oCorpodasLetras

Federico García Lorca 
Cielo Vivo|Poeta en Nueva York

leitura|Keila Vall

Cielo vivo

Yo no podré quejarme si no encontré lo que buscaba. Cerca de las piedras sin jugo y los insectos vacíos no veré el duelo del sol con las criaturas en carne viva.

Pero me iré al primer paisaje de choques, líquidos y rumores que trasmina a niño recién nacido y donde toda superficie es evitada, para entender que lo que busco tendrá su blanco de alegría cuando yo vuele mezclado con el amor y las arenas.

Allí no llega la escarcha de los ojos apagados ni el mugido del árbol asesinado por la oruga. Allí todas las formas guardan entrelazadas una sola expresión frenética de avance.

No puedes avanzar por los enjambres de corolas porque el aire disuelve tus dientes de azúcar, ni puedes acariciar la fugaz hoja del helecho sin sentir el asombro definitivo del marfil.

Allí bajo las raíces y en la médula del aire se comprende la verdad de las cosas equivocadas, el nadador de níquel que acecha la onda más fina y el rebaño de vacas nocturnas con rojas patitas de mujer.

Yo no podré quejarme si no encontré lo que buscaba; pero me iré al primer paisaje de humedades y latidos para entender que lo que busco tendrá su blanco de alegría cuando yo vuele mezclado con el amor y las arenas.

Vuelo fresco de siempre sobre lechos vacíos, sobre grupos de brisas y barcos encallados. Tropiezo vacilante por la dura eternidad fija y amor al fin sin alba. Amor. ¡Amor visible!

Eden Mills, Vermont, 24 de agosto de 1929.

oCorpodasLetras








texto: Palomia Bravo
poema visual e vídeo: R. Bullón Acebes

 

visto aqui 

 

 

oCorpodasLetras




 

vídeo e som: Hong Huo
poema: Su Shi (1037-1101|dinastia Song)
com Jiaxin Zeng

visto aqui 

 

oCorpodasLetras


 
Dictionary Illustrations

vídeo:Marie Craven

poema:Sarah Sloat
música:Podington Bear
voz: DM 

                                                                                                                                               visto aqui

Dictionary Illustrations

Searching for a word I set off
browsing the dictionary illustrations,
pages flush with fish

and obscure instruments and myriad
breeds of duck, which, colorless,
end up looking much the same.

These artists don’t dawdle
amongst the obvious; they illuminate
the oriel window; they trace

the lobate foot of the grebe.
The reindeer appears tame and boxy
on paper, gigantic antlers bearing

the weight of reincarnation.
On page 1291, drawings disambiguate
the difference between paly

and paly-bendy, two patterns of heraldry:
think roadblock versus barbershop, TV
off-air image versus LSD.

They don’t do verbs in dictionary pictures,
so for zip here’s an inch-wide depiction
of two men intent on fencing.

In one two-page arrangement,
the seahorse floats peacefully beyond
the reach of the scythe. Pen-and-ink

sketches break the columns up
like little windows opening
from one side of the brain

to the other. Tiptoe through, and pay
attention to the shapes of leaves,
which can be hard to describe.

- Sarah Sloat

oCorpodasLetras



 

Azulejo ou l' illusion visuelle

filme:Kolja Saksida (direcção e animação)
poema:excerto de Fernando Pessoa/Álvaro de Campos(Tabacaria)
música:Mário Trovador 

visto aqui

oCorpodasLetras

"Atlantic", poema de João Miguel Fernandes Jorge em
Invisíveis Correntes, Relógio d'Água , 2004
(apresentação de Rui Pires Cabral)

visto aqui



......

oCorpodasLetras




de um poema de João Silveira em Haver / Dever,
edições Artefacto


visto aqui

oCorpodasLetras




bluebird, uma animação de monika umba a partir de um poema de charles bukovski

visto aqui

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?