Sons da Escrita 200

28 de Novembro de 2008

Primeiro programa do ciclo Fernando Pessoa

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.


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Fernando Pessoa

Autopsicografia (Fernando Pessoa)

O poeta é um fingidor.
Finge tão completamente
Que chega a fingir que é dor
A dor que deveras sente.

E os que lêem o que escreve,
Na dor lida sentem bem,
Não as duas que ele teve,
Mas só a que eles não têm.

E assim nas calhas de roda
Gira, a entreter a razão,
Esse comboio de corda
Que se chama coração.


Are you ready to be heartbroken? (Lloyd Cole & the Commotions)

looking like a born again
living like a heretic
listening to arthur lee records
making all your friends feel so guilty
about their cynicism
and the rest of their generation
not even the government are gonna stop you now
but are you ready to be heartbroken?
are you ready to be heartbroken?
pumped up full of vitamins
on account of all the seriousness
you say you're so happy now
you can hardly stand
lean over on the bookcase
if you really want to get straight
read norman mailer
or get a new tailor
are you ready to be heartbroken?
are you ready to be heartbroken?
are you ready to bleed?
what would it take
what would it take to wipe that smile off of your face?
are you ready to be, are you ready to bleed?
are you ready to be heartbroken?
are you ready to bleed? (heartbroken)
well you better get ready now baby
are you ready to bleed?, ready to bleed?


Fernando Pessoa

Ela canta, pobre ceifeira (Fernando Pessoa)

Ela canta, pobre ceifeira,
Julgando-se feliz talvez;
Canta, e ceifa, e a sua voz, cheia
De alegre e anónima viuvez,

Ondula como um canto de ave
No ar limpo como um limiar,
E há curvas no enredo suave
Do som que ela tem a cantar.

Ouvi-la alegra e entristece,
Na sua voz há o campo e a lida,
E canta como se tivesse
Mais razões p'ra cantar que a vida.

Ah, canta, canta sem razão!
O que em mim sente, 'stá pensando.
Derrama no meu coração
A tua incerta voz ondeando!

Ah! Poder ser tu, sendo eu!
Ter a tua alegre inconsciência,
E a consciência disso! Ó céu!
Ó campo! Ó canção! A ciência

Pesa tanto e a vida é tão breve!
Entrai por mim dentro! Tornai
Minha alma a vossa sombra leve!
Depois, levando-me, passai!


Moonlight shadow (Mike Oldfield)

The last that ever she saw him,
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
He passed on worried and warning,
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
Lost in a riddle that Saturday night,
Far away on the other side.
He was caught in the middle of a desperate fight
And she couldn't find how to push through.

The trees that whisper in the evening,
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
Sing a song of sorrow and grieving,
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
All she saw was a silhouette of a gun,
Far away on the other side.
He was shot six times by a man on the run
And she couldn't find how to push through.

I stay, I pray
See you in heaven far away.
I stay, I pray
See you in heaven one day.

Four a.m. in the morning,
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
I watched your vision forming,
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
Star was light in a silvery night,
Far away on the other side.
Will you come to talk to me this night,
But she couldn't find how to push through.

Caught in the middle of a hundred and five.
The night was heavy and the air was alive,
But she couldn't find how to push through.

Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
Carried away by a moonlight shadow.
Far away on the other side.
But she couldn't find how to push through.


Fernando Pessoa

Bóiam leves, desatentos (Fernando Pessoa)

Bóiam leves, desatentos,
Meus pensamentos de mágoa,
Como, no sono dos ventos,
As algas, cabelos lentos
Do corpo morto das águas.

Bóiam como folhas mortas
À tona de águas paradas.
São coisas vestindo nadas,
Pós remoinhando nas portas
Das casas abandonadas.

Sono de ser, sem remédio,
Vestígio do que não foi,
Leve mágoa, breve tédio,
Não sei se pára, se flui;
Não se existe ou se dói.


Somewhere only we know (Keane)

I walked across, an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth, beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when, you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.

I came across, a fallen elm tree,
I felt the branches; are they looking at me?
Is this the place, we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when, you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin
So if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go, somewhere only we know
Somewhere only we know.

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin
So if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything.
So why don't we go, so why don't we go.

Hmmm yeahh.

This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go, somewhere only we know,
Somewhere only we know
Somewhere only we know.


Tudo o que sonho ou passo,
O que me falha ou finda,
É como que um terraço
Sobre outra coisa ainda.
Essa coisa é que é linda.


Música:

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

Fundos
Ehren Starks, Enya, Govannen

Ligações
Lloyd Cole & The Commotions, Mike Oldfield, Keane

Textos:
Fernando Pessoa

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