tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89931239008536124302024-02-21T01:35:22.759-03:00Entre Deux Eaux Entre Duas ÁguasMarta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.comBlogger158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-7223249846137534782011-06-05T11:22:00.000-03:002011-06-05T11:22:21.442-03:00Encontro: Jorge e Lorca<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="post-header"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><table align="center" 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/AVvXsEhgxGfqoREb3r8J4nmxsdMgqZpJmqIAX39qd4r52NYAsq1XmJD8hLofQIIB3Is4hrneU2Ox6mBI6Iq2KE8LI5pRwQ8OFVesSzMH72I4jH1wFMito61upjVcORR0Om8-qWYoqht-OMkkRFs/s1600/beso_Garcia_Lorca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxGfqoREb3r8J4nmxsdMgqZpJmqIAX39qd4r52NYAsq1XmJD8hLofQIIB3Is4hrneU2Ox6mBI6Iq2KE8LI5pRwQ8OFVesSzMH72I4jH1wFMito61upjVcORR0Om8-qWYoqht-OMkkRFs/s320/beso_Garcia_Lorca.jpg" t8="true" width="214px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desenho de Lorca</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="post-body entry-content"> <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> </span></div> <br />
<table align="center" 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/AVvXsEiE_NUDlKS8VLYxoINw-GxsQAXl3Z2wcWLxK_PN2vsgoIQN6M2374hAhjDk54R-rs3HvvD3wMjnajj63nVWdEYw6-1qtt1krN9UhAhCvbZEAmtLl9TiWFDXf3m2L8hoHRgNC4dpz2EWGVM/s1600/JorgeBichuetti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_NUDlKS8VLYxoINw-GxsQAXl3Z2wcWLxK_PN2vsgoIQN6M2374hAhjDk54R-rs3HvvD3wMjnajj63nVWdEYw6-1qtt1krN9UhAhCvbZEAmtLl9TiWFDXf3m2L8hoHRgNC4dpz2EWGVM/s200/JorgeBichuetti.jpg" t8="true" width="151px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jorge Bichuetti</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div class="post-body entry-content"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><b>LORCA</b></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><b> Jorge Bichuetti</b></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">menino nasceste</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">menino na vida</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">menino morreste</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> guerreiro</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> seresteiro</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> poeta e</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> vida</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> sonhos</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">na madrugada a lua corteja teus versos</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> rua</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> verde</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> deserto</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">entre pedras as flores dos teus versos</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> barco</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> na montanha</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> encantou</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> o céu... estrela</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> da rua</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> agora</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> deus</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> lua</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> que baila, e baila, e baila...</div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></div><table align="center" 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/AVvXsEhcZ_djOQXRzWCEyi-u518tSRmmXg3soB8BPS35lULllICuxmUmhPXOkiuTBHMDDfNQnrmsaEW500JqTb72xZuQE1YaO-kWIGj9Obp-jaUERpK2w5s7gKIc9JaX-0nT0rcmZppAaw7Cyr0/s1600/02_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZ_djOQXRzWCEyi-u518tSRmmXg3soB8BPS35lULllICuxmUmhPXOkiuTBHMDDfNQnrmsaEW500JqTb72xZuQE1YaO-kWIGj9Obp-jaUERpK2w5s7gKIc9JaX-0nT0rcmZppAaw7Cyr0/s1600/02_s.jpg" t8="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">García Lorca jovem lendo com menina em Fuente Vaqueros</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" 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/AVvXsEhm_IT9EMGovp_21uwwdMSl0zk_Coxpc2mA0Q7XdouG_8rzmg89V7_k8OxHleYfWEukhTCBNYU1gDCs7jp7FPXmg2ebz7RT0-fe89kfb21ESCfeMS_8lRpJbiCnf7Dhyphenhyphen5hk-QGB_fLaLv0/s1600/Federico+Garcia+Lorca+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_IT9EMGovp_21uwwdMSl0zk_Coxpc2mA0Q7XdouG_8rzmg89V7_k8OxHleYfWEukhTCBNYU1gDCs7jp7FPXmg2ebz7RT0-fe89kfb21ESCfeMS_8lRpJbiCnf7Dhyphenhyphen5hk-QGB_fLaLv0/s320/Federico+Garcia+Lorca+8.jpg" t8="true" width="220px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Federico Garcia Lorca aos 19 anos</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="post-body entry-content"></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-17426515621871132382011-06-04T13:31:00.000-03:002011-06-04T13:31:37.951-03:00A vida é sonho<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFbwhR24WYZ24bs6YDI30YFw_rUB5lzHjUkTpFJb212W7xsuwSH_WLv_kUd8IsPQCdXi-ytA6RG9PKQEboW-64nnR2aGN19KpwDV4pYVOEgXAqnpf2Dt-t8OZucKbj2znCIBfPFf9j0A/s1600/sombra_Lorca_cine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFbwhR24WYZ24bs6YDI30YFw_rUB5lzHjUkTpFJb212W7xsuwSH_WLv_kUd8IsPQCdXi-ytA6RG9PKQEboW-64nnR2aGN19KpwDV4pYVOEgXAqnpf2Dt-t8OZucKbj2znCIBfPFf9j0A/s320/sombra_Lorca_cine.jpg" t8="true" width="253px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">O aniversário de Lorca não é hoje, é amanhã (05 de junho). VAI TER FESTA TROPICAL-ANDALUZA AQUI. </span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Isso nos dá mais tempo para trazer mais Lorca. É muita coisa para contar, mostrar, recitar, cantar, dançar, inventar. A prova dos nove de que Lorca não está morto. Está bem vivinho pois a vida é sonho.</span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><strong><a href="http://www.ciudadseva.com/textos/teatro/calderon/vidasue.htm"><span style="font-size: large;"><em>La vida es sueno</em></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> ( clique e leia na íntegra em espanhol)<em> </em></span><span style="font-size: large;"> é uma peça de Calderon de la Barca, século XVII, encenada mundo afora até hoje. Garcia Lorca dirigiu e atuou nessa peça com o grupo </span><a href="http://www.sescsp.org.br/sesc/hotsites/lorca/barraca.htm"><span style="font-size: large;"><em>La Barraca</em></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> (clique e saiba mais sobre esse grupo que influenciou o teatro estudantil, inclusive no Brasil). No vídeo abaixo, cenas da montagem da peça, encenada em várias cidades e zona rural da Espanha. </span></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>A VIDA É SONHO</strong></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
Calderon de La Barca</div><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></strong>É certo; então reprimamos<br />
esta fera condição,<br />
esta fúria, esta ambição,<br />
pois pode ser que sonhemos;<br />
e o faremos, pois estamos<br />
em mundo tão singular<br />
que o viver é só sonhar<br />
e a vida ao fim nos imponha<br />
que o homem que vive, sonha<br />
o que é, até despertar.<br />
Sonha o rei que é rei, e segue<br />
com esse engano mandando,<br />
resolvendo e governando.<br />
E os aplausos que recebe,<br />
Vazios, no vento escreve;<br />
e em cinzas a sua sorte<br />
a morte talha de um corte.<br />
E há quem queira reinar<br />
vendo que há de despertar<br />
no negro sonho da morte?<br />
Sonha o rico sua riqueza<br />
que trabalhos lhe oferece;<br />
sonha o pobre que padece<br />
sua miséria e pobreza;<br />
sonha o que o triunfo preza,<br />
sonha o que luta e pretende,<br />
sonha o que agrava e ofende<br />
e no mundo, em conclusão,<br />
todos sonham o que são,<br />
no entanto ninguém entende.<br />
Eu sonho que estou aqui<br />
de correntes carregado<br />
e sonhei que em outro estado<br />
mais lisonjeiro me vi.<br />
Que é a vida? Um frenesi.<br />
Que é a vida? Uma ilusão,<br />
uma sombra, uma ficção;<br />
o maior bem é tristonho,<br />
porque toda a vida é sonho<br />
e os sonhos, sonhos são.</span><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bM9-JFyPggQ?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div></strong></span></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-20964109709235862142011-06-04T08:16:00.002-03:002011-06-04T08:42:13.276-03:00Jorge, Maud, amigos do nosso blog: vamos festejar o nascimento de Lorca<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #e69138;"><strong>Jorge Bichuetti</strong></span>,</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> querido amigo, não apenas meu, de muitos e muitas, escreveu belo e esclarecedor artigo hoje no blog </span><a href="http://jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/2011/06/utopia-ativa-devir-guerreiro-devir-anjo.html"><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: large;"><strong>Utopia Ativa: Devir guerreiro, devir anjo</strong></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">. Recomendo a visita, o contato, o contágio.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Jorge querido, prepare e nos sirva o petisco de cajamanga-manga-goiaba. Mais tarde vou postar aqui o Bolo Andaluz. Vamos festejar o nascimento de Lorca. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Não é fanatismo, é amor. Amor por Lorca, amor pela Espanha, amor pela Europa, amor pela poesia, amor pela vida. Amor por nós todos, humanos demasiadamente humanos ou além-humanos. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Vou voltar para a cama. Estou muito cansada hoje. Mais tarde voltarei. Quero também escrever para a Maud "l´ecran et les livres". Enfim, estou cansada mas não desanimada. A vida é bela e a internet é muito mais que uma tela. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tZaCODJeizM4jjT1W88QipPQVWesH8j2tgxXxDkqu5JOzclz0ffVCuSUwz3bYVRR3D1qZ4Cv3NeNsltVKOjNyvLoBcez6Bo4qG5uh_VKM6XCT37WVGSTVWzQGsZ7bA6swfDlCfQUiWU/s1600/Lorca.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tZaCODJeizM4jjT1W88QipPQVWesH8j2tgxXxDkqu5JOzclz0ffVCuSUwz3bYVRR3D1qZ4Cv3NeNsltVKOjNyvLoBcez6Bo4qG5uh_VKM6XCT37WVGSTVWzQGsZ7bA6swfDlCfQUiWU/s320/Lorca.gif" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><blockquote><div align="center"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Arial;"><strong>Poema V</strong></span></div></blockquote><div align="right"><strong><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Arial;">Hilda Hilst<br />
</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>A Federico García Lorca</i> </span></span></div><span style="color: #e69138;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e69138;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Companheiro, morto desassombrado, rosácea ensolarada</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">quem senão eu, te cantará primeiro. Quem senão eu</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">pontilhada de chagas, eu que tanto te amei, eu</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">que bebi na tua boca a fúria de umas águas</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">eu, que mastiguei tuas conquistas e que depois chorei</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">porque dizias: “<i>amor de mis entrañas, viva muerte</i>”.</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Ah! Se soubesses como ficou difícil a Poesia.</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Triste garganta o nosso tempo, TRISTE TRISTE.</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">E mais um tempo, nem será lícito ao poeta ter memória</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">e cantar de repente: </span><i><span style="color: #e69138;">“os arados van e vên<br />
dende a Santiago a Belén”.</span></i><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Os cardos, companheiro, a aspereza, o luto</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">a tua morte outra vez, a nossa morte, assim o mundo:</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">deglutindo a palavra cada vez e cada vez mais fundo.</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Que dor de te saber tão morto. Alguns dirão:</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Mas se está vivo, não vês? Está vivo! Se todos o celebram</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Se tu cantas! ESTÁS MORTO. Sabes por quê?</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><br />
</span><br />
<i><span style="color: #e69138;">“El passado se pone<br />
su coraza de hierro<br />
y tapa sus oídos<br />
con algodón del viento.<br />
Nunca podrá arrancársele<br />
un secreto.”</span></i><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">E o futuro é de sangue, de aço, de vaidade. E vermelhos</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">azuis, braços e amarelos hão de gritar: morte aos poetas!</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Morte a todos aqueles de lúcidas artérias, tatuados</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">de infância, de plexo aberto, exposto aos lobos. Irmão.</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Companheiro. Que dor de te saber tão morto.</span></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-22919351530171046092011-06-03T08:11:00.005-03:002011-06-03T10:44:26.385-03:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="background-color: white;">Bonjour Marta !<br />
Je n'ai pas disparu, et je ne t'ai pas oubliée, ni le blog !!<br />
Je passe beaucoup de temps à lire, à profiter du soleil parisien, on dit que c'est le printemps le plus chaud depuis 1900 ! Il est vrai donc que je passe le moins de temps possible devant un écran dès que je ne travaille pas !!<br />
Voici une petite liste de mes lectures printanières...<br />
Je t'embrasse Marta, et à défaut de contribuer au blog, je continue de le lire !!<br />
</span><br />
Lionel Salaun,</span> <em>Le retour de Jim Lamar</em>, Liana Levi, 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Un gamin voit sa vie rurale circonscrite au Missouri bouleversée par le retour d'un véteran du Vietnam. Premier roman écrit par un Français qui a réussi à faire un véritable roman d'apprentissage américain.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Josep Pla, <em>Pain et raisin</em>, Autrement, 2010 (collection Tinta Blava)</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Le récit probablement autobiographique d'un jeune écrivain catalan qui se lie d'amitié avec un contrebandier de la côte , en pleine guerre rivale. Les descriptions de paysage sont magnifiques, et le récit épouse un rythme tout méditerranéen ... </span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Katrina Kalda, <em>Un roman estonien</em>, Gallimard, 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Un héros de roman-feuilleton retrace la vie de son timide feuilletonniste... pas banal, voici un très bon premier roman estonien écrit en français.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Extrait "Il fut mortifié, lui qui se sentait dans la vie comme un homme entré par effraction dans un théâtre et qui, pourtant installé dans un fauteuil, ne parvient pas à suivre le spectacle, parce qu'il s'attend à voir apparaître à tout moment le détenteur de la place qu'il a usurpée"</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Yannick Lahens, <em>Failles</em>, Sabine Wespieser, 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Très pudique témoignage liitéraire sur le séisme du 12 janvier 2010 en Haïti.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Un tour de force émotionnel de l'auteure du très beau "La couleur de l'aube" paru en 2008 chez le même éditeur.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Gaelle Bantegnie, <em>France 80</em>, Gallimard, 2010 (L'arbalète)</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Un peu à la manière de Pérec dans les choses, la chronique de la France pavillonnaire des années 80, où l'on suit Claire, une adolescente bien décidée à fuir la banalité de cette vie... fidèle à l'époque et condensé à souhait sous la forme d'un journal.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Yûko Tsushima, <em>L'enfant de fortune</em>, Edition des femmes, 1985 (1ere édition 1978)</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Une femme atteinte de grossesse nerveuse... magnétique</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Hubert Haddad, <em>Palestine</em>, Zulma, 2007</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Dans un style d'orfèvre, l'histoire d'un soldat israëlien qui change d'identité, tombe amoureux, devient terroriste</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Hector Abad Faciolince, <em>Traité culinaire à l'usage des femmes tristes</em>, Jean-Claude Lattès, 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">A la manière d'Ovide, un art d'aimer et de s'accepter pour vivre heureuse.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Henri Calet,<em> Le tout sur le tout</em>, Gallimard, 1958 (L'imaginaire)</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Naissance et avènement d'un flambeur</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Claudia Pineiro, <em>Elena et le roi détrôné</em>, Actes Sud, 2011</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Description précise et impitoyable du quotidien d'une femme atteinte de la maladie de Parkinson, qui cherche à étudier le mystère du suicide de sa fille, on se laisse emmener par cette énigme...</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Maylis de Kerangal, <em>Corniche Kennedy</em>, Verticales, 2008</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Belle écriture tout en finesse pour ce roman social marseillais, une jeunesse attachante...</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Yu Hua, <em>La Chine en dix mots</em>, Actes Sud, 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Partant du quotidien actuel pour en comprendre les causes, l'auteur revient sur la Révolution culturelle dans une très belle langue; de très intéressantes explications sur les glissements sémantiques qui ont eu lieu depuis 40 ans.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Silvia Avallone, <em>D'acier</em>, Liana Levi, 2011</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">L'ambiance est un peu semblable à celle de Corniche Kennedy.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">une très belle histoire de forte amitié féminine pour affronter leurs "babouins"de père et la crudité du monde des barres d'immeubles de Piombino (Toscane) où tous travaillent à l'aciérie , ou font des conneries. Belle réussite de roman social et d'histoire d'amitié. Un "livre qu'on ne lâche pas".</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Aurélie Filipetti, <em>Les derniers jours de la classe ouvrière</em>, Stock, 2003</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Le destin des immigrés italiens d'Audun-le-Tiche (Lorraine) travaillant dans les usines de de Wendel, et de leurs descendants.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Chi Li, <em>Le show de la vie</em>, Actes Sud, 2011</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Rue du Bon-Augure, les manigances familiales de Célébrité, la plus belle vendeuse de cous de canards nocturne ! une bonne chronique de rue chinoise</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Bulbul Sharma, <em>Mes sacrées tantes</em>, Picquier, 2007</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Recueil de nouvelles mettant en scène des femmes traditionnelles et de jeunes mariées</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Sarcastique</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Maylis de Kerangal, <em>Naissance d'un pont</em>, Verticales, 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">La mondialisation au prisme d'un chantier de pont dans une ville américaine. Un art magistral de la description.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Dany Laferrière, <em>Tout bouge autour de moi</em>, Grasset, 2011</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Journal de l'auteur présent en Haïti pour Etonnants Voyageurs en janvier 2010</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">"Ce pays a besoin d'énergie et non de larmes"</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"></span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Iegor Gran, <em>L'écologie en bas de chez moi</em>, P.O.L, 2011</span></div><div><span style="color: black;">Autofiction dénonçant la mode de l'écologie à tout crin, déclenchée par une brouille amicale suscitée par la propagande autour du film <em>Home</em> massivement diffusée dans le monde entier... l'écologisme comme négation de la culture.</span></div></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-4414598818032923492011-06-02T23:12:00.001-03:002011-06-02T23:13:12.371-03:00Arbolé<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3woXXbmMpUZqo34KHHiMXHJsOfUn0NnJgFXt0Lr3a4hivFBPP0M-R4qQLZ0vumnmOebN2vRUN0zw7eZ8IxLkbhA9gRVO5QeUEUkTr5pWUPw7YojZZo7hvR9HP7KlL2Ag6rKUX6wGy07o/s1600/olivos89.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3woXXbmMpUZqo34KHHiMXHJsOfUn0NnJgFXt0Lr3a4hivFBPP0M-R4qQLZ0vumnmOebN2vRUN0zw7eZ8IxLkbhA9gRVO5QeUEUkTr5pWUPw7YojZZo7hvR9HP7KlL2Ag6rKUX6wGy07o/s200/olivos89.jpg" t8="true" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>"Arbolé, arbolé </strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>seco y verdé."</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>FGL </strong></span></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-23610794642458041422011-06-02T22:35:00.001-03:002011-06-02T22:38:34.334-03:00Maud, òu est tu?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Maud, ma chèrie, où est tu? Je ne sais pas, mais je peux imaginer: les danses, les amis, le copain, les flirts, les livres, les chamins, la liberté, l´eté à Paris, le travail et plus. Je comprend, mais ne me laisse pas toute seule. Bisousssssssssssssssssss. </span></div><div align="left" dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NRBXYBADWqg?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-38277620165492119522011-06-02T19:11:00.005-03:002011-06-02T19:21:04.576-03:00Crenças lorquianas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJy4ZIxnHugaBJ2820cVWVQQGxTMvRFr87DTCr42I3wxEYzsxqjHxffTodN4u1X1x6MK2vq-P1IR7WB1p3ulbKb4JGRkHzwPiIo7hyB0zT1qJyQH04xmlqT4t69O-Hv8S4bItraeDZc3w/s1600/lorca3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJy4ZIxnHugaBJ2820cVWVQQGxTMvRFr87DTCr42I3wxEYzsxqjHxffTodN4u1X1x6MK2vq-P1IR7WB1p3ulbKb4JGRkHzwPiIo7hyB0zT1qJyQH04xmlqT4t69O-Hv8S4bItraeDZc3w/s320/lorca3.jpg" t8="true" width="180px" /></span></a><strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">O sol, o sal</span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">Creio nas laranjas que colorem as ruas de Córdoba. Creio na Serra Nevada que não cessa de escorrer. Creio no Generalife de Granada. Creio na leitura das mãos das ciganas de Cadiz. Creio no sol que bate no saleiro que bate no meus olhos. Olhos que creem no sal. E no sal no sol, Manuel de Falla toca serenata com Lorca para as crianças de Las Alpujarras. Até que alguém diz "me passa o sal", e eu entendo, "me passa o sol". </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pxDJKPT7qQ8?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-62708449642491022692011-06-02T13:06:00.003-03:002011-06-02T19:31:25.815-03:00Pequena homenagem - Domitila do Amaral - Foi-se embora<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DsLEZOpTI55mrAzG8DLE-iHrfgzEBeLqidKK12fmmtQiu0Q6N8RdHrzItSv5PivU7vGESfSU-AlCGLh7DQy9aY77Z6J_Bka8-_Isb-qzewmHnFWe4LXINnikOymuOWbNsql1BpM3cIU/s1600/865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DsLEZOpTI55mrAzG8DLE-iHrfgzEBeLqidKK12fmmtQiu0Q6N8RdHrzItSv5PivU7vGESfSU-AlCGLh7DQy9aY77Z6J_Bka8-_Isb-qzewmHnFWe4LXINnikOymuOWbNsql1BpM3cIU/s320/865.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Foi-se embora </strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong> Marta Rezende</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>De negro, discreta, elegante,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Descia a rua das Flores.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Subia com copos de leite nas mãos. </strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Mãos de Domitila, </strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Domitila do Amaral. </strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Tranformou ruína em mansão.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Voz de Domitila,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Domitila do Amaral.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Cantou Lorca na Casa da Ópera.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Corpo de Domitila,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Domitila do Amaral. </strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Trouxe a arte nas entranhas. </strong><br />
<br />
<strong>Alma de Domitila,</strong><br />
<strong>Domitila do Amaral.</strong><br />
<strong>Desenhou mandalas e contou mitos.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Pés de Domitila,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Domitila do Amaral.</strong><br />
<strong>Foi-se embora da cidade e nunca mais voltou. </strong><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Memória de Domitila,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Domitila do Amaral.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Recebeu estranha ingratidão. </strong></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Vida de Domitila,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Domitila do Amaral.</strong><br />
<strong>Foi-se embora e nunca mais voltará. </strong><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>De negro, discreta, elegante,</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Descia a rua das Flores.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Subia com copos de leite nas mãos. </strong></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Ilustração: Sombras e outras luzes - Alexandre Martins</strong></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-31196497893879191712011-06-02T12:03:00.003-03:002011-06-02T12:13:24.677-03:00Lorquiana da mulher dos girassóis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Celina Dutra homenageia Lorca no blog </strong></span><a href="http://colheitadegirassois.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Colheita de Girassóis</strong></span></a><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>. Queria copiar-colar, não consegui. Vai o link </strong></span><a href="http://colheitadegirassois.blogspot.com/2011/06/brindemos-federico-garcia-lorca.html#comment-form"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>aqui</strong></span></a><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>. </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>E vai um dos lindos poemas que ela escolheu. Gosto muito, "caçar suspiros"... </strong></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IXmUsEpwLUaqLtid1bvDFSJzZI5obWhhO8D5VUZbW3bLq9WE9pBTGoXvIDuzzdZj3sXOiLgLAWV10pwWFXYsyS6fYm4j9SYqR1sL5jMpe8UM40uYO0QXCBfT1cB4bTvvI2iLvEsicGk/s1600/_La_Guitarra_Lorca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IXmUsEpwLUaqLtid1bvDFSJzZI5obWhhO8D5VUZbW3bLq9WE9pBTGoXvIDuzzdZj3sXOiLgLAWV10pwWFXYsyS6fYm4j9SYqR1sL5jMpe8UM40uYO0QXCBfT1cB4bTvvI2iLvEsicGk/s320/_La_Guitarra_Lorca.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>As seis cordas</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Federico Garcia Lorca</span></div><br />
<div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A guitarra</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">faz soluçar os sonhos.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">O soluço das almas</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">perdidas</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">foge por sua boca</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">redonda.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">E, assim como a tarântula,</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">tece uma grande estrela</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">para caçar suspiro</span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">s</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">que bóiam no seu negro</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">abismo de madeira.</span></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="color: #e69138;">Celina, pra você, mais guitarra de Lorca, linda música:</span> </strong></span></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BqK9015OL2c?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-21340533817257287832011-06-02T07:19:00.001-03:002011-06-02T07:32:58.829-03:00Lorquear louquear - São Jorge Bichuetti<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTslqZqRLQvbMZcQwZU1_zpp2ST6ejCAf5qiLfvqK5K4XbVcBmruqqT-FKJIjShuur0ibJ1m6rkB7WH8hnK5xGyJck41N1QstKXt3cOIAOAZBMbNdtCPufQOidymNJGqUI6vUeRB7fPl4/s1600/manolete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTslqZqRLQvbMZcQwZU1_zpp2ST6ejCAf5qiLfvqK5K4XbVcBmruqqT-FKJIjShuur0ibJ1m6rkB7WH8hnK5xGyJck41N1QstKXt3cOIAOAZBMbNdtCPufQOidymNJGqUI6vUeRB7fPl4/s320/manolete.jpg" t8="true" width="260px" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>LORCA-AMOR</strong></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><strong> <a href="http://www.jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/">Jorge Bichuetti</a></strong></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">Onde encontro</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">Lorca vive:</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">poesiae luar...</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">Onde vago</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">Lorca sonha:</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">magias do amar...</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">No caminho</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">andarilho caça:</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">um voo surreal</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">sonâmbulo cio</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">brilho estelar...</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">Entre loucos,</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">lorquear</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">louquear</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">lo-que-ar...</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">No que há,</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">só</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on">encantar-se...</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NdhV_bqO2I4?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-92009525401436688372011-06-02T06:18:00.002-03:002011-06-02T06:25:44.834-03:00Elisa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;">"E, sobre a cor cinza, acho que, fora da arte, tentamos fugir dela o quanto possível, como do simples alarme de algo ameaçador que espreitasse das atmosféras turvas. Mergulhamos a mão no que é verde, azul,vermelho e até roxo na esperança de novas sensações, mas o cinza tem qq coisa de antigo e tardio, que nos detém em nós mesmos." Elisa</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">A Elisa está nos seguindo. Seja bem vinda. Foi no </span><a href="http://www.cartamaior.com.br/templates/blogMostrar.cfm?blog_id=1&alterarHomeAtual=1"><span style="font-size: large;">Blog do Emir</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> que nos conhecemos. Ela gostou de algo que escreví lá, mas não gostou da minha elegia ao cinza aqui. Pois é Elisa, o cinza é triste "Turbou, partiu, ardeu", Manuel Bandeira. Mas é também resistência, "Cinza das horas", resistência à tuberculose. E há também uma calmaria no cinza, como nesses dias São Paulo fria e cinza. Nuvens de algodão no céu e eu voando... Fico numa certa paz no espaço de dentro. "</span><span style="font-size: large;">Avultam do clarão que cinge a serrania/ Como se houvesse aurora e o mar cantando atrás." É Bandeira, parnasiano, mas Bandeira. Há tanto cinza nas artes, o cinema de Wim Wenders, por exemplo. Tarkovsky, então, é o gênio do gris. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Elisa, estamos fazendo uma homenagem à Garcia Lorca, um poeta colorido certamente, mas na sua paleta há um bocado de variações da combinação de preto e branco. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">beijo </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Marta </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtHmA2NmQIX7arIl_dQVO2NZ4z1oKCJAIvmlb-znn1Q9uP7MQ5xPYzi_FFLxFqzCSjxNxma2qthSbLwblUkkPgB2Mn8-uUn5u_r_9oK_7cCotaCXvMavdITyxAc4L2TDUR96UXG9kjGg/s1600/cena-infancia-de-ivan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtHmA2NmQIX7arIl_dQVO2NZ4z1oKCJAIvmlb-znn1Q9uP7MQ5xPYzi_FFLxFqzCSjxNxma2qthSbLwblUkkPgB2Mn8-uUn5u_r_9oK_7cCotaCXvMavdITyxAc4L2TDUR96UXG9kjGg/s400/cena-infancia-de-ivan.jpg" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-87342837683068109852011-06-02T05:20:00.001-03:002011-06-02T07:40:45.237-03:00E por falar no cinza de todas as cores, Maria Blanchard<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NEve8sl-2jMHOMhBA2tp1SP-98YVe8qT9G50S4Zfm2C5xpp3OHgCYO6QniZyePXcwXfyAWvzBpgEzTHWjADPBy8Ox3zrXS5gJ2ZVmAWG5AtcHNe4M5fzm9ELsfZ75CGZtOC0BeUflQk/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NEve8sl-2jMHOMhBA2tp1SP-98YVe8qT9G50S4Zfm2C5xpp3OHgCYO6QniZyePXcwXfyAWvzBpgEzTHWjADPBy8Ox3zrXS5gJ2ZVmAWG5AtcHNe4M5fzm9ELsfZ75CGZtOC0BeUflQk/s320/002.jpg" t8="true" width="271px" /></a><br />
" Querida María Blanchard: dos puntos... dos puntos, un mundo, la almohada oscurísima donde descansa tu cabeza...<br />
La lucha del ángel y el demonio estaba expresada de manera matemática en tu cuerpo.<br />
Si los niños te vieran de espaldas exclamarían: "¡la bruja, ahí va la bruja!". Si un muchacho ve tu cabeza asomada sola en una de esas diminutas ventanas de Castilla exclamaría: "¡el hada, mirad el hada!". Bruja y hada, fuiste ejemplo respetable del llanto y claridad espiritual. Todos te elogian ahora, elogian tu obra los críticos y tu vida tus amigos. Yo quiero ser galante contigo en el doble sentido de hombre y de poeta, y quisiera decir en esta pequeña elegía, algo muy antiguo, algo, como la palabra serenata, aunque naturalmente sin ironía, ni esa frase que usan los falsos nuevos de "estar de vuelta". No. Con toda sinceridad. Te he llamado jorobada constantemente y no he dicho nada de tus hermosos ojos, que se llenaban de lágrimas, con el mismo ritmo que sube el mercurio por el termómetro, ni he hablado de tus manos magistrales. Pero hablo de tu cabellera y la elogio, y digo aquí que tenías una mata de pelo tan generosa y tan bella que quería cubrir tu cuerpo, como la palmera cubrió al niño que tú amabas en la huída a Egipto. Porque eras jorobada, ¿y qué? Los hombres entienden poco las cosas y yo te digo, María Blanchard, como amigo de tu sombra, que tú tenías la mata de pelo más hermosa que ha habido en España."<br />
<br />
Federico Garcia Lorca - <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8993123900853612430">Elegia a Maria Blanchard</a><br />
<br />
</div><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qBEysvb20LU?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-1737146373132323892011-06-01T11:13:00.005-03:002011-06-01T11:44:38.103-03:00PALETA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkFFbVVCsJ8JFuJRAoQkejbCp5LbQdIkXSQAbXInR-yt1gK_VA-zhvuhdyDbGs-i9W8kkWiBSSgKrrewNjmWZ0BXu8bVu-7uu-LyABJuMMHF_WgsLqm7r_4p91-3LaO9BLvwfyZ4sHSs/s1600/Bacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkFFbVVCsJ8JFuJRAoQkejbCp5LbQdIkXSQAbXInR-yt1gK_VA-zhvuhdyDbGs-i9W8kkWiBSSgKrrewNjmWZ0BXu8bVu-7uu-LyABJuMMHF_WgsLqm7r_4p91-3LaO9BLvwfyZ4sHSs/s320/Bacon.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><strong>Na minha paleta há 16 tons de cinza obtidos de 256 cores primárias. Neste inverno vou pintar e bordar com o cinza. Cinza que te quero cinza de todas as cores. </strong></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #999999;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><strong>Não faltam mestres do cinza, a começar pelo próprio Juan Gris, Francis Bacon, Picasso, Paul Klee, Monet, Goya, tantos mais. </strong></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #999999;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><strong>Por que essa bronca contra o cinza? </strong></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBPDpnvU6Q3ZFTWvac-y9Bv57anddCd-cU4VrQ7c0Sal2NqUZlt5mNyiSwFBZ5KfvClInA3mu7Cc8mL2WjccC6hj7_pwLy1-s-zOKc4oK31p6dNLe9jqw9sEz1ZkEcGnb-o3n4JNs_HI/s1600/PICASSO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBPDpnvU6Q3ZFTWvac-y9Bv57anddCd-cU4VrQ7c0Sal2NqUZlt5mNyiSwFBZ5KfvClInA3mu7Cc8mL2WjccC6hj7_pwLy1-s-zOKc4oK31p6dNLe9jqw9sEz1ZkEcGnb-o3n4JNs_HI/s1600/PICASSO.jpg" t8="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><strong>"O iniciado pressente o ponto original da vida: ele possui um pequeno número de átomos viventes sob forma de conceitos que tornam possível o ato da criação; ele conhece um pequeno <span style="color: white;">ponto cinza</span> que permite fazer o salto do caos à ordem.”</strong></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #999999;">Paul Klee</span></strong></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKZS8LE-0JmxF1sMmRSdoWZC_ioPEOZBNZPn-tAfy0OLvMwgeuwuuAxByqjMprOc3y7IisfaR0ZC15IGS0vHRB5O0APBsFzgUAnOkj-w5PWiMCMcE4y6ZWPKWB1VWUsIY6soSJhwPepU/s1600/monet+nuvem+barco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKZS8LE-0JmxF1sMmRSdoWZC_ioPEOZBNZPn-tAfy0OLvMwgeuwuuAxByqjMprOc3y7IisfaR0ZC15IGS0vHRB5O0APBsFzgUAnOkj-w5PWiMCMcE4y6ZWPKWB1VWUsIY6soSJhwPepU/s400/monet+nuvem+barco.jpg" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><strong>"Não há potência má, </strong></span><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><strong>há poderes perversos." </strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #999999;">Gilles Deleuze</span></strong></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-22551624575653104012011-05-31T20:49:00.004-03:002011-05-31T21:05:54.742-03:00Aurora de Nova York - lorquiana de Marta Rezende<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: large;"><strong>A aurora de Nova York geme. 1930. Choro por Lorca e sua tristeza Dali. 2010. </strong></span><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: large;"><strong>Tento esquecer meu amor de lá. Momentos das coisas secas. Amores desfolhados em plenas crises. Não há angústia comparável. </strong></span></div><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_0YxVpr7ZaE?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-82876177261752825282011-05-31T19:12:00.004-03:002011-05-31T20:04:04.615-03:00Lorca - poemas para niños - Canción tonta<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIjhHYZadd124lVX1cXxUidXDvqE2F2zMguJmvK3sI1zvDt9e1FJqAgAS-JzhZZqGvt8DUKznNKVFc2osqZsH9yHZ9BqFQTRZbdp28XhOSJIl3y3Iy1kxVBw_4BEgGlW7-7B7wFSzRus/s1600/earth01_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIjhHYZadd124lVX1cXxUidXDvqE2F2zMguJmvK3sI1zvDt9e1FJqAgAS-JzhZZqGvt8DUKznNKVFc2osqZsH9yHZ9BqFQTRZbdp28XhOSJIl3y3Iy1kxVBw_4BEgGlW7-7B7wFSzRus/s200/earth01_edited.jpg" t8="true" width="197px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">YERMAS </span></div><div style="text-align: right;">Marta Rezende<br />
para a atriz<br />
Domitila do Amaral<br />
(in memorian)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Embarazadas de Lorca, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> bajo la luna</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">parimos</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">poemas para niños</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">y </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">almohadas bordadas. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/RXznm1iIIn4?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-19576748204223369712011-05-31T13:47:00.001-03:002011-05-31T13:52:08.695-03:00Ian Gibson, biógrafo de Lorca<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><strong>" Mataram Lorca pelo prazer de matar... "</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2UH_MlyDoRY?rel=0" width="200"></iframe><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PCXAqfyEqZg?rel=0" width="200"></iframe><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8Xbn-UUzsQ4?rel=0" width="200"></iframe><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-rzOlNksrik?rel=0" width="200"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-44753772567399937452011-05-31T12:59:00.002-03:002011-05-31T13:07:21.709-03:00Canções populares de Lorca - La tarara<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/iDcEnKh1McU?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">LA TARARA</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">La Tarara, sí; </div><div style="text-align: center;">la tarara, no; </div><div style="text-align: center;">la Tarara, niña, </div><div style="text-align: center;">que la he visto yo. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lleva la Tarara </div><div style="text-align: center;">un vestido verde </div><div style="text-align: center;">lleno de volantes </div><div style="text-align: center;">y de cascabeles. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">La Tarara, sí; </div><div style="text-align: center;">la tarara, no; </div><div style="text-align: center;">la Tarara, niña, </div><div style="text-align: center;">que la he visto yo. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Luce mi Tarara </div><div style="text-align: center;">su cola de seda </div><div style="text-align: center;">sobre las retamas </div><div style="text-align: center;">y la hierbabuena. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ay, Tarara loca. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Mueve, la cintura </div><div style="text-align: center;">para los muchachos </div><div style="text-align: center;">de las aceitunas.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lMfOTegr1u8?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-10407952628930600432011-05-31T11:46:00.001-03:002011-05-31T11:50:14.002-03:00Cantares populares de Garcia Lorca - Los cuatro muleros<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></div><div align="center"><strong>Los cuatro muleros</strong><br />
<br />
1 <br hasbox="2" /><br />
De los cuatro muleros <br />
que van al campo, <br />
el de la mula torda, <br />
moreno y alto. <br />
<br />
2 <br />
<br />
De los cuatro muleros <br />
que van al agua, <br />
el de la mula torda <br />
me roba el alma. <br />
<br />
3 <br />
<br />
De los cuatro muleros <br />
que van al río, <br />
el de la mula torda <br />
es mi marío. <br />
<br />
4 <br />
<br />
¿A qué buscas la lumbre <br />
la calle arriba, <br />
si de tu cara sale <br hasbox="2" />la brasa viva?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lKn7GiBTe1Y?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dJsrYjBHhWg?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-26155799659758703582011-05-31T11:09:00.006-03:002011-05-31T12:21:26.532-03:00Lorquianas de Jorge Bichuetti<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TiEZ452pSnvWahE4DltxKD4CaYYZ538WhDZXXrzCaBkWRuZSP8pAU26dtAn_QVsaGDOw3S3z1jCTz7sT-w4HjRekayXKcZFc9u7TN4Tmf0ZoqW_sg8YQlHJrPZX1-4PRGpamtPyiATs/s1600/5386279563_03566a9916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TiEZ452pSnvWahE4DltxKD4CaYYZ538WhDZXXrzCaBkWRuZSP8pAU26dtAn_QVsaGDOw3S3z1jCTz7sT-w4HjRekayXKcZFc9u7TN4Tmf0ZoqW_sg8YQlHJrPZX1-4PRGpamtPyiATs/s320/5386279563_03566a9916.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">CÍRCULO VITAL</span></strong><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: right;"><strong> <a href="http://www.jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/">Jorge Bichuetti</a></strong></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Um cavalo anda-luz</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">martela o horizonte</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">e cava no chão nu</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">a cova onde brotará</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">da semente a flor-de-lis...</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Um poeta e u'a flor</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">solfejam na alvorada</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">o verso que era luar</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">e que na ode solar</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">será a cantiga do dia...</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Noite e dia - a vida</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">roda na ciranda</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">da poesia. Floresce</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">novas belas paisagens</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">no cavalgar da alegria...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5UQUyEowfW_t4YrqZ0MiA1s8hNNQLC4kNkrcYgzMkeSbBU5FmsGRUu8wZGK6MRVf0kCh-c319ZBAPk9wtlGvhQ8Z3Ude-kEkeiL0pQ7q4U7w3DOjlN6zdy42p-zanEx31OjnYyIImmM/s1600/view_from_studio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5UQUyEowfW_t4YrqZ0MiA1s8hNNQLC4kNkrcYgzMkeSbBU5FmsGRUu8wZGK6MRVf0kCh-c319ZBAPk9wtlGvhQ8Z3Ude-kEkeiL0pQ7q4U7w3DOjlN6zdy42p-zanEx31OjnYyIImmM/s320/view_from_studio.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>HAIKAIS</strong></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><strong> </strong></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><strong> LUARES LORQUIANOS</strong></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: right;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FFfeuyYOh-AeUB_YoYvQty11IZ1eLvSXOSgiQfeYu1TH-ObEUvhVM2-h-GzZk1I2YbLEAniPzuPTNuRZQjJWATk7IRKOhrzR0yrZE9TLg-D_GK2WvvMZ9979L788vydb5kIJ85Hp23M/s1600/9651771.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FFfeuyYOh-AeUB_YoYvQty11IZ1eLvSXOSgiQfeYu1TH-ObEUvhVM2-h-GzZk1I2YbLEAniPzuPTNuRZQjJWATk7IRKOhrzR0yrZE9TLg-D_GK2WvvMZ9979L788vydb5kIJ85Hp23M/s200/9651771.jpg" t8="true" width="200px" /></a><b> <a href="http://www.jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/">Jorge Bichuetti</a></b></div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lorca sussurrava</div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">nas linhas da vida nascente:</div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">ecos do porvir...</div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">***</div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">nas noites de luar,</div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">entre sombras estelares:</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">voa um devir Lorca...</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><h3 class="post-title entry-title"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/2011/05/bons-encontros-lorca-vida-um-andarilho.html">BONS ENCONTROS: LORCA, VIDA: UM ANDARILHO DO PORVIR... </a></span></h3></div></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-88351993470300145382011-05-31T10:52:00.001-03:002011-05-31T10:55:44.653-03:00Tributo de Lorca a Santiago - Tributo de Santiago a Lorca<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpUjpFvFo1MOTp4roC7XKk0PfX1KoLxRP-F0ogVSfkkyBguAA0uFyBIRbhF_toPKlPn___IVFPRrdlOMcuX0Ss60LVsrkK1Jf1MSUlNKHDD01xJGQ0CPmy90PoSRaxiO56LcWRhlyoSQ/s1600/019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpUjpFvFo1MOTp4roC7XKk0PfX1KoLxRP-F0ogVSfkkyBguAA0uFyBIRbhF_toPKlPn___IVFPRrdlOMcuX0Ss60LVsrkK1Jf1MSUlNKHDD01xJGQ0CPmy90PoSRaxiO56LcWRhlyoSQ/s320/019.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: white;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Madrigal á cibdá de Santiago</span></strong> </span><b><br />
<br />
Chove en Santiago <br />
meu doce amor. <br />
Camelia branca do ar <br />
brila entebrecida ô sol. <br />
<br />
Chove en Santiago <br />
na noite escrura. <br />
Herbas de prata e de sono <br />
cobren a valeira lúa. <br />
<br />
Olla a choiva pola rúa, <br />
laio de pedra e cristal. <br />
Olla o vento esvaído <br />
soma e cinza do teu mar. <br />
<br />
Soma e cinza do teu mar <br />
Santiago, lonxe do sol. <br />
Agoa da mañán anterga <br />
trema no meu corazón. </b></div><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DVBILpMxJ3I?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-80804861970228922702011-05-30T11:04:00.003-03:002011-05-30T11:20:48.054-03:00Bodas de Sangre<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7CxgPh_a5dvPW0hrgRWZUsmW1ELucs6iVM0CFY9ze-LpkaauzX_PxSPGE2dRjK5dd-oY9HzB7voMnlpn-ZtTrOTVp6rW6ZjzG2xZkJ9aq0gMUkx8R9IEg2yo31n9jlJr4s-HSpx893c/s1600/bodas%252520de%252520sangre.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7CxgPh_a5dvPW0hrgRWZUsmW1ELucs6iVM0CFY9ze-LpkaauzX_PxSPGE2dRjK5dd-oY9HzB7voMnlpn-ZtTrOTVp6rW6ZjzG2xZkJ9aq0gMUkx8R9IEg2yo31n9jlJr4s-HSpx893c/s1600/bodas%252520de%252520sangre.bmp" t8="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Para ler <em>Bodas de sangre</em>, na íntegra, em espanhol, clique </span><a href="http://usuaris.tinet.cat/picl/libros/glorca/gl003900.htm"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>aqui</strong></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">: </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cenas de Bodas de Sangre, filme de Carlos Saura, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">baseado na peça de Lorca, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">com Antonio Gades e Cristina Arroyos</div><br />
<div align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lWvM2VlRD6k?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lorca e Bodas de Sangre </span><br />
Bodas de sangre, fue escrita a partir de un hecho policial real: una novia se fugó con un hombre el día de su boda, y para vengar su honor, el novio asesinó al amante. Claramente puede apreciarse que la temática de la obra girará acerca del honor, la venganza y también la pasión. La “sangre” del título alude a distintos motivos: la sangre es la propia familia, la sangre es el ardor pasional imposible de refrenar, la sangre también es la muerte y la violencia. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sescsp.org.br/sesc/hotsites/lorca/crono7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="height: 239px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 332px;"><img align="right" alt="Lola Membrives e Lorca na centésima apresentação de Bodas de Sangue - Buenos Aires" border="0" height="219px" hspace="10" src="http://www.sescsp.org.br/sesc/hotsites/lorca/crono7.jpg" tppabs="http://www.uol.com.br/sesc/sbv/lorca/crono7.jpg" vspace="10" width="290px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #ff8040; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><b>1933</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>8 de março </b>– Estréia <i>Bodas de Sangre</i>, no Teatro Beatriz, de Madri, com Josefina Diaz de Artigas</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: black;">5 de</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black;"> <b>julho</b></span> – Lola Membrives estreou <i>Bodas de Sangre</i> em Buenos Aires, repetindo o sucesso alcançado em Madri, em março do mesmo ano; após uma turnê por algumas cidades argentinas, voltou ao cartaz no Teatro Avenida</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ1XBitN4IvvXeRpSSknPxhcDwxG75Crq5jYkjD0lY7isVe1Sk3p8AcTMer3TLz0LjarCCCXIpCXBoX3rLwj4A1dCooum9R53nH4gir6RE-2lHTwC61Qmwj3UsZQt0Re9DT1-azc8vII/s1600/5103064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ1XBitN4IvvXeRpSSknPxhcDwxG75Crq5jYkjD0lY7isVe1Sk3p8AcTMer3TLz0LjarCCCXIpCXBoX3rLwj4A1dCooum9R53nH4gir6RE-2lHTwC61Qmwj3UsZQt0Re9DT1-azc8vII/s320/5103064.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>29 de setembro</b> – Parte no navio Conte Grande para a Argentina, onde <i>Bodas de Sangre</i> estava fazendo muito sucesso</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>9 de outubro</b> – O navio aporta no Rio de Janeiro; aguarda-o o escritor e embaixador mexicano no Brasil, Alfonso Reyes, que conhecera em Madri e que lhe oferta os primeiros exemplares de <i>Oda a Walt Whitman</i>, que conseguira imprimir no México</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>11 de outubro</b> – Aportou em Santos por algumas horas</span></div><span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>13 de outubro</b> – Chega a Buenos Aires – conhece Pablo Neruda e tornam-se grandes amigos; tinham em comum a admiração pelo poeta nicaragüense Rubén Darío</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis8OW7wlWsHhYhL00yDLc1H-ojd4i95bttO_QjW_DgogtwXgMxB5P-lnuo-QP5CZhmgyylfzCIuQwlflWowE3HoRhw_WNrmgcIlnkEgW5jJYCyIpW1UT4jwOAZ8QiwW5asVnpl86phN8o/s1600/EN_193%257E1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis8OW7wlWsHhYhL00yDLc1H-ojd4i95bttO_QjW_DgogtwXgMxB5P-lnuo-QP5CZhmgyylfzCIuQwlflWowE3HoRhw_WNrmgcIlnkEgW5jJYCyIpW1UT4jwOAZ8QiwW5asVnpl86phN8o/s1600/EN_193%257E1.JPG" t8="true" /></a></div><span style="color: #ff8040; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><b>1934</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>30 de janeiro</b> – Chega a Montevidéu, onde fica até 16 de fevereiro, quando retorna a Buenos Aires</span><br />
<span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>27 de março</b> – Parte para a Espanha no navio Conte Biancamano</span><br />
<span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>30 de março</b> – Aporta novamente no Rio de Janeiro, encontra-se de novo com Alfonso Reyes, que desta vez lhe presenteia com uma caixa incrustada com borboletas</span><br />
<span style="color: #ff8040;">•</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> <b>11 de abril</b> – Chega a Barcelona e vai direto para Madri.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexYoSUsHUASZIcPdv7W33GcSlFI6wvJckW2PnJRYfojC9y3s5d4xQdogcCnjqvrgj2bpyHfpZkSK-C1zHuyBdzCYH4-0SKRZ1SiXq7W0zzgYg-Wja_wfzPRS5UnAS74W9A7UZWY5BY-Q/s1600/Espanha_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexYoSUsHUASZIcPdv7W33GcSlFI6wvJckW2PnJRYfojC9y3s5d4xQdogcCnjqvrgj2bpyHfpZkSK-C1zHuyBdzCYH4-0SKRZ1SiXq7W0zzgYg-Wja_wfzPRS5UnAS74W9A7UZWY5BY-Q/s400/Espanha_05.jpg" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><strong>Bodas de Sangre</strong></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><strong>gravura Gregório Gruber</strong></span></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-86074261624561138862011-05-30T08:50:00.000-03:002011-05-30T08:50:13.752-03:00Lorca - Romance Sonâmbulo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXEkcSBr3cANbg5eFEZEXAelmQPutN33sDHsG0E37SzDgnR9hSikwJdg5z2jc-18tfTGMaiRjh0rSSl0mJg0wVGNF_ve4s-HK3Aan0zKIupKV-2IvzKkqH_TMBZfREqYA-o4LC6BGlio/s1600/cigana-espanhola-verger1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXEkcSBr3cANbg5eFEZEXAelmQPutN33sDHsG0E37SzDgnR9hSikwJdg5z2jc-18tfTGMaiRjh0rSSl0mJg0wVGNF_ve4s-HK3Aan0zKIupKV-2IvzKkqH_TMBZfREqYA-o4LC6BGlio/s320/cigana-espanhola-verger1.jpg" t8="true" width="297px" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">"Mas quem virá? E por onde?...<br />
Ela fica na varanda,<br />
verde carne, tranças verdes,<br />
ela sonha na água amarga."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Federico Garcia Lorca</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Romance Sonâmbulo</span></div><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GxpOksdj1MM?rel=0" width="250"></iframe><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="172" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/d1IgAWUhiIo?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="217" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SdfrwlR6cN4?rel=0" width="250"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-30203895462151976692011-05-30T08:22:00.002-03:002011-05-30T08:30:34.407-03:00Jorge Bichuetti: para Lorca e lorquianos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlKstIFndYv_RFDLb9-RWuxl8PYrDsSFi8ZHBVfr-pzYe93NNJE5zcScVpbyrUynCHYx2j0iiPvIUm5sywElS3wdKwsL3Xhyr3tA8QnVz5GgyrC_eRPVj4eFcZIrw0JKhgsxD-8EF6TQ/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlKstIFndYv_RFDLb9-RWuxl8PYrDsSFi8ZHBVfr-pzYe93NNJE5zcScVpbyrUynCHYx2j0iiPvIUm5sywElS3wdKwsL3Xhyr3tA8QnVz5GgyrC_eRPVj4eFcZIrw0JKhgsxD-8EF6TQ/s400/untitled.bmp" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><strong>POEMA PELA LIBERDADE<br />
<a href="http://www.jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/"> </a></strong></div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.jorgebichuetti.blogspot.com/"><strong>Jorge Bichuetti</strong> </a><br />
<br />
<strong> ( para Lorca e lorquianos.)</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Verde que te quero rosa que te quero azul</div><div style="text-align: left;"> que te quero negro</div><div style="text-align: left;"> branco</div><div style="text-align: left;"> amarelo</div><div style="text-align: left;"> vermelho</div><div style="text-align: left;"> belo e Lorca</div><div style="text-align: left;"> beco e Lorca</div><div style="text-align: left;"> um luar surreal</div><div style="text-align: left;"> uma carícia sensual</div><div style="text-align: left;"> uma poesia plural</div><div style="text-align: left;">para que a vida</div><div style="text-align: left;">não mais seja</div><div style="text-align: left;"> metralhada</div><div style="text-align: left;"> na paulicéia</div><div style="text-align: left;"> na galiza no quintal</div><div style="text-align: left;"> na espanha solar</div><div style="text-align: left;">na porta</div><div style="text-align: left;">na praça</div><div style="text-align: left;"> na rua</div><div style="text-align: left;"> na lua</div><div style="text-align: left;">na vida nua dos sonhadores...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Verde que te quero Lorca</div><div style="text-align: left;">na Porta do Sol</div><div style="text-align: left;"> um deus</div><div style="text-align: left;">onde anjos cantarolam</div><div style="text-align: left;">a liberdade civil</div><div style="text-align: left;">corpos andarilhos</div><div style="text-align: left;">céu e estrelas </div><div style="text-align: left;"> flores corporais</div><div style="text-align: left;"> gritam</div><div style="text-align: left;"> gritam:</div><div style="text-align: left;">agora já é</div><div style="text-align: left;">um lorquiano</div><div style="text-align: left;"> devir</div><div style="text-align: left;"> porvir</div><div style="text-align: left;"> bem-te-vi....</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFZ2bcLG7HNWWwteCGNVEbmEpcUtemioLyqY04F5iBcqPN-QRobyp1NLJpKdJW7Y4JcVI4e_T92ZDRA4qpq3loTTqqoRXoezNP3oVvUXFfZ13LXgFO9rrDohe-r2Y8m4go6X4rk3HmMU/s1600/5727840278_de180a9099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFZ2bcLG7HNWWwteCGNVEbmEpcUtemioLyqY04F5iBcqPN-QRobyp1NLJpKdJW7Y4JcVI4e_T92ZDRA4qpq3loTTqqoRXoezNP3oVvUXFfZ13LXgFO9rrDohe-r2Y8m4go6X4rk3HmMU/s400/5727840278_de180a9099.jpg" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
</div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-34245048273579246312011-05-29T20:32:00.002-03:002011-05-29T20:33:17.794-03:00LORCA E DALÍ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h3 class="post-title entry-title"><span style="font-size: large;">Ode à Salvador Dalí </span></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <span style="font-size: small;">Frederico Garcia Lorca </span></h3><div class="post-title entry-title"><br />
</div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Oh! Salvador Dalí, de voz azeitonada!<br />
Digo o que me dizem a tua pessoa e teus quadros.<br />
Não te louvo o imperfeito pincel adolescente,<br />
mas canto a firme direção das tuas flechas.<br />
<br />
Canto teu belo esforço pelas luzes catalãs,<br />
teu amor ao que tem explicação possível.<br />
Canto teu coração astronômico e terno,<br />
de baralha francesa e sem nenhuma ferida.<br />
<br />
Canto a ânsia de estátua que seus personagens sem trégua,<br />
o medo à emoção que te aguarda na rua.<br />
Canto a sereiazinha do mar que te canta<br />
montada na bicicleta de corais e conchas.<br />
<br />
Mas antes de tudo canto um comum pensamento<br />
que nos une nas horas escuras e douradas.<br />
Não a Arte a luz que nos cega os olhos.<br />
É primeiro o amor, a amizade e a esgrima.<br />
<br />
É primeiro o quadro que paciente desenhas<br />
o seio de Tereza, a de cútis insone,<br />
o apertado cacho de Matilde, a ingrata,<br />
nossa amizade pintada como um jogo de oca.<br />
<br />
Sinais datilográficos de sangue sobre o ouro<br />
risquem o coração da Catalunha eterna.<br />
Estrelas como punhos sem falcão te relumbram,<br />
enquanto tua pintura e tua vida florescem.<br />
<br />
Não olhes a clepsidra com asas membranosas,<br />
nem a dura gadanha das alegorias.<br />
Veste e desnuda sempre o teu pincel no ar,<br />
ante o mar povoado com barcos e marinheiros.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="200" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xx2scOQGLgM?rel=0" width="300"></iframe></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993123900853612430.post-83554994200315687902011-05-29T20:02:00.007-03:002011-05-29T20:17:50.701-03:00Lorca I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62whsHEI6-KxJT6cVwX0teNx1snW0vLK1YbkpfZrnEGC8de8qnMA9peeIvPC6Amgb9hh1CRC_gguiks7bYmdJB3W2eGkBVUWOHE8i8nqf97KBW2y3tHpaWwNAmj4lji6whKoOMudEcq0/s1600/Federico_Garcia_Lorca_jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62whsHEI6-KxJT6cVwX0teNx1snW0vLK1YbkpfZrnEGC8de8qnMA9peeIvPC6Amgb9hh1CRC_gguiks7bYmdJB3W2eGkBVUWOHE8i8nqf97KBW2y3tHpaWwNAmj4lji6whKoOMudEcq0/s200/Federico_Garcia_Lorca_jpg.jpg" t8="true" width="145px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><em><span style="font-size: large;">"La luna en el mar riela,<br />
en la lona gime el viento<br />
y alza en blando movimiento<br />
olas de plata y azul"</span></em></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Federico Garcia Lorca</em></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #000070;"><strong>Luz y panorama de los insectos</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #000070;"><a href="http://usuaris.tinet.cat/picl/libros/glorca/gl002600.htm#36"><span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: large;"><strong>Poema de amor</strong></span></a></span></div><br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5pIuFwVfBm-b9leffKOK0ry1O1iP2-CNDjDxxRLH6vzFkBo6ffTX_njmHY_FfE2uHR95tnH60P9G2e4u5tSj1SDbznwtQHVBGG2PTmDk0vtIo4jlRJrX_ffJsYSuRhWswhX5mk2PIqI/s1600/Torreira_Puerto_Barcas_F.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5pIuFwVfBm-b9leffKOK0ry1O1iP2-CNDjDxxRLH6vzFkBo6ffTX_njmHY_FfE2uHR95tnH60P9G2e4u5tSj1SDbznwtQHVBGG2PTmDk0vtIo4jlRJrX_ffJsYSuRhWswhX5mk2PIqI/s200/Torreira_Puerto_Barcas_F.png" t8="true" width="200px" /></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><strong>"Cuida tus pies, amor mío, ¡tus manos!,<br />
ya que yo tengo que entregar mi rostro, <br />
mi rostro, ¡mi rostro!, ¡ay, mi comido rostro!"</strong></span></div></div>Marta Rezendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06154944898608683031noreply@blogger.com1