gostei imenso de ler este artigo , querida amiga das palavras.


sobre Cuba e os outros países , creio que haverá lugar próprio de discussão dos mesmos.

A Poesia é o modo de escrita do Artista da Palavra e reflecte simultaneamente o significado daquilo que se diz, como ainda a intenção com que se diz, e ainda mais a beleza dos sons dessa palavra ao ser emitida. A prosa, só depois de muito usada e praticada, é que pode e deve ser guardada e registada para os nossos vindouros a consagrarem. É por isso que o comum dos humanos guarda um poema e deita fora a lista de compras ou o bilhete do recado já aviado.


A Poesia está para a palavra, como a Pintura está para a tinta ou o acrílico, ou a Escultura está para a pedra, a madeira, o barro ou o gesso. E a música, essa, alimenta-se de silêncios e sons, venham eles da Natureza ou de instrumentos inventados pelos homens. E aqui é que se dá um encontro extraordinário: é que o Homem fala, canta, segreda, murmura. E a Poesia é canto, é segredo íntimo, é murmúrio amoroso…


Das grandes épocas de Camões, Bocage, Antero ou Florbela Espanca, continuamos com uma forte apetência pelo Soneto, e é sempre o «prato forte» dos cultores de Jogos Florais no nosso país. Arriscaria a dizer que, actualmente, a grande competição do soneto encontra opositor vincado na composição livre do lirismo: as catorze linhas obrigatórias do soneto tendem a ser suplantadas pelo número livre de linhas (versos); a rima obrigatória do soneto clássico passa agora à livre opção do verso branco ou do rimado; as 10 sílabas (heróicas) do soneto mudam para uma liberdade de sílabas métricas; outra regra que desatou a prisão das estâncias 4+4+3+3 deu lugar a monósticos, dísticos, tercetos, quadras, quintílhas, sextilhas, etc.

Termino, citando dois poemas monósticos (Uma só linha numa página inteira):

I - POEMA DOS MARES DO SUL
Eu não fui lá...
Joaquim Namorado
H - POEMA
O meu porquinho-da-índia foi a minha primeira namorada.
Manuel Bandeira

P.S. - Espero que qualquer dos leitores deste texto acima não esteja agora a dizer:
- Isto também eu fazia!
- E porque não o fez antes de o ler? - Responderia eu.


José Luís Louro


entrevista completa:

http://www.cfosbonjoanenses.com/JogosFlorais2012.html

http://youtu.be/mxk5o8DCK6g


It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in Dead Row,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And I'll say it again
I..am..not..afraid..to..die.
I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
The meal trolley's wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
Interpret signs and catalogue
A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog.
The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind.
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath gathering at my hind
I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade
Or at least that's what I'm told
Like my good hand I
tatooed E.V.I.L. across it's brother's fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.
In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of his Testament is stowed
A throne from which I'm told
All history does unfold.
Down here it's made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.
Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.
My kill-hand is called E.V.I.L.
Wears a wedding band that's G.O.O.D.
`Tis a long-suffering shackle
Collaring all that rebel blood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is burning
And I think my head is glowing
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is glowing
And I think my head is smoking
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this looks of disbelief.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway there was no proof
Nor a motive why.
And the mercy seat is smoking
And I think my head is melting
And in a way I'm helping
To be done with all this twisted of the truth.
A lie for a lie
And a truth for a truth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is melting
And I think my blood is boiling
And in a way I'm spoiling
All the fun with all this truth and consequence.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A life for a life
And a truth for a truth
And anyway there was no proof
But I'm not afraid to tell a lie.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
But I'm afraid I told a lie.

obrigado pela dica.
abraço.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8rmRjmVne4


qual delas?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hugY9CwhfzE


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJIjrj07wyI

http://youtu.be/xLc5dVypsgc



Good times for a change
See, the luck I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad

So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

Havent had a dream in a long time
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time



-not the first time only at time.
cya.

A pólvora que ficou
É espessa e sabe a resina
É como alvorecer no teu corpo -
Pérola, usada num colete-de-forças
Sentada
No aveludo vulcão e
Servindo à mesa de blusa aberta.

Aí encontrei um sinal pequeníssimo
No lado esquerdo do peito
Como quisesses mostrar-me
Mas como mostrar uma pupila de saltos altos
Embalada pela dor de sentir desejo
Dos passos húmidos na boca.

Mas como mostrar o que foi morto?

A pólvora que ficou
É espessa e sabe a resina