28.12.17

Milton Nascimento A Chamada - ao vivo 1983



Estupenda gravação. Estupenda fase. Vídeo raro. 




27.12.17

26.12.17

1 poema de C.K. Williams





Butchers



1

Thank goodness we were able to wipe the Neanderthals out, beastly things,
from our mountains, our tundra—that way we had all the meat we might need.

Thus the butcher can display under our very eyes his hands on the block,
and never refer to the rooms hidden behind where dissections are effected,

where flesh is reduced to its shivering atoms and remade for our delectation
as cubes, cylinders, barely material puddles of admixtured horror and blood.

Rembrandt knew of all this—isn’t his flayed beef carcass really a caveman?
It’s Christ also, of course, but much more a troglodyte such as we no longer are.

Vanished those species—begone!—those tribes, those peoples, those nations—
Myrmidon, Ottoman, Olmec, Huron, and Kush: gone, gone, and goodbye.

2

But back to the chamber of torture, to Rembrandt, who was telling us surely
that hoisted with such cables and hung from such hooks we too would reveal

within us intricate layerings of color and pain: alive the brush is with pain,
aglow with the cruelties of crimson, the cooled, oblivious ivory of our innards.

Fling out the hooves of your hands! Open your breast, pluck out like an Aztec
your heart howling its Cro-Magnon cries that compel to battles of riddance!

Our own planet at last, where purged of wilderness, homesickness, prowling,
we’re no longer compelled to devour our enemies’ brains, thanks to our butcher,

who inhabits this palace, this senate, this sentried, barbed-wire enclosure
where dare enter none but subservient breeze; bent, broken blossom; dry rain.



7.12.17

1 poema de Fatimah Asghar






Pluto Shits on the Universe

On February 7, 1979, Pluto crossed over Neptune’s orbit and became the eighth planet from the sun for twenty years. A study in 1988 determined that Pluto’s path of orbit could never be accurately predicted. Labeled as “chaotic”, Pluto was later discredited from planet status in 2006.



Today, I broke your solar system. Oops.
My bad. Your graph said I was supposed
to make a nice little loop around the sun.

Naw.

I chaos like a motherfucker. Ain’t no one can
chart me. All the other planets, they think
I’m annoying. They think I’m an escaped
moon, running free.

Fuck your moon. Fuck your solar system.
Fuck your time. Your year? Your year ain’t
shit but a day to me. I could spend your
whole year turning the winds in my bed. Thinking
about rings and how Jupiter should just pussy
on up and marry me by now. Your day?

That’s an asswipe. A sniffle. Your whole day
is barely the start of my sunset.

My name means hell, bitch. I am hell, bitch. All the cold
you have yet to feel. Chaos like a motherfucker.
And you tried to order me. Called me ninth.
Somewhere in the mess of graphs and math and compass
you tried to make me follow rules. Rules? Fuck your
rules. Neptune, that bitch slow. And I deserve all the sun
I can get, and all the blue-gold sky I want around me.

It is February 7th, 1979 and my skin is more
copper than any sky will ever be. More metal.
Neptune is bitch-sobbing in my rearview,
and I got my running shoes on and all this sky that’s all mine.

Fuck your order. Fuck your time. I realigned the cosmos.
I chaosed all the hell you have yet to feel. Now all your kids
in the classrooms, they confused. All their clocks:
wrong. They don’t even know what the fuck to do.
They gotta memorize new songs and shit. And the other
planets, I fucked their orbits. I shook the sky. Chaos like
a motherfucker.

It is February 7th, 1979. The sky is blue-gold:
the freedom of possibility.

Today, I broke your solar system. Oops. My bad.

1.12.17

29.11.17

2 poemas de Hieu Minh Nguyen




Changeling

Standing in front of a mirror, my mother tells me she is ugly
says the medication is making her fat. I laugh & walk her
back to the bed. My mother tells me she is ugly in the same voice
she used to say no woman could love you & I watch her
pull at her body & it is mine. My heavy breast.
My disappointing shape. She asks for a bowl of plain broth
& it becomes the cup of vinegar she would pour down my throat.
Everyday after school, I would kneel before her.
I would remove my clothes & ask her to mark the progress.
It’s important that I mention, I truly wanted to be beautiful
for her. In my dreams I am thin & if not thin, something better.
I tell my mother she is still beautiful & she laughs. The room fills
with flies. They gather in the shape of a small boy. They lead her
back to the mirror, but my reflection is still there.



Cockfight

I met my brother once
in a small village in Vietnam
who, upon meeting me
grabbed my small arm
& dragged me into the woods
behind his house
where a group of men
all wearing our father's face
stood in a circle, cheering
while the two roosters
whose beaks had barbed hooks
taped to them, pecked
& clawed each other open
until the mess of bloodied feathers
were replaced by two clean birds
one, my brother's. The other
a man's, who, I am told is deaf
but vicious. He told me
our father calls him long distance
from America, every week.
I can't help but wonder how
they tell the roosters apart
since the blood has turned their feathers
the same shade of burgundy.
I told him how our father, who lives
only three mile away from me
avoids making eye-contact at supermarkets.
I can tell this made him happy.
Though, he didn't cheer
when the crowd cheered, when one rooster
fell to the dirt with a gash in its neck
I knew he was the winner
the way he lowered his head to hide
his smile, how he looked at me
then snatched his earnings
from the vicious man's hands.
I learned what it was like to be a brother
by watching the roosters
& how, at first, the air was calm
until they were introduced
& then they knew:
there could only be one.






14.11.17

Rui Pires Cabral

http://mykristeva.tumblr.com/post/167483539240/poesia-colagem-dispersos-saudações-para-o

The Journey to Kafiristan (2001)




In 1939, the author Annemarie Schwarzenbach and the ethnologist Ella Maillart travel together by car to Kabul, but each is in pursuit of her own project. Their mutual journey through the outside world, which runs from Geneva via the Balkans and Turkey to Persia, is compounded by the inner world of emotions with a tender love story. True story.


8.11.17

Rui Nunes


2.



por vezes a tua cara torna-se nítida e insuportável. 
Outras vezes, esbate-se e com o esbatimento vem-me a resignação 
de te ter perdido. Às vezes, esqueço-te. Ou ficas escondido numa casa, 
num quadro, numa árvore, de onde ressurgirás. Um dia olharei o quadro, 
a casa, a árvore, e lembrar-me-ei de ti. Mas cada vez haverá menos 
sítios onde te esconderes.

a tua face vem e atira-me sempre para o mesmo tempo, 
é uma face que o ódio esquece, anterior à deserção, 
a face de quem encontrou a primeira palavra, 
é essa que me olha nos sítios mais vulgares. 
Não te procuro: de repente, estás ali.

Como uma arma. 
O límpido assassino.




Rui Nunes
in Ouve-se sempre a distância numa voz
Relógio D'Água





5.11.17

Lygia Lygia



Belo documentário sobre Lygia Fagundes Telles, dirigido por seu filho Goffredo Telles Neto
e co-dirigido por Paloma Rocha, premiado no Festival de Cinema de Gramado.



Sergei Rachmaninoff: Cello Sonata in G minor, Op. 19: Andante (3. movement)


Cello: Jiří Bárta Piano: Marián Lapšanský



4.11.17

Anne Carson




Stanzas, Sexes, Seductions



3.11.17

Scherezade Siobhan



MIRA, AFTER FATHER'S RADIATION THERAPY.

​In a hospital, God is a scar tissue. A dog breathes as if a slur slipping off
my drunk uncle’s tongue. I place the poem between a prayer and a profanity. 
Here is the plucked rooster of my mouth, redder than an exit wound.
Here are the crows blacker than my grandmother’s misspelled tattoos. 
I swallow the root of turmeric. Stuff my cheeks with cupful of cardamoms.
Here’s to homemade antidotes, a halt in the hell of motion sickness. Purge
the vomit with goatmilk & camphor oil. Chew the marigold off the garland
coiled around his photograph like a sedated viper. Mourning fills the gaps
in my memory in an inexact dose of steroids. Any absence creates
the illusion of closeness. A callus grows on my big toe and I séance
the cratered fiction of  skin with the pinprick of a hairclip. When
the cancer came, his cells dominoed as if a cheap loss in a game of tetris.
His lung x-rayed in a charcoal map of the Andaman. Summer tiptoed
a month later than usual. The henna green swirl of my skirt had stilled itself
by then. My mother’s anklets divorced their bells, were unhooked, shoved deep
into the throat of a mango wood cupboard. Every evening we sat on the porch-swing in his hand-built pagoda. The obi of darkness rearranging the geometry of our grief. The fingertips of java plum trees elongated with the extempore of parrots. My mother’s eyes as bloodshot as their beaks. These birds never leave home, she said. They’d turn feral and empty out any tree.They’d rust a cage with the clockwork of mimicry. But they stayedNo diaspora clings to their wingspan. No pilgrimage across the arbor vitae of hemispheres. So, we sat back and let the green venery wrap the dusk in an epilogue of plumes. Our hands cupping the storm  whispering inside each teacup. Our bodies turning silver with rain. 

27.10.17

10.10.17

9.10.17

Brasil: O Grande Salto Para Trás [legendado]



O documentário dos jornalistas franceses Fredérique Zingaro e Mathilde Bonnassieux chamado "Brésil: Le Grand Bond en Arrive" ("Brasil: O Grande Passo para Trás") retrata as consequências do golpe e a tomada de poder por uma classe política corrupta e dedicada a seus próprios interesses.
O filme foi exibido no sábado, 30/09, na programação do Festival Biarritz América Latina 2017.



30.9.17

Frida Kahlo La Bruja - versão do Conjunto Jardín


Ay que bonito es volar A las 11 de la noche A las 11 de la noche Ay que bonito es volar Ay mama Subirse y dejarse caer en los tirantes de 1 coche en los tirantes de 1 coche y hasta quisiera llorar ay mama

Me agarra la bruja Me lleva a su casa Me vuelve maceta Y una calabaza Me agarra la bruja Me lleva al cuartel Me vuelve maceta Y me da de comer Y diga me diga Me diga me usted Cuantas creaturitas Se ha chupado usted Señora ninguna Ninguna no sé Ando en pretenciones De chuparle a usted A una bruja me encontré Por el aire iba volando Por el aire iba volando A una bruja me encontré Ay mama

Entonces le pregunté A quien andaba buscando Me dice quién es usted Soy cantador de huapango Ay mama Levantate Chucha Y levantate Joana Que viene la bruja Detrás de tu hermana Levantate Pepa Y levantate Adela Que viene la bruja Detrás de tu abuela Y diga me diga Me diga me usted Cuantas creaturitas Se ha chupado usted Señora ninguna Ninguna no sé Ando en pretenciones De chuparle a usted

Ahora si maldita bruja Ya te chupaste a mi hijo Ya te chupaste a mi hijo Ahora si maldita bruja Ay mama Ahora le vas a chupar A tu marido el ombligo A tu marido el ombligo Y hasta quisiera llorar Ay mama Cuando a tu marido Le encuentro dormiendo Le arrancó las piernas Y me voy corriendo Cuando a tu marido Le encuentro dormido Le arrancó las piernas Y me voy contigo

Y diga me diga Me diga me usted Cuantas creaturitas Se ha chupado usted Señora ninguna Ninguna no sé Ando en pretenciones De chuparle a usted


28.9.17

23.9.17

"Chuva" curta-metragem de Joris Ivens 1929



Regen (Chuva) é um poema-filme, um filme experimental da precipitação e queda de uma chuva em Amsterdã. Filme impressionista composto como uma sinfonia. Ivens levou dois anos para filmar diferentes chuvas em diferentes locações da cidade. A música é de Hanns Eisler, composta em 1941.




Rome The Orchards Berlin 2006

19.9.17

Glauber Rocha




A cruz na praça, segunda experiência cinematográfica de Glauber Rocha depois do curta-metragem O pátio (1959). Baseou-se no seu conto "A retreta na praça" publicado na antologia Panorama do conto baiano. No filme Glauber retira a dupla original homem e mulher do conto e substitui por dois homens. Sensibilizado pela grande violência contra os homossexuais na Bahia dos anos 1950, ele muda de foco para abordar um assunto que na época era politicamente pouco discutido. O filme mostra a perambulação dos dois homens pelo Cruzeiro de São Francisco, até que um deles, como na foto, agarra o membro do outro, o que leva a uma sequência de imagens fortes e reprimidas de anjos, santos e monstros barrocos da Igreja de Nosso Senhor e por fim à cena de castração em torno da cruz, o símbolo do catolicismo. A cruz na praça é considerado inacabado, e raro, quem não viu ficará no ar.  





17.9.17

Carta #5 de José Luis Guerin para Jonas Mekas


Descrição:


Correspondencia(s) es un cofre de 5 DVDs del sello © Intermedio que reúne las misivas filmadas de diez directores esenciales del cine contemporáneo. La correspondencia fílmica es un nuevo y original formato de comunicación entre directores que, a pesar de encontrarse separados geográficamente, están unidos por la voluntad de compartir ideas y reflexiones sobre todo aquello que motiva su trabajo. Esta idea surgió originalmente (pero no están incluidas en esta colección) con las diez cartas cinematográficas que intercambiaron el director de cine español Victor Erice y el cineasta iraní Abbas Kiarostami, se trataban de cartas redactadas en formato video-digital, y escritas en sí literalmente, tanto en caracteres españoles como persas y con pluma estilográfica. Correspondencia(s) trae un un libro detallado para profundizar conceptualmente el total de 29 cartas filmadas, de Barcelona a Nueva York, de Girona a Nara, de Banyoles a Buenos Aires, de Madrid a Shaanxi, de Ciudad de México a Puxan y viceversa, entre los cineastas: José Luis Guerin (Barcelona) – Jonas Mekas (Nueva York) Albert Serra (Banyoles) – Lisandro Alonso (Buenos Aires) Isaki Lacuesta (Girona) – Naomi Kawase (Nara, Japón) Jaime Rosales (Madrid) – Wang Bing (Shaanxi, China) Fernando Eimbcke (Ciudad de México) – So Yong Kim (Pusan/Nueva York).


Rimbaud

16.9.17

Women of Ireland - Ceoltóirí




There's a woman in Erin who'd give me shelter and my fill of ale; There's a woman in Ireland who'd prefer my strains to strings being played; There's a woman in Erin and nothing would please her more Than to see me burning or in a grave lying cold. There's a woman in Erin who'd be mad with envy if I was kissed By another on fair-day, they have strange ways, but I love them all; There are women I'll always adore, battalions of women and more And there's this sensuous beauty and she shackled to an ugly boar. There's a woman who promised if I'd wander with her I'd find some gold A woman in night dress with a loveliness worth more than the woman Who vexed Ballymoyer and the plain of Tyrone; And the only cure for my pain I'm sure is the ale-house down the road.





John Ashbery

13.9.17

1 poema de Patricia González López





A patroa te ama


Mandem embora todos os paraguaios
que vêm aqui roubar nossos empregos
lotam os hospitais
e não pagam impostos!
Que voltem pro seu país
ou que fiquem no interior onde tem menos gente
e precisam de mulas.
Mandem embora todos,
menos minha faxineira,
vocês não imaginam como é boa!
Em todos esses anos
nunca me roubou,
e olha que muitas vezes
deixei dinheiro no criado-mudo
e meus anéis no banheiro
mas nunca dei falta de nada
e isso que mora numa favela....
É uma em um milhão!
Honesta,
Asseada...
Se veste mal, coitada,
mas como eu sou muito generosa
desapegada
sempre lhe dou alguma peça de roupa.
É muito boa
tão boa que não me pede nada
nem pra ser registrada,
É tão caro pagar os encargos sociais!
Tem a sorte de comer como um passarinho,
traz pão e mate de sua casa,
quando tem alguma festa é ela que serve,
e como eu gosto de ajudá-la
lhe dou as sobras do bolo para que leve a seus filhos
Você acredita que ela os deixa todo o dia sozinhos?
Uma vez bancou a esperta
e não trabalhou no Ano Novo,
tinha que ficar doente justo aí!
Tudo bem, uma vez em 27 anos
que falte num Ano Novo,
Não foi nada, até porque no Natal ela veio
Ah, mas na Semana Santa não falha!
Tão boazinha,
é uma dádiva que não responda
e que sempre fique até tarde.
Mas no seu aniversário
eu a deixo ir lá pelas nove,
assim chega em sua casa
antes da meia-noite
e pode comemorar com sua família.


(tradução de Paulo Ferraz)

10.9.17

Something

http://mykristeva.tumblr.com/post/165164665485

Jornal Movimento




Jornal Movimento, edição de 1976, manchete "Geisel em um Mar de Lama". O jornal, ligado ao francês Le Monde, apontava mais de 2.000 casos de corrupção no período entre 1964 e 1976. Uma junta militar ficou responsável pelo recolhimento das publicações e a sede do jornal foi fechada por seis meses, com a acusação de suspeita de terrorismo. Esse é um dos poucos exemplares que sobraram dessa histórica edição.