terça-feira, 22 de abril de 2008

Foi um grande concerto. Cresci a ver esta figura esquelética e algo sombria. Arrepio-me sempre que o oiço cantar. O tempo passou por nós. Já não sou a menina que vai arrastada pela tia (e sim foi assim que me apaixonei por ele e pela sua música). Adoro aquela energia, aqueles Deus poderoso de Palco, as suas andanças e o seu "fucking disaster" ;)

Existe uma letra e uma sonoridade que me tocam em especial, e claro
que foi um grande momento. A quem não conhece, leia e oiça com muita atenção. A quem já conhece: bom momento de introspecção... Do you want a sad song?


I don't believe in an interventionist God
But I know darling that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms O Lord
Into my arms O Lord
Into my arms O Lord
Into my arms
And I don't believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that's true
But if I did I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you
To each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path
And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
And guide you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms
And I believe in Love
And I know that you do too
And I believe in some kind of path
That we can walk down, me and you
So keep your candle burning
And make her journey bright and pure
That she will keep returning
Always and evermore
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms






sexta-feira, 11 de abril de 2008


Uma vez disseram-me que esta música era lindíssima e eu achei que não, achei que já a tinha ouvido nalgum lado e que não era assim nada de extraordinário.
E realmente ouvi-a ao vivo, numa noite de chuva quando já estava de fugida. E porque as coisas boas da vida passam pela partilha, agradeço a quem nesse dia me relembrou esta sonoridade e esta letra.

"As coisas vulgares que há na vida
Não deixam saudades
Só as lembranças que doem
Ou fazem sorrir"




quarta-feira, 9 de abril de 2008

11-01-2008


De todas as estradas do mundo julgo que esta é a mais comprida e penosa. Os dias passam e as noites ficam.
O frio invade a alma. E a solidão não se despedaça. Sinto que o caminho ainda é longo e penoso e nada nesta vida dói tanto como a falta de um sentido abraço.
E quando o pior já não fizer parte do presente, um sorriso triunfará, as lágrimas passarão a ser recordação de dias compridos.
E afundo-me no futuro para deixar o racional emergir.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Pablo Neruda