Sons da Escrita 125

27 de Julho de 2007

Terceiro programa do ciclo Luísa Ribeiro

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.


•••

Luísa Ribeiro

Sete (Luísa Ribeiro)

Ainda não escrevi a tua camisa amarela.
Hoje será a vez da cor: os teus olhos negros indisciplinados, os lábios do tom do vinho velho, à minha beira, mar.
Em ti não há azul, nem asas. Só terra firme onde desejo morrer.

Rebentarei por ti. Mas por bem.


Colours (Donovan) 

Yellow is the colour of my true love's hair
In the mornin' when we rise,
In the mornin' when we rise,
That's the time, that's the time,
I love the best.
Green's the colour of the sparklin' corn
In the mornin' when we rise,
In the mornin' when we rise.
in the mornin' when we rise.
That's the time, that's the time
I love the best.
Blue's the colour of the sky
In the mornin' when we rise,
In the mornin' when we rise.
in the mornin' when we rise.
That's the time, that's the time
I love the best.
Mellow is the feeling that I get
when I see her, mm hmm,
when I see her, uh huh.
That's the time, that's the time
I love the best.
Freedom is a word I rarely use
Without thinkin', mm hmm,
Without thinkin', mm hmm,
Of the time, of the time
When I've been loved.


Luísa Ribeiro

Oito (Luísa Ribeiro)

A minha casa tem sofás de estender a ouvir música; tem o cheiro do perfume matinal que infiltro nos cabelos, cheiro de madeira húmida e de bolo quente. Tem paredes brancas e manchadas nos cantos pela chuva que entra; velas quase queimadas nos jantares de mesa posta, que imitam os romances.
Nas paredes da minha casa há quadros que eu gosto e quadros com meninos a tocar violino; há pó constante e impressões carregadas de infância.
E há uma certa eternidade que combate o fim do mundo.
A minha casa tem espelhos rectangulares que me assustam, e tem uma memória que respira enquanto durmo e toma conta de mim.
A minha casa é minha, com livros do meu avô em Latim; com secretárias do meu avô em madeiras eternas; com a filha do meu avô em Mãe eterna; com cheiros vindos do século dezoito, com cores contemporâneas dos meus filhos; com as árvores que lá fora sustentam os pássaros, para que depois a minha gata os esmague numa brincadeira inocente.
A minha casa é eterna, se eu escrever a minha casa.
E tem sofás onde me estendo a pensar em ti.


I think of you (Merseybeats)

When the night is cold
And my arms want someone to hold
I think of you
When the rain is falling
I hear you calling to me
I think of you

I think of you every minute
I lie awake each lonely night
I think of you, yeah that day
You walked away and out of sight

Well now my arms just long to hold you
Like they used to do-oo before
I'm a broken man
Now you don't love me no-o more

Now the night is cold
And my arms want someone to hold
I think of you
Now the rain is falling
I hear you calling to me
I think of you

I think of you every minute
I lie awake each lonely night
I think of you, yeah that day
You walked away and out of sight

Well now my arms just long to hold you
Like they used to do-oo before
I'm a broken man
Now you don't love me no-o more

When the night is cold
And my arms want someone to hold
I think of you
When the rain is falling
I hear you calling to me
I think of you
I think of you


Luísa Ribeiro

Dez (Luísa Ribeiro)

O teu casaco no meu casaco enche a cadeira de cheiros fortes. Os tecidos afagam-se macios e os tons condizem, escolhidos um para o outro.
Há um romance entre os nossos casacos. Em cadeiras separadas respiramos fundo.
E dizemos adeus sem ver o fim da noite.


Famous blue raincoat (Jennifer Warnes)

It's four in the morning the end of December
I'm writing you now to see if you're better
New York was cold but I like where I'm living
there's music on Clinton Street all through the evening

I hear that you're building your little house
deep in the desert
you're living for nothing now
I hope you're keeping some kind of record

Yes and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
she said that you gave it to her
that night that you planned to go clear
did you ever go clear?

The last time I saw you you looked so much older
your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
you'd been to the station to meet every train
you came home alone without Lili Marlene

You treated my woman to a flake of your life
and when she came back she was nobody's wife

well I see you there with a rose in your teeth
just one more thin gypsy thief
I see Jane's awake now
she sends her regards

what can I tell you my brother my killer
what can I possibly say I guess that Imiss you
I guess I forgive you I'm glad you stood in my way

If you ever come by here for Jane or for me
your enemy is sleeping now and his woman is free

thanks for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried

Jame came by with a lock of your hair
she said that you gave it to her
on the night that you planned to go clear


Faz de mim o arco-íris que te contorna e sublinha as frases nos livros. Um marcador de páginas, uma esfinge de chocolate, uma ondina.


Música:

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

Fundos
Sunwhell Orchestra, David Arkenstone, Michael Gaetel

Ligações
Donovan, Merseybeats, Jennifer Warnes

Textos:
Luís Filipe Castro Mendes

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