bit like Vasco da Gama and although I wasn’t “giving new worlds to the World” I had one other quintessential thing to discover - Europe, the future of us all. I arrived bubbling with excitement and anxious to know the city, the participants and their ideas.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">After two days of informal presentations and debates, we were at last in the Parliament. Everything everyone had been anxious for. We, the members of the Council, were conducted to a small room where we were to listen to the presentation of the first proposal, regarding the CO2 emissions in the Union and to state our position, which I and I think no one else had really prepared. And the same happened with the discussions and especially the voting on the amendments. Personally, I flip-flopped a lot, and had no real idea of what position I should adopt. At the end of the day, we passed only one amendment, and not even an important one, on the original proposal. I guess we really gave a bad name to International Politics, due to our inexperience and lack of judgment.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">But, no harm done, we proceed to the next proposal, already knowing that the CO2 proposal would be looked down by the Parliament, and finally proved that the Council could work as one and be effective. It was time to discuss the European elections and what could be done to fight the continuous low voter’s turnout. I and all my colleagues felt ready and acknowledging the reasons of our failure on the first proposal, put our hands and brains to work in order to find reasonable, effective and most of all attainable amendments. We rejected most of the Parliaments amendments for that same reason, and took advantage of our place in the Council. More time to speak for ourselves and also to listen, and as each represented only one country a less disparity of interests meant more ability to achieve our goals. We stroked a handful of amendments, having reached unanimity in almost all of them. With our part played, we just had to wait for the members of the Parliament to cast their vote. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Finally, the news arrived. We had achieved what no one had been able to achieve before. The European Election proposal was accepted by both the Council and the Parliament. That day, we left the Parliament with the feeling you get when you do something really well done and everything goes according to plan. I think some call it pride.<br /><br /><br />Curiosos? Aqui fica um vídeo-resumo( a organizadora pequenina à esquerda é Portuguesa, chama-se Inês Nascimento, estudou </span></span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Línguas e Relações Internacionais</span></span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"> na FLUP e merece o meu agradecimento. Kudos! para ela) :</span></span><object height="344" width="425"><br /><param name="movie" value="https://www.youtube.com/v/1GaK-4PvDSU&hl=pt-br&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="https://www.youtube.com/v/1GaK-4PvDSU&hl=pt-br&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-37311747492104022722016-02-01T13:43:00.003+00:002016-12-01T07:31:52.686+00:00Argentina's tango with whiteness and europeaness<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When travelling abroad, one expects difference. How does it feel then, when one is confronted with Europeaness, so far away? And why? This article, about the problem of whiteness and the invisibility of blacks and indigenous populations, will be divided in two specific parts: a remembrance of my short trip to Argentina and, secondly, an investigation of what I could learn about Argentina's troubled racial relations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This does not mean that I want to single out Argentina as a racist country. Instead I think of racism, as Teun van Dijk, as a “system of dominance, a systemic abuse of one group over another” and that “historically, this domination has been of the white Europeans over the peoples of Africa, Asia and Americas”. Argentina presents then an interesting and complex case, because it is, geographically, a Latin-American country with the “soul” of an European one: an apparent paradox?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">First of all, I'm aware of the problems and complexities of my condition as a foreigner – Portuguese, white, male - writing about a specific country, even more of a completely different latitude and with an opposite history of colonisation. Again, I do not aim to single out Argentina as a “bad apple”. Most countries share similar policies and attitudes, including my own,<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>where whites have benefited from white supremacy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I aim instead to a reflexive recounting of my experience as a traveller there, reflecting on my previous notions of what meant to be “developed”, “organised” and “superior”. I had, I now realize, an Eurocentric notion of the world, where, even if I stem from a peripheral country in Europe, saw myself as superior to others. Of course I didn't think it or voice it as clearly as this! Nor were my ideas anything close to something close to social Darwinism or eugenics. But that is the root of the problem. Most whites and Europeans are able to walk around with an unchecked sense of privilege which derives from their “whiteness”.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But let's back it up. My colleague and I had been in São Paulo, Brazil for something close to 3 months when we took the trip. We were homesick and most of all uncomfortable with all the fuss of the big city<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, the</span> “chaos” of São Paulo. When we arrived at Buenos Aires the architecture, the public transportation and the roads all welcomed us to “Europe”. I distinctively remember talking to my friend<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>about how much Argentina resembled an “European” country and how much more at home we felt there. We even regretted, at the time, not choosing Argentina as the country to enjoy our scholarship. I was <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">nowhere near to grasp</span> the <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">many </span>ways in which the country and its elites have gone to make it a European white country. I also remember being completely clueless about race relations there, but realize now that blacks seemed to be nowhere to be seen. And this occurs, from what I learned, for many different reasons, past and present.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The article that brought my attention to this part of Argentina's history was Blackout's “How Argentina 'eliminated' Africans from its History and Conscience”. How can it be that a country that had, during slavery, a black population of around 30%, now has, according to the same article (and the CIA World Factbook), a 97% white population? The reasons vary and are both historical and ideological. The article points out, among oth<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ers,</span> the war against Paraguay<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, where blacks we<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">re <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">the majority</span></span> (also in oth<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ers wars,<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span>such as the Civil War<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span>. Furthermore, surges of yellow fever and the gender gap between black women and men that led black women to marry white men are also presented as powerful reasons. However this is not the whole tale.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Argentina, there was, </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> according to Arielle C. Knight, author of the thesis “'De Donde Sos?' The Impossible Union of Blackness and Argentinidad”, </span> a official policy of 'blanqueaminto' (whitening) of the population,“in the principle of white supremacy” and blaming “those classed as Black and indigenous for the worsening state of the nation”. This policy and “strategy” led to the encouragement of European migration and explains, among many other things, why Argentina is known and reputed for its rugby team<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> -</span> a Eu<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ropean sport<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> -</span></span> who finished, for example, fourth in the 2015 Ru<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">gby </span>World Cup.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In fact, this “encouragement” was so strong that it has been written into the letter of the Argentinian constitution, where Article 25 explicitly states that: “<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">[<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">t<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">]</span></span></span>he Federal Government shall foster European immigration”. And let's not forget the indigenous populations also, who have been victims of military campaigns in the 18th century and policies of invisibilisation ever since.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fast forward to the present. In an over recounted anecdote it is said that former Argentinian President Carlos Menem remarked, in a trip to the United States, that: “<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">[b]</span>lack people do not exist in Argentina, [it is] Brazil [that] has that problem”. As Miriam Gomes stated, in a BBC Mundo piece called “¿Hay negros en Argentina?”, “there's a double fallacy from the official (of the government): firstly saying that there are no blacks and more saying they are a problem!”.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But as with race itself, blacks do not exist in Argentina, because the majority of the population believes they don't exist. Or as Knight affirms “They do not exist because Argentines say that they don’t exist and have repeated this narrative for long enough that it has become true". Norman Whitten and Arlene Torres call this practice the 'rhetorical strategy of reification'”. Furthermore and </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">still according to Knight,</span> two practices make it harder for someone black to be<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">come</span> “Argentinian”: children of Black immigrants never become Argentinian, and they are seen as both a threat or something exotic, but always foreign. This is why Knight mentions the impossible union of blackness and "argentinidad".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Argentina still today seeks to be a “racially white, culturally European” country, which makes it impossible for indigenous or blacks to “fit in”. This is not unlike many other countries, including my own, where the official narrative may not be that “there are no blacks here”, but instead that they do not actually really belong here<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">. In order to <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">accomplish</span> this, </span>he history of many peoples who inhabited the country, including Arabs or Blacks, is erased. What is paradoxical is that the “Paris of America” and the whitest and most European country of Latin America is also the birthplace of tango, a dance with African roots. In the process of Europeanization, Argentina has physically and culturally erased and eliminated people who, it seems, “damage” this image. Argentina's tango is, h<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">owever</span>, far from finished.</span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-39857873188072706752015-11-09T17:49:00.001+00:002015-11-09T17:49:29.721+00:00 This Be The VerseThey fuck you up, your mum and dad.<br />They may not mean to, but they do.<br />They fill you with the faults they had<br />And add some extra, just for you.<br /><br />But they were fucked up in their turn<br />By fools in old-style hats and coats,<br />Who half the time were soppy-stern<br />And half at one another's throats.<br /><br />Man hands on misery to man.<br />It deepens like a coastal shelf.<br />Get out as early as you can,<br />And don't have any kids yourself.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Philip Larkin</b></div>
Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-38177880577703720942015-11-09T17:48:00.001+00:002015-11-09T17:53:59.931+00:00Night Drive The smell of ordinariness<br />
Were new on the night drive through France: <br />
Rain and hay and woods on the air <br />
Made warm draughts in the open car. <br />
<br />
Signposts whitened relentlessly. <br />
Montreuil, Abbeville, Beauvais <br />
Were promised, promised, came and went, <br />
Each place granting its name’s fulfilment. <br />
<br />
A combine groaning its way late <br />
Bled seeds across its work-light. <br />
A forest fire smoldered out. <br />
One by one small cafés shut. <br />
<br />
I thought of you continuously <br />
A thousand miles south where Italy <br />
Laid its loin to France on the darkened sphere. <br />
Your ordinariness was renewed there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b> Seamus Heaney</b>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-12420428734387305842012-11-21T14:38:00.002+00:002013-03-02T09:49:11.520+00:00A tourist at the Rocinha (2010)(O ritmo de posts é um por ano, nada mal. Obrigado Daniela pela foto, espero que não haja problema nesta utilização abusiva do teu copyright)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwSA0Y3KO6KzPwcQm718pQL9AvkE_jq97cev1KoZJFlhAVgT5NTfmcqkkvmLzxZTQ8Jt9WFL__ZvPozkduy7wCJhMmJbGNKCzYdQ14Iihwk8f0STdO4oQ20jajH8cAKKMlAe4U4ymDX8/s1600/rocinha+-+Daniela+Subtil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwSA0Y3KO6KzPwcQm718pQL9AvkE_jq97cev1KoZJFlhAVgT5NTfmcqkkvmLzxZTQ8Jt9WFL__ZvPozkduy7wCJhMmJbGNKCzYdQ14Iihwk8f0STdO4oQ20jajH8cAKKMlAe4U4ymDX8/s400/rocinha+-+Daniela+Subtil.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">You sit on the back of the bike. The
<i>motoboy</i> pulls you in a flash. You wake up and you're already at the top
of the <i>favela</i>. After a crazy ride through trucks, vehicles, other
motorbikes, holes on the ground and people moving around in their normal daily
life you thank God and the driver and will probably want to kiss the floor for
the safety it now provides. The motorcycle ride which starts at the lowest
point of the <i>favela</i> takes only a few minutes to get you to the top. The <i>motoboys</i>
service is also a normal mean of transportation for the habitants of the<i>
favela</i>. The different colours in the jackets of the drivers show their
diverse functions. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">The scenery at the top is horribly
pretty. The mix of colours of the buildings – red, green, pink, yellow and, of
course, the orange of the brick walls is astonishing. The São Conrado neighbourhood just after,
near the sea and the beach, offers yet another awful contrast, although both neighbourdhods co-exist
peacefully. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">A guide in the narrow and garbage
filled streets (if street is an appropriate name to small and growling narrower
paths) is certainly useful. Coming down by foot is the goal and the best
opportunity to know the lives of the persons living in this two-hundred
thousand community, which began by chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">During the decade of 20 of the last century, immigrants coming from the north-east of Brazil, mostly of rural origin,
could not get a house in the best neighbourhoods of Rio de Janeiro, where they
actually worked. Therefore they started to build houses made of wood at the Rocinha. This
migration grew without any order or direction and now most of them live without
proper sanitary system and deplorable health conditions. Electricity is
provided by a private company but stolen by some, especially those living at
the top where company workers can't so easily access and verify the wiring.
Going down the paths and involuntarily peeking through each house it is not
hard to notes the many HD screens, high-tech PCs and video game consoles which
“inhabit” its interior – once again contrast is one of the key-words here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">As one barely even starts his tour
it's not easy to escape a feeling of invasion of the “their” space. A tourist
is not welcomed here, although tourism is one of the engines which moves the
social projects being developed, such as a kindergarten which provides kids
with another way, a way through which they can educate themselves and escape the
traps of destiny, or an art studio where young artist show their amazing
paintings, most of them with one theme in common – their life and experience at
the Rocinha.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">Of course, these are just two small
examples of the positive things being done in the community and what a tourist
involuntarily sees and what he can't see maybe much much scarier. Shootings are
not rare and occur, at least, every other semester between the police and the
local gang which controls the <i>favela</i> or between rival gangs. The moment
where your guide informs you about the shootings you can't help to wonder, as
your heart stops : “What if a shooting started now?”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">The community must be very
respectful to the leaders of these gangs but it is also very organized. Mail
post, churches, several shops, diners, bakeries and bars exist and are
available to the locals and to the outsiders. One of those famous outsiders was
the singer Lenny Kravitz who visited the Rocinha some years ago and refused havaing any reporters following him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">A noble attitude which should remind
everyone who comes to the Rocinha that what happens there is not a show, it is
not something to feel sorry for or be afraid of. What happens there is real
life, those are real people who had the misfortune of being born in one of the
largest <i>favelas </i>of Latin America.
They are not monsters, they are not thieves or drug dealers. Most of them are
normal people who just want a normal life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">Looking, this time up, to the <i>morros</i>
(large rocks on the top of the hills which “fortify” the Rocinha) and the
colourful buildings embodying a joy which is not really there, is not without a
sense of helplessness that one leaves, albeit all the projects and efforts of
the NGOs involved in solving this problem. A sense that there is so much to be
done and that what is done is almost hopeless.
Nevertheless, there is an old Portuguese saying which is always important
to remember when everything seems to fall apart - Hope is always the last thing
to die.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">No one can just be there as a
tourist, not even as a professional or a humanitarian. I was there as a Person.
I was there only a few hours but felt like I had been there my whole life. I
imagined growing in those dark alleys, I imagined being afraid, I imagined
being led to a world where drugs, violence and guns would mean routine and
where toughness would be essential to survive. I imagined growing without a future,
growing without education or basic essential health. That's the power of
imagination – living another life in your thoughts. Imagine growing without
that power? Imagined that? That's life at the Rocinha. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-69875585301470220522011-10-24T10:13:00.001+01:002016-05-11T19:03:26.968+01:00São Paulo.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(Escrito lá, há mais de um ano)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Percorro as linhas desta cidade-fêmea</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">com olhos vividos, atentos
inundado</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">pelo furor repentista
de mais uma manhã frenética</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">nesta Nova Iorque latina, metrópole de sangue mestiço,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sangue de muitas gerações,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">de tantas nações e diferentes credos...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sangue adocicado ao gosto de café e pó</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fervo com este calor seco,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Com os carros que nunca param,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">que transitam alucinadamente </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">partindo do nada para lado algum</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">mas sem nunca, nunca parar. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Estar quieto é um privilégio, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">o silêncio ode,
a solidão utopia. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Contemplar é um luxo desnecessário </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">que atrapalha e inutiliza tempo e dinheiro. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mas, mesmo assim, insisto </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">e demando</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">encontrar-me com o Sol
que se põe,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">na literal Praça do Pôr do Sol. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(Quando se olha para o céu, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">as estrelas
lembram que este é outro hemisfério</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e que as estrelas que víamos são agora mito.) </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Apetece-me correr. Apetece-me também nunca parar. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Encho-me de Humanismo, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">sinto-o
rebater no meu coração </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e a
viagem nunca pára nesta Cidade-Mundo. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Cidade mais heterogénea,
um coar magnífico de sentimento,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">um co-existir tão conjunto e tão distinto </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">tão frio e tão quente, perto como distante...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A desorganização da parada de ónibus </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">(para mim, estrangeirismo, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">que me desculpe a Lusofonia!) </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">que obriga ao diálogo</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">- Paradoxo, numa cidade tão pouco habituada a ele </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">onde
as pessoas passam, são, ficam </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">( não, nunca ficam!) furiosas </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e um "Olá, tudo bem?" é muito </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">para quem tão pouco TEMPO tem.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As pessoas passam. As pessoas passam, passam</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Passam! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">E há guerra! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Guerra urbana por um lugar mais confortável no ónibus, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Guerra para chegar mais rápido ao trabalho, a casa, ao supermercado! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Guerra só para ir, guerra apenas para não estar parado! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Esta metrópole, esta mega-cidade, esta cidade
engole, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">consome, atropela qualquer um.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Esta cidade tira muito mas também dá muito. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Esta cidade tem todo o Mundo e todo o Brasil. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Nova Iorque outra vez na minha mente </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">enquanto me sento em pé na varanda </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e aprecio o silêncio lusco-fusco noturno...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">- Central "Ibirapuera" Park, 5th "Paulista" Avenue </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">- e o hino de
Alicia Keys faz-me viver mais este sonho... </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Paraíso caótico, céu brasileiro e desigual, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">o som não-onomatopeico dos helicópteros </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e o som violento do dia-a-dia. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Percorro as linhas desta cidade-fêmea </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">E encontro-me comigo.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lembro o tanto pouco que passou. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Cidade mais magnífica nunca eu vi. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(E ainda não te conheci...)</span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-55040654411392910942010-08-26T22:55:00.000+01:002012-11-21T14:34:08.314+00:00(Re)lendo a Dobrada à moda do Porto.<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;">Ler este poema não é ler este poema</span> <span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">É ler-me a mim quando lia este poema</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">É ler-me agora que leio este poema</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">e já não o sinto.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Com quantos Álvaros de Campos<br />não me </span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">cruzo a caminho de casa? </span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />Com quantos bêbedos aprendizes</span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />- porque se aprende sempre -</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">não escreveram (escrevem!) </span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">odes mais luminosas,<br />poemas mais em linha </span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">recta que Álvaro de Campos?</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Esta fatalidade que me fazia chorar, sofrer</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">é a mesma fatalidade que agora me faz rir.<br /></span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ó poeta bêbedo, o álcool não é solução de nada!</span></span><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-80499630768553305242009-12-23T03:28:00.005+00:002009-12-23T23:54:25.513+00:00Casa.<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Ao cair constante da chuva</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">vejo a tua metódica face e acordo</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">acordo de raiva, maltratando a inocente</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">almofada</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">"-O que te falta? Porra, o que te falta?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Trechos de uma vida metódica, analisada</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Passagens de frios guerreiros enfiados </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">neste mesmo campo de batalha - <em>casa</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">O eco da pergunta que não foi feita</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">balanceia-se, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">fluí triste</span>. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;">E somos os mesmos, adormecendo de raiva</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;">perguntando o que falta? o que falta? </span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-88127876257570415232009-11-11T22:57:00.009+00:002009-11-15T01:37:22.306+00:00Train rides are the loneliest of rides.<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Train rides are the loneliest of rides.<br />Inside the deep white bright<br />Keeps you from peeking to the sides<br />Where there's the dark, the night.<br /><br />And you are only you, trapped, clueless.<br />Only you, and Space and Time -<br />strange concepts. Without success<br />you try to write, you try to rhyme...<br /></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-36061731217391531872009-10-24T13:12:00.004+01:002009-10-24T13:23:41.039+01:00Si simple.<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Vem-me muitas vezes à memória,<br />fluindo </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >como as ondas suaves</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >,<br />qu</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">e contam a nossa história,<br />aquele dia, aquela praia, as saudades...<br /><br />Do dia em que fomos completos,<br />Da praia em que fomos amados...</span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-75574414320568263182009-09-19T20:34:00.002+01:002009-09-19T20:36:22.049+01:00Days.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What are days for? </span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Days are where we live.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They come, they wake us </span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Time and time over.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They are to be happy in: </span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Where can we live but days? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ah, solving that question</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Brings the priest and the doctor</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In their long coats</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Running over the fields.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Philip Larkin. </span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-77994459065836223542009-09-14T14:51:00.000+01:002009-09-14T14:51:00.263+01:00Ironia.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Maior arma contra dantesco penedo</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> -Incúria, tristeza, vileza e desgraça </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Santo remédio de uma velha traça </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> - Um apático País parido a medo… </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Amargo veneno, a um tempo, forte e ledo </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Libertar garrido de gasta mordaça </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Justiça glacial contra a comum trapaça</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dos mestres, sabiamente, maior segredo! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ironia, sadia, pura e límpida Divindade!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Limpa o torpe lodo, a suja lama </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Purifica as Letras e aquece seus beijos frios </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tomado por teus olhos macios </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ledo, adormeço em tua doce Fama </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Colhendo as rubras flores da Verdade! </span><br /></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-59327055429682104512009-09-11T19:31:00.001+01:002009-09-11T21:22:23.721+01:00Eça de Queiroz.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A vida!... Essa coisa misteriosa </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Às vezes, doce e colorida </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Outras, massa cinzenta e indefinida!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Matéria-prima de tua inspirada prosa!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Feia coisa, pardacenta e indecorosa</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Essa, a de falhar a reles vida!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mas, que resta, se ela não é se não descida?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Inspiração bruta de tua suave glosa! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ah, figura sóbria, peregrino do Mundo! </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">percorro tuas páginas, resplandecente </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">feliz e iluminado, como tu pelo brilho do Oriente! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mas, vindo de ti, sinto um suspiro profundo:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> «-O que é Tudo, senão um doce engano? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Paixão? Querer? Correr? Só atrás do <span style="font-style: italic;">americano</span>!» </span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-55452693313900259462009-08-07T01:19:00.006+01:002009-08-07T21:52:44.369+01:00Bênção.<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Descendo à Terra, Lhe disse solenemente<br />«- Homem, tudo isto é teu pertence agora<br />Aqui permanecerás, tranquila e serenamente<br />E aqui passarás, até que chegue tua hora»<br /><br />E o Homem, inquietando-se, subitamente,<br />perguntou: «- Mas, e a Esperança onde mora?<br />Nada me resta a não ser a Demora? »<br />«- Não! Nada mais! » rugiu Ele, firmemente.<br /><br />«A vida não é mais que uma roda de viver<br />Onde o Bem e o Mal vivem a perdurar<br />E os dias são teus até o teu Eu acabar<br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Que seja tua missão a eterna mudança acolher<br />E tua pior maldição, ao meu repto desobedecer</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />Eis teu maior pecado, Homem: ambicionar!»</span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-220772175918745942009-07-18T17:54:00.005+01:002009-07-19T22:43:29.660+01:00Ad eternum.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fé misteriosa move os grandes d'uma nação</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Desejo louco, enigmático, obscuro</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um tudo indistinto entre sentimento e razão</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A invenção, a ideia corpórea do Futuro</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Algo que morde, que não acalma o coração</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um querer sem quartel, sem poiso seguro</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Talvez mágoa, talvez mera inquietação</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um sentir, um ver, um almejar limpo e puro</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fé misteriosa, sem definição, nem Nome</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Saciar impossível de uma incógnita fome</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um correr sem percebida necessidade</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Na demanda de algo grande, de maior</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Busca d'Amor, da Luz, da Verdade </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">- o Eterno, meu Mestre e meu Senhor!</span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-65875126640055350402009-07-13T20:29:00.000+01:002009-07-13T16:57:53.106+01:00A Manuel Alegre.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Duro desafio, derradeiro dilema</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A escolha: rés-pública ou a amada poesia?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">E uma estranha dor, um estranho problema</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">- A visão do mais além, do novo dia</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Assim, a pena leve, mas quiçá amarga, desfia</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">O sonho nas linhas do teu eterno poema</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">E o desejo incontrolável de fim à apatia</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Na tua amargurada garganta é principal tema</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sem perceber porquê esperar do Céu </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">O porvir, o santo-Graal, o almejado sentido</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um Portugal que não volta, o que podia ter sido</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">O fim desta inquietação, desta ânsia </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">O novo Mar, o Fim, a distância!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">-Pátria Amada, sonho teu, sonho meu …</span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-29578070734843342172009-02-20T00:03:00.005+00:002009-02-20T00:26:17.845+00:00Só (as minhas) palavras escritas.<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Pois que a vida não deve existir,<br />nem ser escrita.<br /><br />Não parti, porque afinal nunca cheguei.<br />Estou aqui, na terra de todos aqueles que<br />não se conhecem, estendendo-te a mão.<br /><br />Querias ser como eu? Não queremos<br />ser todos algo que não somos?</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> É</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">duro reencontrarmo-nos, sim.<br />Nunca soube, nunca perceberei<br />se o hábito, a rotina, essa solidão<br />é prenda ou veneno... Tu sabe-lo?<br /><br />Assim, escrevo como se<br />tudo fosse perguntar.<br />E cá vou andando, nunca partindo,<br />nunca chegando...<br /></span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-72767691622974471562009-02-10T00:12:00.005+00:002009-02-20T00:27:06.893+00:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Na biblioteca, </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">fingindo-te distraído,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">por entre olhares que julgas</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">- em antecipação-</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">como perdidos,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">sonhas acordado e procuras</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />amor como só o conheces</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">do cinema.<br />Suspiras, será ela?<br />misteriosa leitora de Brecht<br />Enquanto te perguntas porque não<br />te devolveu o olhar<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">apalpas suavemente </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">uma página do teu poeta </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">favorito e só assim</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">frio, longe, morto</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">pela substância do tempo</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">sentes o amor </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">em que já deixaste de acreditar...<br /><br />O que vale é que há sempre<br />o que o outro dia nos traz, não é?<br /></span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-18695366887062334122009-01-20T23:24:00.006+00:002009-01-21T13:15:46.195+00:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you get nothing done</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you feel like shooting a gun</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">that your energy is on a new low</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">where it only rains on your window</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">that you fell like a joke</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you would talk French for a smoke</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you have forgotten to dream</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you can not even scream</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you don't want to hear her sing</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of those days</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">that you are no living thing</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of these days...</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-43303749928325308792009-01-11T03:21:00.006+00:002009-01-12T14:57:03.105+00:00A uma mosca estúpida.<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >A mosca voou</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >uma, duas, três,</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >um infinitamente irritante</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >número de vezes,</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >contra o candeeiro</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >atráida pela sua luz.</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ></span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Que mosca estúpida.</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ></span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >(Não seremos todos</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >moscas, a voar perdidos, </span><br /><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >eternamente aos encontrões, </span><br /><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >irritados,</span> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >atraídos por um </span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >ideal brilhante</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >que não sabemos que </span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >fundo guarda?)</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Que humanos estúpidos,</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >pensará ela...</span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-52922714958881643872009-01-03T04:25:00.004+00:002009-01-03T04:31:38.301+00:00In your tongue.<div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">E pronto, visto que isto dos blogs começa a dar-me mais e mais "rush", aqui fica mais um blog que, espero, apresente muitos, bons e diversificados textos nas quatro Línguas que fazem parte do meu curso - Alemão, Espanhol, Francês e Inglês - e respectivas traduções.<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Como sempre, a porta fica mais que aberta para colaborações ou pedidos.<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://inyourtongue.blogspot.com/">In your tongue.</a></span><br /><br /></div>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-69670346674944262762009-01-01T14:56:00.000+00:002009-01-01T14:56:00.554+00:00Ano Novo.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ficção de que começa alguma <span style="font-style: italic;">cousa</span>!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Nada começa: tudo continua.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Na fluída e incerta essência misteriosa</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Da vida, flui em sombra a água nua.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Curvas do rio escondem só movimento.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">O mesmo rio flui onde se vê.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Começar só começa em pensamento.</span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fernando Pessoa.</span></span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1791023921093165671.post-28720210031019869902008-12-31T09:25:00.008+00:002009-08-31T00:48:40.897+01:00Ode ao dia feliz.<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Hoje vou escrever - porque não? - de estar feliz.<br />Os meus textos nos demais dias são tristes,<br />depressivos e, pior que tudo, enfadonhos.<br /><br />Hoje sinto-me com vontade de amar todo o mundo<br />e de sorrir dos meus gostos estranhos.<br />Hoje vou agraciar o meu gato chato,<br />o meu chato gato que mia como se<br />amanhã não houvesse um novo ano.<br /><br />Hoje vou esquecer a crise,<br />as notícias deprimentes,<br />e vou correr por toda a chuva<br />a gritar-lhe, a ofendê-la,<br />e ao mesmo tempo, a indulta-la<br />por não mais me entristecer.<br /><br />Hoje não me vou importar<br />com o tempo dado por inútil<br />e vou recolher todo o passado<br />num copo que beberei dum só trago.<br /><br />Hoje vou agradecer por estar vivo<br />e por ser o que em mim vivi.<br />Hoje vou passear como quem nasce.<br />Hoje vou sentir, ver, respirar.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Hoje vou amar o outro,<br />como se fosse eu mesmo.<br /><br />Hoje, nem que seja só hoje,<br />vou dizer que te amo<br />quando me olhar ao espelho.</span>Alexandre Fonsecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340902707732774854noreply@blogger.com2