Procuram-se Voadores

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Poemas Lisiados (III)

Días contigo

horas contigo

instantes

 

Cada vez

como acampar

al lado de un manantial

(Riechmann)

Poemas Lisiados (II)

A la orilla del mar

Como quien entra a un templo

 

Como quien llega a un templo

o entra andando en el mar

(Riechmann)

Poemas Lisiados (I)

Llegaste, amor

desde detrás del horizonte

 

Nunca he querido preguntarte, soñadora,

qué hay en ese lugar

adonde todos volveremos

 

Mientras llega ese día

te acompaño

me acompañas

 

y dormimos juntos sobre la senda estrecha

(Riechmann)

Recuerdo con alas

La paloma canta cada mañana de primavera sobre su tejado.

Le recuerda una mala temporada, le revuelve el estómago y le hace sentir por algunas milésimas de segundo como aquella que jamás quiere volver a ser. Una pobre chica, perdida y sin confianza, una víctima, sin suelo, sin ganas, que no quería despertar por las mañanas.

Pero la paloma le despertaba.

Le recordaba que el día empezaba otra vez, que había que levantarse, espabilar, cambiar de rumbo. Pero abrir los ojos por la mañana y descubrir que las cosas eran aún iguales le parecía lo peor que le podía pasar. En vez de pensar que era la oportunidad para el cambio, que era un día más para volcar la mesa, girar la situación y ganar el juego, ella pensaba que no quería jugar. Quería quedarse en la cama, dormida, soñando con un mundo mejor, en vez de hacerlo posible y luchar por él. Ella no quería luchar. Qué cosas…

Ahora la paloma sigue viva y cantando, tras dos años, y aunque le intente recordar esa mala espina y aunque cada mañana le cante sus fantasmas, ella le grita que es vencedora. Que ya no tiene ganas de seguir durmiendo. Que en algún momento ha despertado, y ha luchado, y lo sigue haciendo cada día con la certeza, – no la esperanza sino la certeza! – de que es capaz de todo, de que es fuerte.

Y de repente, la paloma calla.

O vazio ocupado

A casa estava abandonada. Vazia. O musgo começou a tomar conta, o verde contrastando com o amarelo de suas paredes, o negro do mofo subindo pelas esquinas. A casa, ainda cheia de esculturas, de bichos de cerâmica paralisados no tempo. Mas quando ela fechava os olhos, ela via a vida. A vida que ainda estava ali, ocupando cada canto, os risos ecoando entre as paredes, as brincadeiras de criança. Aquela casa estava cheia de fantasmas. E ela entendeu porque existem casas abandonadas que seguem vivas: A vida nao abandona os lugares por onde passa. E as marcas do fim somente lhe lembram o que ali foi vivido. As paredes lhe sussurram aos ouvidos que a vida continua ali, em outra dimensão do tempo, mesmo ela tendo partido e ainda que tudo lembre a morte, o fim, ainda que tudo acabe, tudo continua tendo uma alma imortal que impregna cada espaço.

James Nachtwey

A MUST-SEE DOCUMENTARY!

Why photograph war? Is it possible to put an end to a form of human behavior, which has existed throughout history, by the means of photography? The proportions of that notion seem ridiculously out of balance, yet that very idea has motivated me. For me, the strength of photography lies in its ability to evoke a sense of humanity, if war is an attempt to negate humanity then photography can be perceived as the opposite of war and if its used well it can be a powerful ingredient in the antidote to war. In a way, if an individual assumes the risk of placing himself in the middle of a war in order to communicate to the rest of the world what is happening, he’s trying to negotiate for peace. Perhaps that’s the reason why those in charge of perpetuating the war do not like to have photographers around. In the field where your experience is extremely immediate, what you see is not an image on the page of a magazine ten thousand miles away with the advertisements for Rolex watches on the next page, what you see is unmitigated pain, injustice and misery. Its occurred to me that if everyone could be there just ONCE, to see for themselves what white phosphorous does to the face of a child, of what unspeakable pain is caused by the impact of a single bullet or how a jagged piece of shrapnel can rip someones leg off. If everyone could be there to see for themselves the fear and the grief just one time, then they would understand that nothing is worth letting things get to the point where that happens to even one person… let alone thousands. But everyone cannot be there and that is why photographers go there, to show them, to reach out and grab them, to make them stop what they are doing and pay attention to what is going on. To create pictures powerful enough to overcome the deluding effects of the mass media and shake people out of their indifference, to protest and by the strength of that protest to make others protest!

James Nachtwey

Neil Gaiman

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

Misturas Explosivas

Joseph Turner – Snow Storm-Steam-Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth (1842)

Trent Parke