Sons da Escrita 301

22 de Outubro de 2010

Primeiro programa do ciclo Vasco Graça Moura

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.


•••

Vasco Graça Moura

Traição

tive vinte anos e tentei
usar palavras nessa altura
e do que disse ao que direi
ficou-me o gosto da procura
mas duvidoso é o que encontrei.

agora, com cinquenta e quatro,
muito delas se evaporou
tal como as deixas num teatro
em que ninguém representou,

que são assim modalidades
de quanto em mim é a mais verbal
traição das realidades,
oficinal e ficcional,
entre inverdades e verdades.


Age of treason (Donovan)

On a lone and windy hilltop beneath a roof of tin
In a little wallpapered bedroom I done my growin'.
'Twas there I dreamt my dreams, I hung my jeans
And wandered through my puberty as all do.

My mother was a tight nut bound up with false guilt
Strapped up in her fearing wall she had built.
The independent girl in a dark and cruel world
She'd lost the way to say, "OK, now lay back".

We disagreed on most things, I shouted peace and love
The family is mankind, the symbol of the dove.
She only saw the surface of things before her face
But I was young and argued on for hours.

My father he liked poetry, a scholar he might have made.
Had nothing, born a poor boy barefoot and underpaid
So the man worked with his hands up and down the land,
His dreams forgot he thought that I must follow.

With his marks as worker's wisdom he'd read a thing or two
He once had been a Mason but he never followed through.
Always kind and thoughtful, smelling of mushy oil
And he read me poetry of visionaries.

I flunk my way to college, a looser kind of school
But we bobbed and played time arty, feeling cool
Just to live an artists diggin' the ravin' scene
Reading Kerouac and Ginsberg well deuced.

I was not academic, Art and English neat,
The history of mankind I liked that a bit.
And what was I to do ? The choices they were few,
I done right disgrace to the working classes

I done right disgrace to the working classes
I done right disgrace to the working classes
I done right disgrace to the working classes


Vasco Graça Moura

Em cada verso insinuo

em cada verso insinuo
um metal, uma rasura,
uma voz, uma figura,
um avanço e um recuo,

um disparo, a ganga impura
de alegria, raiva, amuo,
ou da irónica amargura
de medir a arquitectura
das luas que não possuo,
e a razão, fria impostura
da romântica aventura.

junto o mais que não excluo,
dia a dia, e que perdura
a estalar o que construo.


The truth won’t fade away (Procol Harum)

We were young, we were brave, we were true, we were strong
Far away the bombs an' the buildings explodin'
there was no way out
It was black, it was white, we had so much to say
Right or wrong... The truth won't fade away 

We had our hopes, we had our dreams, we were young, we were old
We saw our future self-destructing: there were roles that we played
Some were good, some were bad: there was so much to say
Right or wrong... The truth won't fade away


Vasco Graça Moura

A passagem do tempo

o tempo passa e não me preocupa:
nem traz angústia especial, vexame,
fraqueza ou solidão, nem faço exame
de esquadrinhar a consciência à lupa.

teve uns momentos altos e outros baixos.
vieram, de mistura com mais brancas
e umas maneiras de dizer mais francas
e outras fascinações, outros despachos.

e sem cuidar de mim, creio gerir-me
entre o que se perdeu e o que me resta,
ter o gozo do acaso, arrostar firme,
distinguir o que presta e o que não presta,

escrever de sabores, dissabores,
e ser mais um entre outros sabedores.


Day after day (Badfinger)

I remember finding out about you
Every day, my mind is all around you
Looking out from my lonely room, day after day
Bring it home, baby, make it soon
I give my love to you

I remember holding you while you sleep
Every day, I feel the tears that you weep
Looking out of my lonely gloom, day after day
Bring it home, baby, make it soon
I give my love to you

[duel slide guitar solo (Pete Ham and George Harrison)]

Looking out of my lonely room, day after day
Bring it home, baby, make it soon
I give my love to you

I remember finding out about you
Every day, my mind is all around you
Looking out of my lonely gloom, day after day
Bring it home, baby, make it soon
I give my love to you.

Os sentimentos são literatura
e a literatura um bumerangue
que nos regressa às mãos sob a figura
de uma metamorfose desde o sangue.


Música:

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

Fundos
David Lanz

Ligações
Donovan, Procol Harum, Badfinger

Textos:
Vasco Graça Moura

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