Sons da Escrita 063

20 de Maio de 2006

Terceiro programa do ciclo Sebastião Alba

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.


•••

Sebastião Alba

O ritmo do presságio (Sebastião Alba)

A tinta das canetas
reflui de antipatia
e impregnadas, assíduas
cambam as borrachas
Não há fita de máquina
que o uso não esmague
o vaivém não ameace
de dessorar os textos
Mas a grafia nada diz
de pausas na cabeça
Vozes inarticuladas
adensam, durante elas
uma tempestade recôndita
E nubladas carregam-se
as suspensões
encadeando em nós
o ritmo do presságio.


My song (Moody Blues) 

I'm going to sing my song
And sing it all day long
A song that never ends
How can I tell you, all the things inside my head.

The change in these past years
Has made me see our world
In many different ways
How can I tell you, love can change our destiny.

Love can change the world
Love can change your life
Do what makes you happy
Do what you know is right
And love with all your might
Before it's too late

Where did I find all these words
Something inside of me is burning
There's life in other worlds
Maybe they'll come to earth
Helping man to find a way

One day I hope we'll be in perfect harmony
A planet with one mind
Then I could tell you
All the things inside my head

I'm going to sing my song
And sing it all day long
A song that never ends
How can I tell you, all the things inside my head.

I'm going to sing my song
A song that never ends


Sebastião Alba

A um filho morto (Sebastião Alba)

Ontem a comoção foi da espessura dum susto
duma árvore correndo
vertiginosamente para dentro do desastre
E já não choramos. Passamos
sem que o mais acurado apelo
nos decida
Nas camisas
teu monograma desenlaça-se.
Tua mão vê-o nos céus nocturnos
sabe que há uma ígnea
chave algures
Minha tristeza não tem expressão visível
como quando a chuva cessa
sobre a dádiva fugaz do nosso sangue
que hoje embebe a terra
É tal a ordem em nós
que um odor a bafio sai de nossas bocas
e uma teia de aranha interrompe o olhar
que te envolveu em vão.


Father and son (Cat Stevens)

It's not time to make a change,
Just relax, take it easy.
You're still young, that's your fault,
There's so much you have to know.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy. 

I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy,
To be calm when you've found something going on.
But take your time, think a lot,
Why, think of everything you've got.
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not. 

How can I try to explain, when I do he turns away again.
It's always been the same, same old story.
From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen.
Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go. 

It's not time to make a change,
Just sit down, take it slowly.
You're still young, that's your fault,
There's so much you have to go through.
Find a girl, settle down,
if you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy.
(Son — Away Away Away, I know I have to
Make this decision alone — no) 

All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside,
It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it.
If they were right, I'd agree, but it's them They know not me.
Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go.
(Father — Stay Stay Stay, Why must you go and
make this decision alone?)


Sebastião Alba

Há poetas com musa. Muitos (Sebastião Alba)

Há poetas com musa. Muitos.
Eu, neste jardim do Éden,
a cargo do município,
onde um velho destece a sua vida
e, baixando o olhar,
ainda lhe afaga a trama,
quando a poesia se afoita,
amuo
na agrura de, ao acordar,
tê-la sonhado.


Don't dream it's over (Crowded House)

There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me

Hey now, hey now
Don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won't win

Now I'm towing my car, there's a hole in the roof
My possessions are causing me suspicion but there's no proof
In the paper today tales of war and of waste
But you turn right over to the T.V. page

Now I'm walking again to the beat of a drum
And I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart
Only shadows ahead barely clearing the roof
Get to know the feeling of liberation and release

Hey now, hey now
Don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won't win



Para que nem tudo vos seja sonegado,
cultivai a surdina.
Eu fico em surdina.
Em surdina aparo
os utensílios,
em surdina me preparo
para morrer.
Amo, chut!, em surdina;
a minha vida,
nesga entre dois ponteiros, fecha-se
em surdina.


Música:

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

Fundos
Sunstatic

Ligações
Moody Blues, Cat Stevens, Crowded House

Textos:
Sebastião Alba

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