the right latitude of the castles in the air

Thursday, 16th of March 2017

March, I cut my hair, put some mascara on and I spotted myself in the mirror looking different. After all these lives, will you still recognise me? Will you understand my silent words, will our eyes recognise each other from the very first moment?

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 Will we be “Alive to all things and forgetting all.” as Wordsworth said? Will this endless mutability fade with our lips reunite? Here, where the humanity core dwells, one day, we shall reach the right latitude of the castles in the air.

Chrysanthemums

Porto, 10th of November 2016

Undress the clothes that confine the trueness of this unbodied skin: allow me to know triumph just once! Await, and than drag me through the edge of dark woods to cast my soul over the silver fountains of light: let them fled my fears and the haunting sorrows of a past that is about to revive. Let them replace the dirty mud living in me with aereal white Chrysanthemums; await until my arose and, at my last breath, warm these gelid hands with love and never with doom, ’cause love should always come before it. 

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Framing Memories

Monday, 24th of October 2016

Dear Diary,

I am always very surprised with myself in the early hours of the morning, everything is so unfamiliar and yet, how many times was I born to live in this insipid place? With my eyes closed, I open the doors that lead me to the olden and shabby corridors which once I was verily acquainted, endless corridors that used to lead me to wonderful and secret places. I close my eyes to listen the distant Schubert and frame these memories in a secure place that I call heart.

 

For C.W.B

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For C.W.B

I.
Let us live in a lull of the long winter winds
Where the shy, silver-antlered reindeer go
On dainty hoofs with their white rabbit friends
Amidst the delicate flowering snow.

All of our thoughts will be fairer than doves.
We will live upon wedding-cake frosted with sleet.
We will build us a house from two red tablecloths
And wear scarlet mittens on both hands and feet.

II.
Let us live in the land of the whispering trees;
Alder and aspen and popular and birch;
Singing our prayers in a pale, sea-green breeze
With star-flower rosaries and moss blankets for church.

All of our dreams will be clearer than glass,
Clad in the water or sun as you wish,
We will watch the white feet of the young morning pass,
And dine upon honey and small shiny fish.

III.
Let us live where the twilight lives after dark,
In the deep drowsy blue, let us make a home.
Let us meet in the cool evening grass with a stork,
And a whistle of willow played by a gnome.

Half-asleep, half-awake, we shall hear, we shall know
The soft “Miserere” the wood-swallow tolls,
We will wander away where the wild raspberries grow,
And eat them for tea from two lily-white bowls.

A poem from Elisabeth Bishop

Para C.W.B

I

Vivamos na acalmia dos longos ventos de inverno

onde a tímida rena de chifres prateados anda

sobre delicadas patas com os seus amigos coelhos brancos

pelo meio da fina e florescente neve.

Todos os nossos pensamentos serão mais delicados que pombas.

Viveremos sobre um bolo de noiva coberto de saraiva.

Construiremos a nossa casa com duas toalhas de mesa vermelhas.

E usaremos mitenes escarlates nas mãos e nos pés.

II

Vivamos no país das árvores sussurrantes,

o amieiro e a aia e o choupo e o vidoeiro,

entoando preces através de uma brisa pálida, verde-mar,

num templo de rosários de flores e cantos de musgo.

Todos os nossos sonhos serão mais límpidos que vidro.

Vestidos de água ou de sol, como desejares,

veremos passar os brancos pés da manhã jovem

e jantaremos mel e pequeno peixes cintilantes.

III

Vivamos onde o crepúsculo vive depois do anoitecer,

no profundo, sonolento azul, façamos a nossa casa.

Encontremo-nos na erva fresca da tardinha com uma cegonha

e um assobio de salgueiro, tocado por um gnomo.

Meio adormecidos, meio despertos, ouviremos, conheceremos

o suave “Miserere” que a andorinha do bosque toca.

Vaguearemos até onde crescem as framboesas silvestres

e comê-las-emos ao chá e duas taças brancas com lírios.

Um poema de Elisabeth Bishop

Poems from Marianne Moore and Elisabeth Bishop

Words started to fall and shaping an affable nest in my hands. Pages immersed and become profound as a forest. A deer woke up and cautiously march until reach a niche of my bare skin to kindly caress it.

My Life is made of unexpected consonances that make me smile once in a while. Sometimes, words are stollen from me and, ever and again, restituted. Thank you Flaneur for this precious gift.

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Where are you going, Little Princess?

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                                                                                        7th of September 2016

Dear Diary,

This morning, memories of my infancy flood through my eyes  – my grandfather appeared to me with his tenderness and I heard him call for me: “Little Princess, where are you going?”. I was less than 5 years old, my feet were small and fragile. Around me was the little paradise raised by my grandmother and grandfather’s hands. A vivid bougainvillea climbed through the walls with gracefulness: it was so immense and so utterly beautiful to gaze it. Peaceful I was in those days, I was part of everything and I wasn’t apart from nothing. I was fearless and pure. I didn’t felt emptiness or loneliness because I was bounded to a secret imaterial world where such a thing didn’t exist. Those days of joy where my grandfather father’s hand was still reachable are felt today with affection and nostalgia.

Carmilla

“For some nights I slept profoundly; but still every morning I felt the same lassitude, and a languor weighed upon me all day. I felt myself a changed girl. A strange melancholy was stealing over me, a melancholy that I would not have interrupted. Dim thoughts of death began to open, and an idea that I was slowly sinking took gentle, and, somehow, not unwelcome possession of me. If it was sad, the tone of mind which this induced was also sweet. Whatever it might be, my soul acquiesced in it.”

J. Sheridan Le Fanu

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