Sons da Escrita 280

29 de Maio de 2010

Segundo programa do ciclo Paulo Ramalho

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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Paulo Ramalho

Primeiros ou últimos

Choram ao vento na fronteira a estrada,
gritam rosas e espinhos,
primeiros ou últimos, cantam.
E há esperança e raiva nas asas a tentar.
Choram as rosas no olhar que pede descanso,
gritam ao vento na fronteira sempre muro
(há esperas nas asas que tentam
e ausências na estrada, primeira ou última),
choram as rosas
e o vento grita na fronteira a flor.
Primeiros ou últimos, cantam sem rumo.
Choram.
E há esperança e raiva nas asas que arrastam.


The last laugh (Cara Dillon)

Don't you love the sound
Of the last laugh my friend
Don't you love the sound
Of the last laugh at the end
Down in the gutter with the mad old soldiers
Down in the scuppers with the drunken sailors
Down in the gutter with the mad old soldiers
But the last laugh, baby is yours
And don't you love the sound
Of the last laugh going down

Games you thought you'd learned
You neither lost nor won
Dreams have crashed and burned
You still keep on keeping on
Out on the highway with the road gang working
Up on the mountain with the cold wind blowing
Out on the highway with the road band working
But the last laugh, baby is yours
And don't you love the sound
Of the last laugh going down

They had you crying but you came up smiling
They had you crawling and you came up flying
They had you crying and you came up smiling
And the last laugh, baby is yours
And don't you love the sound
Of the last laugh going down
Yeh don't you love the sound
Of the last laugh going down


Paulo Ramalho

Futuro ou poeira

Uma pedra clara no olhar a ferir ou então
estes silêncios nus com que se vêem os dias.
As mãos são de luto por cada calçada
em que me perco de mim.
Vagos sorrisos – magro revestimento.
Mas atenção: futuro ou poeira, algo ainda existe.
A floresta não é fogo estéril
ou sensação obscura de flauta a viver por dentro.
Grande, porque o vazio é maior,
há a fome a crescer à traição nas paisagens obscenas.


Dust in the wind (Kansas)

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind

Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy

Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind, Everything is dust in the wind


Paulo Ramalho

É o tempo que chega

É o tempo que chega,
o tempo chega sempre.
As cerejeiras estão em flor,
escorrendo o seu mais secreto vermelho;
os peixes adormeceram à sombra larga do sol;
há longos, lânguidos sorrisos de sumo
nas romãs mais maduras de lábios;
nas praias agora suadas de desejo
se aprende a raiz do branco,
se rasga a nudez das gaivotas
em gestos brandos de cal e sol.
É o tempo que chega, desflorando os dias
até à dor de os sentir morrer
num silêncio todo vermelho de pó e ar,
é o tempo que chega, cacto
nas velas rasgadas de todos os mares,
papoila nas noites de todos os luares,
é o tempo que se chega, nítido na distância,
a mim aqui, entre o desejo e a memória.


Wasted time (Eagles)

Well baby, there you stand
With your little head, down in your hand
Oh, my God, you can't believe
It's happening again
your baby's gone, and you're all alone
and it looks like the end. 

And you're back out on the street.
And you're tryin' to remember.
How will you start it over?
You don't know if you can.
You don't care much for a stranger's touch,
but you can't hold your man. 

You never thought you'd be alone
this far down the line
And I know what's been on your mind
You're afraid it's all been wasted time 

The autumn leaves have got you thinking
about the first time that you fell
You didn't love the boy too much, no, no
you just loved the boy too well, farewell
So you live from day to day, and you dream
about tomorrow, oh. 

And the hours go by like minutes
and the shadows come to stay
So you take a little something
to make them go away
And I could have done so many things, baby
If I could only stop my mind from wonderin' what
I left behind and from worrying 'bout this wasted time 

Ooh, another love has come and gone
Ooh, and the years keep rushing on
I remember what you told me
before you went out on your own:
"Sometimes to keep it together,
you got to leave it alone." 

So you can get on with your search, baby,
and I can get on with mine
And maybe someday we will find,
that it wasn't really wasted time
Mm,hm
Oh hoo, ooh, ohh,
Ooh,ooh, mm


Querias alargar a janela dos sentidos,
levantar o sol por dentro,
cimentar de cinzas o cais da espera
e fazer das coisas uma forma de as ter.


Música:

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

Fundos
Devakant

Ligações
Mark Knopfler, Kansas, Eagles

Textos:
Paulo Ramalho

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