Sons da Escrita 375

31 de Dezembro de 2011

Primeiro programa do ciclo Bocage

Compasso a compasso, palavra a palavra, alinham-se, rigorosos, os sons da escrita.

Quando um homem interroga a água pura dos sentidos e ousa caminhar, serenamente, os esquecidos atalhos de todas as memórias, acontecem viagens — viagens entre o quase tudo e o quase nada.

Então, da raíz dos nervos da memória surge a planta de uma vida escutada no silêncio dos sons da escrita.

Sons da Escrita – à volta de uma ideia de José-António Moreira.


•••

Bocage

Retrato próprio

Magro, de olhos azuis, carão moreno,
Bem servido de pés, meão na altura,
Triste de facha, o mesmo de figura,
Nariz alto no meio, e não pequeno;

Incapaz de assistir num só terreno,
Mais propenso ao furor do que à ternura;
Bebendo em níveas mãos por taça escura
De zelos infernais letal veneno;

Devoto incensador de mil deidades
(Digo, de moças mil) num só momento,
E somente no altar amando os frades,

Eis Bocage, em quem luz algum talento;
Saíram dele mesmo estas verdades
Num dia em que se achou mais pachorrento.


I am… I said (Neil Diamond)

LA's fine, the sun shines most the time
The feeling is laid back
Palm trees grow and the rents are low
But you know I keep thinking about
Making my way back

Well, I'm New York City born and raised
But nowadays, I'm lost between two shores
LA's fine, but it ain't home
New York's home but it ain't mine no more

I am, I said
To no one there
And no one heard at all
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why
Leavin' me lonely still

Did you ever read about a frog who dreamed of being a king
And then became one
Well, except for the names and a few other changes
If you talk about me, the story's the same one

But I got an emptiness deep inside
And I've tried but it won't let me go
And I'm not a man who likes to swear
But I've never cared for the sound of being alone

I am, I said
To no one there
And no one heard at all
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why

I am, I said
I am, I cried
I am...


Segundo retrato

De cerúleo gabão não bem coberto,
Passeia em Santarém chuchado moço,
Mantido às vezes de sucinto almoço,
De ceia casual, jantar incerto;

Dos esburgados peitos quase aberto,
Versos impinge por miúdo e grosso.
E do que em frase vil chamam caroço,
Se o quer, é vox clamantis in deserto.

Pede às moças ternura, e dão-lhe motes!
Que tendo um coração como estalage,
Vão nele acomodando a mil pexotes.

Sabes, leitor, quem sofre tanto ultraje,
Cercado de um tropel de franchinotes?
É o autor do soneto: é o Bocage!


I got a name (Jim Croce)

Like the pine trees linin' the windin' road
I've got a name, I've got a name
Like the singin' bird and the croakin' toad
I've got a name, I've got a name
And I carry it with me like my daddy did
But I'm livin' the dream that he kept hid
Movin' me down the highway
Rollin' me down the highway
Movin' ahead so life won't pass me by

Like the north wind whistlin' down the sky
I've got a song, I've got a song
Like the whippoorwill and the baby's cry
I've got a song, I've got a song
And I carry it with me and I sing it loud
If it gets me nowhere, I'll go there proud
Movin' me down the highway
Rollin' me down the highway
Movin' ahead so life won't pass me by

And I'm gonna go there free
Like the fool I am and I'll always be
I've got a dream, I've got a dream
They can change their minds but they can't change me
I've got a dream, I've got a dream
Oh, I know I could share it if you want me to
If you're going my way, I'll go with you
Movin' me down the highway
Rollin' me down the highway
Movin' ahead so life won't pass me by


Proposição das rimas do poeta

Incultas produções da mocidade
Exponho a vossos olhos, ó leitores.
Vede-as com mágoa, vede-as com piedade,
Que elas buscam piedade e não louvores.

Ponderai da fortuna a variedade
Nos meus suspiros, lágrimas e amores;
Notai dos males seus a imensidade,
A curta duração dos seus favores.

E se entre versos mil de sentimento
Encontrardes alguns, cuja aparência
Indique festival contentamento,

Crede, ó mortais, que foram com violência
Escritos pela mão do Fingimento,
Cantados pela voz da Dependência.


Everybody plays the fool (Aaron Neville)

Ok, so your heart is broken
You're sitting around mopin', mopin', mopin', cryin', cryin'
You say you're even thinking about dying
Well, before you do anything rash, baby, listen to this 

Everybody plays the fool, sometime
There's no exception to the rule, listen baby
It may be factual, it may be cruel, I ain't lying
Everybody plays the fool 

Fallin' in love is such an easy thing to do
But there's no guarantee that the one you love, is gonna love you
Oh, loving eyes they cannot see a certain person could never be
Love runs deeper than any ocean, it clouds you're mind with emotion 

Everybody plays the fool, sometime
There's no exception to the rule, listen baby
It may be factual, it may be cruel, I ain't lying
Everybody plays the fool 

How can you help it, when the music starts to play
And your ability to reason, is swept away
Oh, heaven on earth is all you see, you're out of touch with reality
And now you cry, but when you do, next time around someone cries for you 

Hey, everybody plays the fool, sometime
Use your heart just like a tool, listen baby
They never tell you so in school, I wanna say it again,
Everybody plays the fool 

Everybody plays the fool, sometime
There's no exception to the rule, listen baby
It may be factual, it may be cruel, I ain't lying
Everybody plays the fool 

Every plays the fool, sometime
There's no exception to the rule, listen baby
It may be factual, it may be cruel, I wanna say it again
Everybody plays the fool


O autor aos seus versos

Chorosos versos meus desentoados
Sem arte, sem beleza e sem brandura,
Urdidos pela mão da Desventura,
Pela baça Tristeza envenenados:

Vede a luz, não busqueis, desesperados,
No mudo esquecimento a sepultura;
Se os ditosos vos lerem sem ternura,
Ler-vos-ão com ternura os desgraçados.

Não vos inspire, ó versos, cobardia
Da sátira mordaz o furor louco,
Da maldizente voz a tirania.

Desculpa tendes, se valeis tão pouco;
Que não pode cantar com melodia
Um peito, de gemer cansado e rouco.


What am I supposed to say (Lisa Loeb)

Waiting for the super buzz, the second dose, the inspiration,
but something strange is going on.
I’m in the middle of another stupid conversation.
I can’t believe so many days have gone by since I tried to talk to you,
but something strange is going on.
I’ve got both sides of it and I’m waiting for the other one to come.
(where’s the messenger?)
You’re too late, great,
What am I supposed to say?
That he’s done something wrong, and he’s gonna have to pay.
Late, great,
What am I supposed to say?
That he begs to be beside you?
Off and running.
It’s stunning, you’re caught off guard.
You feel forgotten, afraid of, in the dark.
This fixer upper’s not my idea of what you should be after,
not much laughter when you’re penciled in.
Sometimes the sun isn’t bright enough in your apartment, the sun.
You have to lean towards the lamp, to get anything done.
But you’re too late, great,
What am I supposed to say?
That he’s done something wrong, and he’s gonna have to pay.
Late, great,
What am I supposed to say?
That he begs to be beside you.


Tiram-me chapéu, gravata,
Fivelas, e desta sorte
Por um guarda sou levado
Ao domicílio da morte.

Estufa de treze palmos
Co’uma fresta, que dizia
Para o lugar ascoroso
Denominado enxovia.

Fecham-me; fico assombrado
Na medonha escuridão,
E, sem cama a que me encoste,
Descanso os membros no chão…


Música:

Genérico
Davy Spillane (abertura e fecho), Beatles (Fecho)

Fundos
David Arkenstone

Ligações
Neil Diamond, Jim Croce, Aaron Neville, Lisa Loeb

Textos:
Manuel Maria Barbosa du Bocage

Edição e voz:
José-António Moreira


•••|•••|•••


And in the end

the love you'll take

is equal to the love you make


© José-António Moreira 2012