Sons da Escrita 285

2 de Julho de 2010

Terceiro programa do ciclo Paul Celan

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.


•••

Paul Celan

Sem brilho, levado

Sem brilho, levado
todo para dentro, o olhar:

A sombra
dupla que um dia fui
divide-se
em duas, erguem-se
as alas da noite — agora vai,
palavra que estiveste tempo demais no mundo, rola,
sai —

Com os olhos de uma criança, com
os olhos de sua mãe
encontro eu a minha segunda,
a minha primeira janela.


Come to my window (Melissa Etheridge)

Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light
of the moon
Come to my window
I'll be home soon

I would dial the numbers
Just to listen to your breath
I would stand inside my hell
And hold the hand of death
You don't know how far I'd go
To ease this precious ache
You don't know how much I'd give
Or how much I can take

Just to reach you
Just to reach you
Just to reach you

Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light
of the moon
Come to my window
I'll be home soon

Keeping my eyes open
I cannot afford to sleep
Giving away promises
I know that I can't keep
Nothing fills the blackness
That has seeped into my chest
I need you in my blood
I am forsaking all the rest
Just to reach you
Just to reach you
Oh to reach you

Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light
of the moon
Come to my window
I'll be home soon

I don't care what they think
I don't care what they say
What do they know about this
love anyway

Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light
of the moon
Come to my window
I'll be home soon


Paul Celan

A dor dorme com as palavras

A dor dorme com as palavras, dorme, dorme,
Dorme e vai buscar nomes, nomes.
Dorme e a dormir morre e renasce.

Uma semente germina, sabias?
Germina, germina
uma semente da noite, nas ondas, um povo
começa a cescer, uma estirpe
da-dor-e-do-nome —: firme
e como que desde sempre submersa
e fiel — : a não-
-existente,
a viva
e minha, a
tua.


World of pain (Cream)

Outside my window is a tree.
Outside my window is a tree.
There only for me.
And it stands in the gray of the city,
No time for pity for the tree or me.

There is a world of pain
In the falling rain
Around me.

Is there a reason for today?
Is there a reason for today?
Do you remember?
I can hear all the cries of the city,
No time for pity for a growing tree.


Paul Celan

Quando a distante

Quando a distante
prata, rondada
também pelo voo dos homens, sem
chegar entrava,
redonda,
e nos olhava com olhos de olhar:

então
a palavra dor era uma taça de onde
subia ao nosso encontro a palavra
alegria — subia,
subia e passava por nós, subia
até nós dois, sob
o telhado,
até à cama onde a noite,
mestra
dos nossos corpos, esperava silenciosa, o seu
fundo, negro como o coração, cheio
da manhã.


Distant sun (Crowded House)

Tell me all the things you would change
I don't pretend to know what you want
when you come around and spin my top
time and again, time and again
No fire where I lit my spark
I am not afraid of the dark
Where your words devour my heart
and put me to shame, put me to shame

When your seven worlds collide
whenever I'm by your side
the dust from a distant sun
will shower over everyone

Still so young to travel so far
old enough to know who you are
wise enough to carry the scars
without any blame, there's no one to blame

It's easy to forget what you learned
waiting for the thrill to return
feeling your desire burn
and drawn to the flame

the dust from a distant sun
will shower over everyone

And I'm lying on the table
washed out in a flood
like a Christian fearing vengeance from above
I don't pretend to know what you want
but I offer love

Seven worlds will collide
whenever I'm by your side
the dust from a distant sun
will shower over everyone


Tu,
tira a casca, anda,
tira-me, feito casca, da minha palavra.

É tarde já, mas nós
queremos estar nus e à beira
da navalha.


Música:

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

Fundos
Oystein Sevåg & Lakki Patey, General Fuzz, Amoeba

Ligações
Melissa Etheridge, Cream, Crowded House

Textos:
Paul Celan

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