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sexta-feira, dezembro 30, 2005

Hoje não me apetecia nada sair da cama!

quinta-feira, dezembro 29, 2005

La Palice strikes again

"De acordo com Fernando Carrilho, normalmente só os sismos com magnitude superiores a 2 ou 2,5 na escala de Richter são sentidos e mesmo assim depende da presença de população."

quarta-feira, dezembro 28, 2005

Quem quer ajudar a Nata?

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Ler o resto nas Cacaos.

domingo, dezembro 25, 2005

Ou... bom Natal!

E nada melhor para gozar o Natal que conhecer melhor as suas origens e pensar sobre o que este país que cada vez menos tem de laico nos enfia pela goela como verdades absolutas, em desejos de festas, em mensagens xaroposas, em ofertórios na missa do galo, em comunicações na televisão, em pias colunas nos jornais.

Bom solstício, pois então.

Bom Solstício de Inverno, pessoal!

Meco, Agosto de 2005
Fotografia de Manel da Truta

No teu amor por mim há uma rua que começa
Nem árvores nem casas existiam
antes que tu tivesses palavras
e todo eu fosse um coração para elas
Invento-te e o céu azula-se sobre esta
triste condição de ter de receber
dos choupos onde cantam
os impossíveis pássaros
a nova primavera
Tocam sinos e levantam voo
todos os cuidados
Ó meu amor nem minha mãe
tinha assim um regaço
como este dia tem
E eu chego e sento-me ao lado
da primavera

Ruy Belo, Povoamento, in Aquele Grande Rio Eufrates

quinta-feira, dezembro 22, 2005

Vizinhança II

Rua da Alegria, Dezembro de 2005
Fotografia de Manel da Truta


Rua da Alegria, Novembro de 2005
Fotografia de Manel da Truta

sexta-feira, dezembro 16, 2005

Nunca mais é fim de semana...

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Hoje ainda tenho de me esgoelar a cantar durante duas horas.
E amanhã também...

quinta-feira, dezembro 15, 2005

Entrada por saída

Guimarães, Dezembro de 2005
Fotografia de Manel da Truta

The search is your task

Não tenho parado em casa e quando paro estou demasiado cansada para escrever seja o que for. Daí o atraso em chamar-vos - aos que restarem de vós, eheheh - a atenção para o discurso de aceitação do Nobel da Literatura que Harold Pinter gravou no seu quarto de doente oncológico de um hospital londrino. A clareza e a riqueza do discurso são dignas de Nobel, de facto, e a declaração constrói-se em verdadeira ponte entre arte e vida, unindo margens que ainda assim se delimitam com a nitidez possível. Mais do que caminhos para os homens, as pontes são caminhos dos homens, as mais sólidas feitas por engenheiros do calibre de Pinter. Como "artista" [pelo menos a avaliar pelo livro de recibos] e cidadã, fiquei infinitamente grata e perplexa ao ler tão bela e clara exposição do que sinto e pressinto, expressado de forma absolutamente sublime e lapidar, como eu nunca poderia sequer sonhar explicar-me. A palavra, então, ao génio. Muitos parabéns, Mr. Pinter!

Harold Pinter
Fotografia de Chris Saunders

'There are no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.'
I believe that these assertions still make sense and do still apply to the exploration of reality through art. So as a writer I stand by them but as a citizen I cannot. As a citizen I must ask: What is true? What is false?
Truth in drama is forever elusive. You never quite find it but the search for it is compulsive. The search is clearly what drives the endeavour. The search is your task. More often than not you stumble upon the truth in the dark, colliding with it or just glimpsing an image or a shape which seems to correspond to the truth, often without realising that you have done so. But the real truth is that there never is any such thing as one truth to be found in dramatic art. There are many. These truths challenge each other, recoil from each other, reflect each other, ignore each other, tease each other, are blind to each other. Sometimes you feel you have the truth of a moment in your hand, then it slips through your fingers and is lost.


So language in art remains a highly ambiguous transaction, a quicksand, a trampoline, a frozen pool which might give way under you, the author, at any time.
But as I have said, the search for the truth can never stop. It cannot be adjourned, it cannot be postponed. It has to be faced, right there, on the spot.


Political language, as used by politicians, does not venture into any of this territory since the majority of politicians, on the evidence available to us, are interested not in truth but in power and in the maintenance of that power. To maintain that power it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live in ignorance of the truth, even the truth of their own lives. What surrounds us therefore is a vast tapestry of lies, upon which we feed.
As every single person here knows, the justification for the invasion of Iraq was that Saddam Hussein possessed a highly dangerous body of weapons of mass destruction, some of which could be fired in 45 minutes, bringing about appalling devastation. We were assured that was true. It was not true. We were told that Iraq had a relationship with Al Quaeda and shared responsibility for the atrocity in New York of September 11th 2001. We were assured that this was true. It was not true. We were told that Iraq threatened the security of the world. We were assured it was true. It was not true.
The truth is something entirely different. The truth is to do with how the United States understands its role in the world and how it chooses to embody it.
But before I come back to the present I would like to look at the recent past, by which I mean United States foreign policy since the end of the Second World War. I believe it is obligatory upon us to subject this period to at least some kind of even limited scrutiny, which is all that time will allow here.
Everyone knows what happened in the Soviet Union and throughout Eastern Europe during the post-war period: the systematic brutality, the widespread atrocities, the ruthless suppression of independent thought. All this has been fully documented and verified.
But my contention here is that the US crimes in the same period have only been superficially recorded, let alone documented, let alone acknowledged, let alone recognised as crimes at all. I believe this must be addressed and that the truth has considerable bearing on where the world stands now. Although constrained, to a certain extent, by the existence of the Soviet Union, the United States' actions throughout the world made it clear that it had concluded it had carte blanche to do what it liked.


It never happened. Nothing ever happened. Even while it was happening it wasn't happening. It didn't matter. It was of no interest. The crimes of the United States have been systematic, constant, vicious, remorseless, but very few people have actually talked about them. You have to hand it to America. It has exercised a quite clinical manipulation of power worldwide while masquerading as a force for universal good. It's a brilliant, even witty, highly successful act of hypnosis.
I put to you that the United States is without doubt the greatest show on the road. Brutal, indifferent, scornful and ruthless it may be but it is also very clever. As a salesman it is out on its own and its most saleable commodity is self love. It's a winner. Listen to all American presidents on television say the words, 'the American people', as in the sentence, 'I say to the American people it is time to pray and to defend the rights of the American people and I ask the American people to trust their president in the action he is about to take on behalf of the American people.'
It's a scintillating stratagem. Language is actually employed to keep thought at bay. The words 'the American people' provide a truly voluptuous cushion of reassurance. You don't need to think. Just lie back on the cushion. The cushion may be suffocating your intelligence and your critical faculties but it's very comfortable. This does not apply of course to the 40 million people living below the poverty line and the 2 million men and women imprisoned in the vast gulag of prisons, which extends across the US.
The United States no longer bothers about low intensity conflict. It no longer sees any point in being reticent or even devious. It puts its cards on the table without fear or favour. It quite simply doesn't give a damn about the United Nations, international law or critical dissent, which it regards as impotent and irrelevant. It also has its own bleating little lamb tagging behind it on a lead, the pathetic and supine Great Britain.


How many people do you have to kill before you qualify to be described as a mass murderer and a war criminal? One hundred thousand? More than enough, I would have thought. Therefore it is just that Bush and Blair be arraigned before the International Criminal Court of Justice. But Bush has been clever. He has not ratified the International Criminal Court of Justice. Therefore if any American soldier or for that matter politician finds himself in the dock Bush has warned that he will send in the marines. But Tony Blair has ratified the Court and is therefore available for prosecution. We can let the Court have his address if they're interested. It is Number 10, Downing Street, London.
Death in this context is irrelevant. Both Bush and Blair place death well away on the back burner. At least 100,000 Iraqis were killed by American bombs and missiles before the Iraq insurgency began. These people are of no moment. Their deaths don't exist. They are blank. They are not even recorded as being dead. 'We don't do body counts,' said the American general Tommy Franks.


I know that President Bush has many extremely competent speech writers but I would like to volunteer for the job myself. I propose the following short address which he can make on television to the nation. I see him grave, hair carefully combed, serious, winning, sincere, often beguiling, sometimes employing a wry smile, curiously attractive, a man's man.
'God is good. God is great. God is good. My God is good. Bin Laden's God is bad. His is a bad God. Saddam's God was bad, except he didn't have one. He was a barbarian. We are not barbarians. We don't chop people's heads off. We believe in freedom. So does God. I am not a barbarian. I am the democratically elected leader of a freedom-loving democracy. We are a compassionate society. We give compassionate electrocution and compassionate lethal injection. We are a great nation. I am not a dictator. He is. I am not a barbarian. He is. And he is. They all are. I possess moral authority. You see this fist? This is my moral authority. And don't you forget it.'
A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection - unless you lie - in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.


When we look into a mirror we think the image that confronts us is accurate. But move a millimetre and the image changes. We are actually looking at a never-ending range of reflections. But sometimes a writer has to smash the mirror - for it is on the other side of that mirror that the truth stares at us.
I believe that despite the enormous odds which exist, unflinching, unswerving, fierce intellectual determination, as citizens, to define the real truth of our lives and our societies is a crucial obligation which devolves upon us all. It is in fact mandatory.
If such a determination is not embodied in our political vision we have no hope of restoring what is so nearly lost to us - the dignity of man.

sexta-feira, dezembro 09, 2005

La Nave Va em concerto no Europarque :)

18, Domingo, 18h00
Grande Auditório

Preço dos bilhetes

"Do Céu caiu uma estrela - Um Natal Musical Barroco

A visão que hoje o europeu tem do Natal foi moldada pelo séc. XIX, já em plena Revolução Industrial. No séc. XX, a publicidade encarregou-se de o transformar num evento essencialmente comercial, em que se procura induzir um consumismo desenfreado como a vertente essencial da época natalícia.

Outrora era um período de celebração que marcava o re-início do ciclo natural de fertilidade com a chegada do Inverno - solstício a 21 de Dezembro.

Primeiro com rituais pagãos, que a Igreja para além de tolerar procurou integrar no seu calendário de celebrações, e depois com a coexistência dos dois, até hoje em que o aspecto jubilatório quase estiolou por completo.

Este concerto permite degustar o que seria um Natal no período Barroco europeu, e que vai desde os seus primórdios com Monteverdi até ao tardio Telemann, passando por Schütz, Charpentier, Corelli e Buxtehude. Não só cronologicamente, mas também geograficamente se visitam os vários barrocos do continente: o italiano, o alemão e o francês. Jovens intérpretes portugueses de grande qualidade que compõem o La Nave Va guiam-nos neste itinerário de júbilo."


Heinrich Schütz (1585-1672)
Kleine geistliche Konzerte (1636-1639)
Bone Jesu SWV 313

Jacob van Eijk (1590-1657)
Der Fluyten Lust-hof Onse vader in Hemelrijk
(Pai Nosso que estais no Céu)

Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643)
Vespro della Beata Vergine (1610)
Pulchra es

Francesca Caccini (1587-1641)
Il primo libro delle musiche (1618)
Hino Regina caeli

Codex Rossi (século XIII)
Lucente Stella

Claudio Monteverdi
moteto O bone Jesu, o piissime Jesu (1622)

Bartolomeo de Selma y Salaverde (c.1580-ca.1640)
Canzon quarta

Claudio Monteverdi
Laudate Dominum

Marc Antoine Charpentier (1645 – 1704)
Pastorale sur la naissance de N. S. Jésus-Christ H. 483 (1684) - excertos
Régnez, calme profond
O nuit en merveilles féconde
Bourrée en rondeau
Ne laissons point sans louanges

Georg Philipp Telemann (1681-1767)
Harmonischer Gottesdienst (1725-1726)
cantata Ihr Völker hört - Am Feste der heiligen drei Könige

J. S. Bach (1685-1750)
Partita em Lá menor BWV 1013 para flauta solo
(Allemande - Corrende - Sarabande - Bourrée Anglaise)

J.S. Bach
Paixão segundo São João, BWV 245
Ich folge dir gleichfalls

Dietrich Buxtehude (c. 1637--1707)
Nun freut euch, ihr Frommen, BuxWV 180

La Nave Va

Rosa Caldeira, soprano
Maria Luísa Tavares, soprano
António Carrilho, flauta
António Ramos, violino
Edoardo Sbaffi, violoncelo
Tiago Matias, tiorba

Imagine... and make it happen

25 anos depois, contas feitas, tem-nos feito falta este palhaço genial e louco.

As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

When they've tortured and scared you for 20 odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped wit religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me

John Lennon, Working class hero

Na RTP1 passaram esse filme delicioso que se chama A hard day's night. O tradutor precisava de fumar umas coisitas a ver se alargava os horizontes. Conseguiu não perceber piada nenhuma... What do you call that haircut?, pergunta um jornalista tolo a George, que responde muito bem posto, Arthur. O imbecil do tradutor achou por bem informar os espectadores de que o corte se chamava "tigela". Deve ter uma vida muito monótona, coitado... [suspiro]

quinta-feira, dezembro 08, 2005


Guimarães, Dezembro de 2005
Fotografia de Manel da Truta

Tudo é relativo.

Mas, por sua vez, o sol na cara num dia frio do Dezembro minhoto é uma sensação absoluta.


Não se olha pela janela por uns minutos e subitamente uma névoa opaca implacável cobre o Porto, o branco tingido pelos reflexos rubros e amarelos das luzes dos passeios.

quarta-feira, dezembro 07, 2005

Pedra, vida e morte

Guimarães, 5 de Dezembro de 2005
Fotografia de Manel da Truta

sexta-feira, dezembro 02, 2005

Jesus cristo não me irá perguntar pela minha sexualidade. Perguntar-me-á como me dediquei a 'este rebanho' num amor pastoral

Não julgueis e não sereis julgados, dizia ele... Se existiu de facto, dificilmente se sentiria hoje representado por esta multinacional de repressão e retrocesso de nome ICAR. Mas não me liguem, de qualquer modo sou ateia e, como filha de Eva - ou antes, de Lilith -, a ordenação estar-me-ia sempre vedada. E não se trata de leis sobre-humanas, mas da lei de homens. Com agá minúsculo.

Se eu não me promover...

Sábado, 3 de Dezembro, às 20h00
Igreja de S. Nicolau, em Lisboa
Entrada livre

George Frideric Haendel (1685-1759)

Alessandro Scarlatti (1660-1725)
Dixit Dominus

Pedro António Avondano (1714-1782)

Voces Caelestes
Capela Real

Maria Repas Gonçalves, soprano
Rosa Caldeira, soprano
Joana Nascimento, meio-soprano
João Rodrigues, tenor
Hugo Oliveira, barítono

Laurence Cummings, direcção

Há coisas tão óbvias...

A União Europeia distanciou-se e criticou ontem a política dos EUA relativamente à prevenção da SIDA, que se foca exclusivamente na abstinência.

"I don't think people should die because they have sex."
Hilary Benn, Secretária europeia para o desenvolvimento internacional