tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15732140768123038842024-03-13T03:14:17.902+00:00MarblesNum percurso de ida e volta devem entrar em três buracos dispostos em linha recta, saindo vencedora a criança que chegar primeiro ao buraco inicial.
(Edição Revista e Aumentada)Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.comBlogger970125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-46652499209587943252013-10-28T16:15:00.001+00:002013-10-28T16:15:13.757+00:00Unexpected 4<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_w0-1USu2F8" width="480"></iframe><br />
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-49188529480294423122013-10-03T16:30:00.000+01:002013-10-03T16:32:07.570+01:00<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/mLYPpXseKKw" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Akosh S.Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-85724316516503234832013-08-28T15:32:00.001+01:002013-08-28T15:32:23.444+01:00FLUTES FLUTES FLUTES!<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/C4OD9KvhKhk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/kd5OrPBw-3k" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-64906839123665762992013-08-01T12:06:00.004+01:002013-08-01T12:06:55.689+01:00<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Custa a crer: Ewald Tragy dorme catorze horas seguidas. E isso numa cama estranha e ascorosa de hotel, e na praça da estação há barulho e sol desde as cinco da manhã. Chega a esquecer-se de sonhar mesmo sabendo que os 'primeiros' sonhos são os que contêm significados mais determinantes. Consola-se a pensar que a partir de agora tudo se pode realizar, quer sonhe quer não, e que tudo se desprende desse dormir vazio, separando-se de todo o anterior, como se de um prolongado, prolongado fio de pensamento se tratasse</span>.<br />
<br />
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<strong>Ewald Tragy, </strong></div>
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<strong>Rainer Maria Rilke</strong> </div>
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(trad. Sandra Filipe)</div>
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<strong><em>Die Stadt der Träume</em>, </strong></div>
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<strong>Peter Gogolin</strong></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-40497704855091117992013-07-04T10:29:00.001+01:002013-07-04T10:29:33.700+01:00The Mighty Hanniba - The Right To Love You<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XuQQbMmyWmI" width="459"></iframe><br />
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-23515715591128384662013-06-07T12:10:00.003+01:002013-06-07T12:20:06.211+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWNBXwz-oPPzXSRER6dpRnIq0BUc3Nz-pf3v61yeEV-e-XOLe6tYDb3awvNjyYA8vU8SLKZ-nNLWP_rs9tJTIwJwqiOeqwE6lfKMbXCSMBY7fUfXs5dqn-RchhUPEdExRRzC-fLazwKb1K/s1600/2013-04-29+22.48.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWNBXwz-oPPzXSRER6dpRnIq0BUc3Nz-pf3v61yeEV-e-XOLe6tYDb3awvNjyYA8vU8SLKZ-nNLWP_rs9tJTIwJwqiOeqwE6lfKMbXCSMBY7fUfXs5dqn-RchhUPEdExRRzC-fLazwKb1K/s640/2013-04-29+22.48.14.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<strong>e há isto: quem tem a mão queimada tem em tudo fogo posto, </strong><br />
<strong>obra, vida e corpo,</strong><br />
<strong>e no fundo da mão do outro não há nada, mesmo na mão </strong><br />
<strong> cheia de ouro</strong><br />
<strong>(ou nela sobretudo)</strong><br />
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<strong>herberto helder</strong>, </div>
<em></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Heinrich von Kleist versus Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">in Servidões, Assírio & Alvim</span></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-38600281036461222022013-06-06T12:34:00.000+01:002013-06-06T12:34:06.510+01:00SURREALIZAR...por aí<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Poesia às QUINTAS + Miguel Martins – 34ª sessão </strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Bar a Barraca –</span></strong></span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">6 de Junho– 22.30h – entrada livre<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></span></div>
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<br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Por ordem alfabética: Alexandre O’Neill, Ana Hatherly, António Barahona, António Maria Lisboa, António Porto-Além, Ary dos Santos, Manuel de Castro, Mário Cesariny, Natália Correia, Pedro Oom – poetas portugueses que, entre muitos outros, praticaram, com maior ou menor assiduidade, o surrealismo e que serão lidos, na próxima 5ª, por Miguel Martins (uma espécie de Charles Manson da poesia) e Sandra Filipe (mulher que, devido a uma invulgaríssima impudicícia hidrófila, parece, segundo o falecido Inspector Varatojo, ter estado por detrás dos crimes de Diogo Alves – “Ou os empurras do aqueduto lá para baixo ou não há nada para ninguém!”). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br /><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Prevê-se, também, uma participação do Peixoto em pelota… (é ver para crer!).<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Quem não aparecer é porque junta a sagacidade de um Petit ao enciclopedismo de um Fábio Coentrão. Essa é que é essa!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-87198150660196464202013-05-01T18:34:00.005+01:002013-05-01T18:34:40.922+01:00<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQwyCRZhCuq1uV8JU7w3p2rj88rlJvLRyckEv8SLtrgER17yTmE-9ojn15U3t0QIB_MoryfbBpcyjA2bkiQ5yGAlCS3i3hyphenhyphen-Gl3a2dlor1MV4MGHk-07PmEHQaLtqYbh_HNQz_3UEf5ro/s1600/20130429_224741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQwyCRZhCuq1uV8JU7w3p2rj88rlJvLRyckEv8SLtrgER17yTmE-9ojn15U3t0QIB_MoryfbBpcyjA2bkiQ5yGAlCS3i3hyphenhyphen-Gl3a2dlor1MV4MGHk-07PmEHQaLtqYbh_HNQz_3UEf5ro/s640/20130429_224741.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ninguém nunca adormeceu a sentir os pés.</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Vasco Gato</strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em></em></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>in</em> A Fábrica, Língua Morta</span></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-19031175770188747572013-04-29T23:31:00.001+01:002013-04-29T23:31:05.044+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTKFKA041xdl3Y8uhdDjqij1Fjb5ZXTpzjrblhgMtTzAa7jOXERgFyrUF6CXQ_mnTkny_3T-hcG5PWqC8ETcWmrSPPK65L1smhz53i8ytY2dO742tzYU0dQldoB_lBpMkXLvrEAJ5IAmr8/s1600/20130429_224832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTKFKA041xdl3Y8uhdDjqij1Fjb5ZXTpzjrblhgMtTzAa7jOXERgFyrUF6CXQ_mnTkny_3T-hcG5PWqC8ETcWmrSPPK65L1smhz53i8ytY2dO742tzYU0dQldoB_lBpMkXLvrEAJ5IAmr8/s400/20130429_224832.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Eu tinha os meus pés naquela parte da vida,</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> à qual não se pode ir com intenção de regressar.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span> </div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Dante</strong></span></div>
<br />Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-34867561677170370842013-04-09T19:42:00.003+01:002013-04-09T19:42:49.456+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysC83tz7s8U_seznzz_fQTTa0vq4BUeRpzUhjV8bWEY2rtPogDkuoCar8QCVK-jVrbiHjqcwf5X5wCaosVFEh0uCbM5xj5Rmbc_RbiAvBJtSc6PgW5ymSrEneW4rYv3KLcW6VlXQ-d7f1/s1600/sam+taylor-wood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysC83tz7s8U_seznzz_fQTTa0vq4BUeRpzUhjV8bWEY2rtPogDkuoCar8QCVK-jVrbiHjqcwf5X5wCaosVFEh0uCbM5xj5Rmbc_RbiAvBJtSc6PgW5ymSrEneW4rYv3KLcW6VlXQ-d7f1/s400/sam+taylor-wood.jpg" width="400" /></a>sam taylor-wood</div>
<span class="titulo"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span class="titulo"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span class="titulo"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span class="titulo"><strong>O Comportamento Simbólico e o Comportamento Inequívoco</strong></span><br />
<span class="titulo"></span><br />
<span class="titulo"></span><span class="conteudo"><span style="color: #464545;">Na verdade, encontramos desde as origens da história humana estas duas formas de comportamento, a simbólica e a inequívoca. O ponto de vista do inequívoco é a lei do pensamento e da acção despertos, que domina quer uma conclusão irrefutável da lógica quer o cérebro de um chantagista que pressiona passo a passo a sua vítima, uma lei que resulta das necessidades da vida, às quais sucumbiríamos se não fosse possível dar uma forma inequívoca às coisas. O símbolo, por seu lado, é a articulação de ideias próprias do sonho, é a lógica deslizante da alma, a que corresponde o parentesco das coisas nas intuições da arte e da religião; mas também tudo o que na vida existe de vulgares inclinações e aversões, de concordância e repulsa, de admiração, submissão, liderança, imitação e seus contrários, todas estas relações do homem consigo e com a natureza, que ainda não são puramente objectivas e talvez nunca venham a sê-lo, só podem ser entendidas em termos simbólicos.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #464545;"><br />
Aquilo a que se chama a humanidade superior mais não é, com certeza, do que a tentativa de fundir estas duas metades da vida, a do símbolo e a da verdade, cuidadosamente separadas antes. Mas quando separamos num símbolo tudo aquilo que talvez possa ser verdadeiro do que é apenas espuma, o que acontece geralmente é que se ganha um pouco de verdade, mas se destrói todo o valor que o símbolo tinha. Por isso, talvez esta separação tenha sido inevitável na evolução do espírito, mas produziu o efeito que se obtém quando se ferve uma substância para a engrossar e, ao fazê-lo, provocamos a evaporação do que nela existe de mais intrínseco. Hoje é quase impossível não ter a impressão de que os conceitos e as regras da vida moral são apenas símbolos recozidos, envoltos nos insuportáveis e gordurosos vapores da cozinha da humanidade.<br /><br /><strong>Robert Musil</strong><em>, in <strong>'O Homem sem Qualidades'</strong></em><br />
<em><strong></strong></em><br />
<em><strong> </strong></em><br />
<em><strong></strong></em></span>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-65856433797077390992013-03-20T19:49:00.002+00:002013-03-20T19:49:27.188+00:00em loop...por varia razão<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/9lkuPt6ylEY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-19639787825644800532013-03-19T17:51:00.004+00:002013-03-19T17:51:43.390+00:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gkcyYnDCmdH5lItVCx8I4bUxD-04FYbfzZ6yBCLsWyK7iyrIyxTHafgZsNdNpNi51gFa4bqmdQyPZm7EZVu5bsE_IgOyt7nZRtlZuKrBViAWZv-kcWyI6klWa15vxMgWCCwbS5JvV7MD/s1600/Cadernos+do+Fundo+1+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gkcyYnDCmdH5lItVCx8I4bUxD-04FYbfzZ6yBCLsWyK7iyrIyxTHafgZsNdNpNi51gFa4bqmdQyPZm7EZVu5bsE_IgOyt7nZRtlZuKrBViAWZv-kcWyI6klWa15vxMgWCCwbS5JvV7MD/s640/Cadernos+do+Fundo+1+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em>Uma palavra é ainda o homem. <br />Duas palavras são já o abismo. <br />Uma palavra pode abrir uma porta. <br />Duas palavras fazem-na desaparecer.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><strong><em>Roberto Juarroz</em></strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-57966708953766144972013-03-19T17:41:00.005+00:002013-03-19T17:42:48.864+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKp6Ach1bynAEFO6Z2t3KT-riGddGjTnaNRu1p7Hio2m4b1krFNYZK29VVafUgmSvqWobnqLniwy92kHh_NPaj_DY0xzT3Wow8SSkWpP1yE8MJi_WcMLSO5znDHRWjio7Ep1O8fO0lNJy/s1600/2013-02-04+10.16.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKp6Ach1bynAEFO6Z2t3KT-riGddGjTnaNRu1p7Hio2m4b1krFNYZK29VVafUgmSvqWobnqLniwy92kHh_NPaj_DY0xzT3Wow8SSkWpP1yE8MJi_WcMLSO5znDHRWjio7Ep1O8fO0lNJy/s400/2013-02-04+10.16.12.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">[Gijon, Fevereiro 2013]</span></strong></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-42339950163490716872013-03-03T15:15:00.003+00:002013-03-03T15:15:20.960+00:00<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PYVvNcAT84A" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<em>You're in my blood (...)</em><br />
<em>Take me outside of it all (...)</em> e balancé, balancé<em>... </em><br />
<em>i know i know i know....</em>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-37566689438639494402013-03-02T19:16:00.000+00:002013-03-02T19:16:22.660+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHxrOkv1OSWG2hAIDzhg0DL0pMoccCC9yUzFjs23i4E9Df7QrciORd55cUxRn3cGybYUeGgZEUciTm_dq5JWl_mdGhwKtEKiOftCjBfJcMj_c6KpaoVCkobIV914NIMCS3phgcoo7ri6w/s1600/IMG01161-20130219-1240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHxrOkv1OSWG2hAIDzhg0DL0pMoccCC9yUzFjs23i4E9Df7QrciORd55cUxRn3cGybYUeGgZEUciTm_dq5JWl_mdGhwKtEKiOftCjBfJcMj_c6KpaoVCkobIV914NIMCS3phgcoo7ri6w/s400/IMG01161-20130219-1240.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><strong> Parque Anjos, Fevereiro 2013</strong></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></strong> </div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;">
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<td valign="top" width="80%">
<h1 class="TITLE">
</h1>
<h1 class="TITLE">
Light breaks where no sun shines</h1>
</td>
<td align="right" colspan="2" nowrap="" valign="top"> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3">Dylan Thomas</td></tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><br /></td></tr>
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<td colspan="2" valign="top"><pre>Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics dies,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.</pre>
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<br />Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-59874123387989090022013-02-21T16:25:00.004+00:002013-02-21T16:25:52.489+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFwEBAG1a02h7Br_E8wMZd-V3OezBOi6XQ_8Vhmq1BWmBIVFrPS1GiMEgPdiY_M9fiY2u_y2poAyvY7g3rB9y25SF-3jINin_7Q9JFC40uXBtbn6slQc7bJchIlxnKfxitP1sPi-SrWJ0/s1600/2013-02-03+16.16.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFwEBAG1a02h7Br_E8wMZd-V3OezBOi6XQ_8Vhmq1BWmBIVFrPS1GiMEgPdiY_M9fiY2u_y2poAyvY7g3rB9y25SF-3jINin_7Q9JFC40uXBtbn6slQc7bJchIlxnKfxitP1sPi-SrWJ0/s640/2013-02-03+16.16.40.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Um cisne que conheci em Oviedo.<br />
<br />
<br />Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-3584295466845276062013-02-16T13:07:00.002+00:002013-02-16T13:10:17.498+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A editora <strong>TEA FOR
ONE</strong> tem o prazer de convidar V. Exas. para, no Sábado dia 16 de Fevereiro, pelas
18h, no Teatro A Barraca, em Lisboa, assistirem ao lançamento dos seus dois mais
recentes títulos:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong>Lisboa
Oriental / Oriental Lisbon</strong></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
de</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong>Manuel
Filipe</strong></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-AjPPDcUtE699LAqnlze0JoDi4m8w4VUrxCCGc1-D-fSZ3e4zuRL3R4Mm1Z3zW3NMcRi6aRfVnssOH8uRZO4YmmmQAmmsXiw-fNCkAMkOTrbK0ViJJR7GDIJkE2aMccIJkk6x_pHwPd_/s1600/2012-11-01+17.28.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-AjPPDcUtE699LAqnlze0JoDi4m8w4VUrxCCGc1-D-fSZ3e4zuRL3R4Mm1Z3zW3NMcRi6aRfVnssOH8uRZO4YmmmQAmmsXiw-fNCkAMkOTrbK0ViJJR7GDIJkE2aMccIJkk6x_pHwPd_/s400/2012-11-01+17.28.01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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&</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyMvf9rW6uz_38HQf-KhyghRjK4em5m8di91WEmxPkS4WuDIXL66Z6ZGvrVErxPdWSnfTMheBrJJKDi-illAIA5POGiDz6BCtLkxzboC35IE9S1oUgOL4oxXdj2NDk2U3yrQwuDfSLGPvl/s1600/P%C3%A3o+tif+2400+001.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyMvf9rW6uz_38HQf-KhyghRjK4em5m8di91WEmxPkS4WuDIXL66Z6ZGvrVErxPdWSnfTMheBrJJKDi-illAIA5POGiDz6BCtLkxzboC35IE9S1oUgOL4oxXdj2NDk2U3yrQwuDfSLGPvl/s320/P%C3%A3o+tif+2400+001.tif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong></strong> </div>
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong></strong> </div>
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong>Este é o
meu corpo</strong> </div>
<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
antologia de poemas
sobre o pão</div>
<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
de</div>
<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<o:p><strong>Álvaro
Cunha, Ana Isabel Soares, Ana Zanatti, António Barahona, João Miguel Henriques,
M. Parissy, Ricardo Álvaro, Ricardo Marques, Rosa Guimarães, Rui Cardoso
Martins, Salwa Azar e Vítor Nogueira.</strong></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<div align="justify" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<o:p>Ambos os volumes têm ilustrações de <strong>Sandra
Filipe</strong> e paginação de <strong>Inês Mateus</strong></o:p></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-27507046444945082352013-01-26T15:47:00.001+00:002013-01-26T15:47:15.165+00:00unexpected 2<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/T5KYZ2F9IRs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-28416680501162960952013-01-16T17:19:00.002+00:002013-01-16T17:22:06.766+00:00Kora, cora pela tarde fora<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4h5dI6m6Eh8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-26353231196297828762013-01-08T21:58:00.003+00:002013-01-08T21:58:49.758+00:00<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nGdp7AI7D6A" width="420"></iframe><br />Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-62848471702855826592013-01-08T00:09:00.000+00:002013-01-08T00:09:43.253+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKQeZk0jfkD4QtGvY7FKQ2LNDlD2dBsie-BMnpZfEFRp92sZvVn_uAlRVyK-jl16avsZ46lXqaMhn3XAVARGENeeHDz-jpjcTnrhhGa6Aq5VNyiIpwFj_gECHN4m6mLHfPdtOfyFFWsNG/s1600/afp.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKQeZk0jfkD4QtGvY7FKQ2LNDlD2dBsie-BMnpZfEFRp92sZvVn_uAlRVyK-jl16avsZ46lXqaMhn3XAVARGENeeHDz-jpjcTnrhhGa6Aq5VNyiIpwFj_gECHN4m6mLHfPdtOfyFFWsNG/s400/afp.11.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Não se perdeu
nenhuma coisa em mim.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Continuam as
noites e os poentes</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Que escorreram
na casa e no jardim,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Continuam as
vozes diferentes</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Que intactas no
meu ser estão suspensas.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trago o terror e
trago a claridade,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">E através de
todas as presenças</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Caminho para a
única unidade.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Sophia de Mello
Breyner Andresen</span></span></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-21701435388826460952013-01-04T20:36:00.001+00:002013-01-04T20:36:14.754+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5jXu7NQtWOCQrKzAOWvr-6tcCoWkET4NP9roA7NtFMm7AohAW5e0_g2D0nDjnbeXVuPNkaXxXnHFTv1S_y9juUhch7nX7_rYJtxJLd1Fw_HZykQdX3lJJQplvI7cnTrodzE9ldB02PoV/s1600/a+fabrica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5jXu7NQtWOCQrKzAOWvr-6tcCoWkET4NP9roA7NtFMm7AohAW5e0_g2D0nDjnbeXVuPNkaXxXnHFTv1S_y9juUhch7nX7_rYJtxJLd1Fw_HZykQdX3lJJQplvI7cnTrodzE9ldB02PoV/s400/a+fabrica.jpg" /></a></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-86088387986244070572012-12-31T02:15:00.001+00:002012-12-31T02:15:13.680+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7844wW3vrKzIg7F3oafcPTpTvzxl3CSyxCVpO0PKyBwFiGhSG6P-y6CPA90DUNa8uBKhC3sa9QpLTYl6W3JpEr2TkEPrMe9uj7zINcmoQ0MZCutQP1wdNDmKGxgah_8lm2H3m34zWzCQH/s1600/sem+nome.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7844wW3vrKzIg7F3oafcPTpTvzxl3CSyxCVpO0PKyBwFiGhSG6P-y6CPA90DUNa8uBKhC3sa9QpLTYl6W3JpEr2TkEPrMe9uj7zINcmoQ0MZCutQP1wdNDmKGxgah_8lm2H3m34zWzCQH/s320/sem+nome.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Desde que foste, sonho com:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">ondas do mar,</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">pêssegos e -</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">máquinas do tempo.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<strong>[1922-2012]</strong></div>
Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-35121886230358703372012-12-12T21:09:00.000+00:002012-12-12T21:09:01.787+00:00unexpected 1
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-D2ucSWlkeY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1573214076812303884.post-48877254373393631672012-12-12T20:45:00.000+00:002012-12-12T20:45:24.170+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDndmlwtxOJHi-yZ1kqF2UArYT8dS9YPrq35YhI7Df-MpdGJKUgLZlMAQfEFn5Pnfp0zqGO6iHmEedTsDrFFj0EABnq1WJVy1ax2fbs48W_YtFaSlJJMOwE5cVoCkqj_xYR5Ci9OK781kR/s1600/563580_230966050369959_1823329701_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDndmlwtxOJHi-yZ1kqF2UArYT8dS9YPrq35YhI7Df-MpdGJKUgLZlMAQfEFn5Pnfp0zqGO6iHmEedTsDrFFj0EABnq1WJVy1ax2fbs48W_YtFaSlJJMOwE5cVoCkqj_xYR5Ci9OK781kR/s1600/563580_230966050369959_1823329701_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
A ironia ensina a sabotar uma frase<br />Como se faz a um motor de automóvel:<br />Se retirares uma peça a máquina não anda, se mexeres<br />No verbo ou numa letra do substantivo<br />A frase trágica torna-se divertida,<br />E a divertida, trágica.<br />Este quase instinto de rasteirar as frases protegeu-me,<br />Desde novo, daquilo que ainda hoje receio: transformar<br />A linguagem num Deus que salve, e cada frase num anjo<br />Portador da verdade. Tirar seriedade ao acto da escrita<br />Aprendi-o na infância, tirar seriedade aos actos da vida<br />Comecei a aprender apenas depois de sair dela, e espero<br />Envelhecer aperfeiçoando esta desilusão.<br /><br /><br />Gonçalo M. Tavares<br />Miss Marblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06906597688932614569noreply@blogger.com0