tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-157682052024-03-07T20:16:20.917+00:00la double vie de veroniquedorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.comBlogger900125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-76436152583339386542023-01-01T22:27:00.006+00:002023-01-05T22:43:25.313+00:00“To the New Year"<div><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi xjkvuk6 x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_bm"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xdj266r x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">With what stillness at last</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">you appear in the valley</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">your first sunlight reaching down</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">to touch the tips of a few</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">high leaves that do not stir</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">as <span></span>though they had not noticed</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">and did not know you at all</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">then the voice of a dove calls</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">from far away in itself</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">to the hush of the morning</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">so this is the sound of you</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">here and now whether or not</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">anyone hears it this is</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">where we have come with our age</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">our knowledge such as it is</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">and our hopes such as they are</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">invisible before us</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">untouched and still possible </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">W. S. Merwin</div></div></span></span></div></div></div></div></div><p> </p>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-70030334397335834282021-11-16T23:33:00.007+00:002021-11-16T23:37:09.638+00:00Nada é Suficiente para se Morrer(...)<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br /><span style="color: #444444;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #444444;">- Sou um autor de folhetos, acho que interrogativos, e sobretudo um muito interrogativo leitor de perguntas. Mais nada. <br />- Basta para uma vida ? <br />-
Nem sei se basta para uma verdadeira morte. Nada é suficiente para se
morrer. Ou é suficiente cruzar os olhos com os de uma leoa materna. Ou
brandir esse pequeno objecto eléctrico, embora seja tão pequeno e a
noite por todos os lados do quarto pareça interminável. Conheci um
homem, um psiquiatra descontente — são raros, os psiquiatras
descontentes, conheço-os muito contentes a ganhar para enlouquecer as
pessoas, rende tanto como a política, trata-se de política, a sinistra
política dos tratamentos —, vivia numa ilha, este, descontente, adorava
falar de estrelas, constelações, sabia tudo, mas era, digamos,
estelarmente irredutível: estava contra a ordem celeste. Mandou
substituir o tecto do quarto de dormir por uma abóbada com um sistema
electrónico de corpos celestes, deslocados, todos, relativamente à
estrutura natural, autónomos entre si. Ali era a lua nas suas fases e as
Ursas e o Cruzeiro do Sul e a estrela Arcturus: um sistema de teclas
permitia acender aquilo que se desejasse. O que vigorava era um céu
dele, era ele. Talvez pudesse morrer. De facto morreu mas não sei de que
maneira interior morreu. <span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nunca se sabe aquilo que basta. Talvez baste
um poema, uma coisa mínima, viva, nossa, uma coisa sub-reptícia para
empunhar diante do implacável acordo das formas exteriores. Também pode
ser que nada baste. E nesse caso tanto faz escrever um romance ou cem
poemas ou apenas um poema, ou ler ou emendar o céu astronómico ou
manter-se parado no meio de um jardim húmido e silencioso, à noite. Até
pode suceder que a morte não seja bastante. E isto sim é interrogativo. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #ffd966;"><i><span style="color: #666666;">Herberto Helder,</span><span style="color: #999999;"><b> </b>in '(Auto-)Entrevista, Jornal Público, 4 Dezembro 1990'</span></i></span></span></span></span></div>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-84835745312301188212021-06-04T00:36:00.021+01:002021-06-04T01:03:38.383+01:00así son los globos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9ThgmzjZhPgvYCSwIG2IR4sfGQjcSVZbAX4SceyLQiCGr3ZUeKQO7PTvt2cY_zutOmWZQ6T5sr-2OO_0hqtHLEv2PkI3Fb3OiOnQf2SOWSw8v_56kMfvu51JWhgIWFp21t4L/s1400/Poema+-+Marta+Riva+Palacio.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9ThgmzjZhPgvYCSwIG2IR4sfGQjcSVZbAX4SceyLQiCGr3ZUeKQO7PTvt2cY_zutOmWZQ6T5sr-2OO_0hqtHLEv2PkI3Fb3OiOnQf2SOWSw8v_56kMfvu51JWhgIWFp21t4L/s320/Poema+-+Marta+Riva+Palacio.png" width="450" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiEWCG1GpFoDHOJ3PBulTSv1JBBbXVpjb5ytYbKEdg6rJGbtZUKT8oV0qGABOqUwWsA8bn4xqwWCdAPvq6DuNxuTP9QVLlSHoDjEHFfnS6FtNCEKTbi3996wsLpTNEvLVabpp/s1246/Poema+Javier+Villafane.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1246" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiEWCG1GpFoDHOJ3PBulTSv1JBBbXVpjb5ytYbKEdg6rJGbtZUKT8oV0qGABOqUwWsA8bn4xqwWCdAPvq6DuNxuTP9QVLlSHoDjEHFfnS6FtNCEKTbi3996wsLpTNEvLVabpp/w400-h290/Poema+Javier+Villafane.png" width="450" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">in<i> <span style="font-weight: normal;">Cajita de fósforos. Antología de poemas sin rima</span></i>, editado por Adolfo Córdova para a EKARÉ. Ilustrações de </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Juan Palomino. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">( carregar nas imagens para ler estes belíssimos poemas ). <br /></span></div>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-65070321498071046732021-04-19T02:52:00.005+01:002021-04-19T02:54:51.999+01:00flowering trees<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5B_pM3QkcP3XzuU_gF-RBXUjPFmOmkDt1YeU_o5ytadOecOE9jltfKEEoN_lVX7fUzq4UmucIBwkBQmhs-yb2RDJhZy2GS795V0QFq2BzHpxjoJRi0Jxe6exfy19M7Bf9Wd9O/s1556/Screen+Shot+2021-04-18+at+00.27.54.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1556" data-original-width="996" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5B_pM3QkcP3XzuU_gF-RBXUjPFmOmkDt1YeU_o5ytadOecOE9jltfKEEoN_lVX7fUzq4UmucIBwkBQmhs-yb2RDJhZy2GS795V0QFq2BzHpxjoJRi0Jxe6exfy19M7Bf9Wd9O/w410-h640/Screen+Shot+2021-04-18+at+00.27.54.png" width="410" /></a></div><p></p>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-86469313741994694112021-04-18T23:15:00.004+01:002021-04-18T23:15:35.310+01:00Why you - adult - should read children's books<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">"Children's fiction does something else
too: it offers to help us refind things we may not even know we have lost.
Adult life is full of forgetting; I have forgotten most of the people I have
ever met; I've forgotten most of the books I've read, even the ones that
changed me forever; I've forgotten most of my epiphanies. And I've forgotten,
at various time in my life, how to read: how to lay aside scepticism and
fashion and trust myself to a book. At the risk of sounding like a mad
optimist: children's fiction can reteach you how to read with an open heart.
When you read children's books, you are given the space to read again as a
child: to find your way back, back to the time when discoveries came daily and
the world was colossal, before your imagination was trimmed and neatened, as if
it were an optional extra" </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span id="freeText270679900380378511">Katherine Rundell</span> <br /></span></p>
<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-52058073540747789262020-11-26T21:45:00.003+00:002020-11-26T21:47:27.330+00:00Rezar de Olhos Abertos<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">«Enganam-se
os que pensam que só nascemos uma vez. Para quem quiser ver, a vida
está cheia de nascimentos. Nascemos muitas vezes ao longo da infância,
quando os olhos se abrem em espanto e alegria. Nascemos nas viagens sem
mapa que a juventude arrisca. Nascemos na sementeira da vida adulta,
entre invernos e primaveras maturando a misteriosa transformação que
coloca na haste a flor e dentro da flor o perfume do fruto. Nascemos
muitas vezes naquela idade avançada onde os trabalhos não cessam, mas se
reconciliam com laços interiores e caminhos adiados. Nascemos quando
nos descobrimos amados e capazes de amar. Nascemos no entusiasmo do riso
e na noite de certas lágrimas. Nascemos na prece e no dom. Nascemos no
perdão e no confronto. Nascemos em silêncio ou iluminados por uma
palavra. Nascemos na tarefa e na partilha. Nascemos nos gestos ou para
lá dos gestos. Nascemos dentro de nós e no coração de Deus.» </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">José Tolentino Mendonça in <i>Rezar de Olhos Abertos</i> </span>
</p>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-66646893045869692122020-05-19T13:01:00.003+01:002020-05-19T13:16:08.866+01:00刺し子<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4V5vQcElf8M?controls=0" width="560"></iframe>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #073763;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #073763;">nothing is perfect </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #073763;">nothing is finished </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #073763;">nothing is eternal</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #073763;">...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span></span>
<i><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(video featuring: <a href="https://www.mollymartin.org/new-page-1">molly martin</a> for <a href="https://www.toa.st/eu/">toast)</a></span></span></span></i>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-59981218492527332122020-01-02T19:25:00.001+00:002020-01-02T19:30:51.330+00:00"Tenho um segredo" ... : )<br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FxfowK1BQDM" width="560"></iframe>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-92221480911941884972019-12-30T19:20:00.001+00:002020-01-02T19:38:53.322+00:00come dance in the moonbeams<iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/track/1r4nsYWQ5Nw29XUEqMrkNu" width="300"></iframe>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There are witches in the hills calling my name<br />saying come join us sister, come kiss the flame<br />Come dance in the moonbeams, ride the night wind<br />make love to the darkness and laugh at man's sins</span><br />
<div class="Oh5wg">
<div class="M1CzJc PZPZlf MtKf9c" data-lyricid="Musixmatch151403">
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I shiver with delight, I shiver with fear<br />my heart wants to go but my soul's filled with fear<br />So I turn to my lover and ask what do I do<br />do I answer their call or stay here with you</span></div>
</div>
<div class="M1CzJc PZPZlf">
<div class="u7wWjf" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But under spell of deep sleep he moans and turns away<br />taking his protection and my desire to stay<br />So I rise to the hill tops, I ride the night winds<br />I make love to the darkness and laugh at man's sins</span></div>
</div>
</div>
dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-90707145125153246652019-12-09T23:13:00.001+00:002019-12-09T23:13:51.304+00:00Igor Savchenko - Alphabet of Gestures - Photography<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="275" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qqIEoUasGpo" width="500"></iframe>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-55791104462592709412018-09-28T09:49:00.003+01:002018-09-28T09:50:43.799+01:00tu (eu) azul - in memoriam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeN_7EWPEvF_nrmoqv_LIWl3Qw86k196IC6YHp7Et4EKvWfTVO2o0ybOvGDZW_XBVEFCMC8J1mIgOVS3R4_KvZcA4_qCak9A5ZjXF4G2KU31BQhs8ECzsFCDdIfffURaxRKZky/s1600/42677845_10210018470737405_6408972038999900160_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeN_7EWPEvF_nrmoqv_LIWl3Qw86k196IC6YHp7Et4EKvWfTVO2o0ybOvGDZW_XBVEFCMC8J1mIgOVS3R4_KvZcA4_qCak9A5ZjXF4G2KU31BQhs8ECzsFCDdIfffURaxRKZky/s400/42677845_10210018470737405_6408972038999900160_n.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/292115248?color=D10019&title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe>
Helena Almeida- 1934 - 26/9/2018dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-51255610984730044002018-09-25T00:17:00.002+01:002018-09-25T00:19:28.152+01:00yes... ?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDe-CDC3vk9dm3wPkDAFhr0zampQv7A1VM2taUWCuGPhFtTSP-AuflHY7PTyocIqupaHUcIB5hxyA-hTA41zHQWl4F2G3gLbUOyLkbh_RPXGpw9vo8b-fc5WRzcJrZTTnsCBf/s1600/tumblr_pexjy0plUE1qcpbt0o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="400" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDe-CDC3vk9dm3wPkDAFhr0zampQv7A1VM2taUWCuGPhFtTSP-AuflHY7PTyocIqupaHUcIB5hxyA-hTA41zHQWl4F2G3gLbUOyLkbh_RPXGpw9vo8b-fc5WRzcJrZTTnsCBf/s400/tumblr_pexjy0plUE1qcpbt0o1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span><br />
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( what question should you ask when you’ve got the answer? )dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-64715695077666747742018-09-05T22:49:00.000+01:002018-09-05T22:50:35.675+01:00Pós-Graduação em Livro Infantil - 11º edição<iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" data-aspect-ratio="1.414442700156986" data-auto-height="false" frameborder="0" height="600" id="doc_11963" scrolling="no" src="https://www.scribd.com/embeds/387921162/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll&access_key=key-JrgQLEXcS6JWnvDB7Pha&show_recommendations=true" title="Pós-Graduação em Livro Infantil - Universidade Católica de Lisboa - 2018/2019" width="100%"></iframe> Mais informações <a href="https://fch.lisboa.ucp.pt/escola-de-pos-graduacao-e-formacao-avancada/programas-de-pos-graduacao/pos-graduacao-em-livro-infantil-b-learning">aqui</a>.dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-10236572120458673812018-08-23T01:49:00.000+01:002018-08-23T02:21:24.397+01:00Deus quer, o homem sonha, a obra nasce ( ou quando não basta ser Deus )<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVwQdHqZ5yYkOUo9g6HWDv_MMuzwv1fc0d-fDk736hhh2ax41AWEviMpOcbXnwHDJun6jy6QQZLZEKGj1kzqyqMyUk__suG0JyRAostNqW0wUFjsrDkkZJWHCxKE73em4gOF5/s1600/Georgia+O%25E2%2580%2599Keeffe%252C+Sunrise%252C+watercolour%252C+1916+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 6em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="697" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVwQdHqZ5yYkOUo9g6HWDv_MMuzwv1fc0d-fDk736hhh2ax41AWEviMpOcbXnwHDJun6jy6QQZLZEKGj1kzqyqMyUk__suG0JyRAostNqW0wUFjsrDkkZJWHCxKE73em4gOF5/s320/Georgia+O%25E2%2580%2599Keeffe%252C+Sunrise%252C+watercolour%252C+1916+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzS-sACNDxUC_-M4_iAnTmV2tfIiCtQaH_pWUAc_qkeRASkPd3oUhWVEDK5u2-4A-C6LZ04xpwKR_ReJQ1SuK-pGUkXgH9DUwaIe8xlyUVoFMEp48cN0eoIbnKdQzh8Z_tOK8/s1600/Georgia+O%25E2%2580%2599Keeffe%252C+Sunrise%252C+watercolour%252C+1916+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzS-sACNDxUC_-M4_iAnTmV2tfIiCtQaH_pWUAc_qkeRASkPd3oUhWVEDK5u2-4A-C6LZ04xpwKR_ReJQ1SuK-pGUkXgH9DUwaIe8xlyUVoFMEp48cN0eoIbnKdQzh8Z_tOK8/s320/Georgia+O%25E2%2580%2599Keeffe%252C+Sunrise%252C+watercolour%252C+1916+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
geogia o'keeffe (inversão minha)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Tanto tempo a pensar<br /> divino esforço<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> que adormecendo<br /> Deus sonhou consigo:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Sonhou braços e pernas<br /> e cabeças,<br /> sonhou paisagens<br /> de mental pudor<br /> conversas calmas<br /> com o quase feito</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> E esforçado ficou<br /> e exausto se quedou<br /> ao ver-se assim traído<br /> pela obra criada</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Só em sonho </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> <i>Ana Luisa Amaral</i> (Inversos - Poesia 1990-2010)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(...) </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">El amor empieza cuando Dios termina<br />
Y cuando el hombre cae,<br />
mientras las cosas, demasiado eternas,<br />
comienzan a gastarse,<br />
y los signos, las bocas y los signos,<br />
se muerden mutuamente en cualquier<br />
parte. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(...)</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Roberto Juarroz "</span></i></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">El amor empieza</span></span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"</span></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-34079157477442338652018-06-04T23:10:00.003+01:002018-06-04T23:10:37.404+01:00have you seen them?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3-tOeo8Y3u2ozjOHIzfrFtwmyuDq8sUM2aPEjieyzh5Iqc5Yq1y79293P3h6B9sqtpCGdCbZLFlbedhS3L6ExWqKY7Vm_Fk372krn1R-d_LhFimzHgkQ1fGEH98Mq84Jb2QI/s1600/Illustration+by+Ethel+K.+Burgess+for+Playbox+Annual+1921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="748" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3-tOeo8Y3u2ozjOHIzfrFtwmyuDq8sUM2aPEjieyzh5Iqc5Yq1y79293P3h6B9sqtpCGdCbZLFlbedhS3L6ExWqKY7Vm_Fk372krn1R-d_LhFimzHgkQ1fGEH98Mq84Jb2QI/s640/Illustration+by+Ethel+K.+Burgess+for+Playbox+Annual+1921.jpg" width="498" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Illustration by Ethel K. Burgess for 'Playbox Annual 1921'.</span>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-36173906523341550282018-05-22T22:50:00.000+01:002018-05-22T23:01:15.824+01:00os 10 melhores livros infantis dos últimos 50 anos<div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="764" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTVDlJNsllr-46s4wf1aw6YpP2nHhFNu4oQTnf2jGLTa9keDFGl3oaUXecGENwDe7yIpZQmPqG-POFqVF9SWg4iB5_tQOwgiXuPhyphenhyphen5sRvvBjYJTNKxR38r4sHLmJespD7XX1U/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-05-22+at+22.34.52.png" width="570" /></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Uma tarefa difícil e tãaao boa, esta de colaborar no juri para a proposta da <a href="http://www.revistaestante.fnac.pt/os-10-melhores-livros-infantis-dos-ultimos-50-anos/">Revista Estante</a>, da Fnac: escolher livros infantis... :-)</span></span>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-14335311948121577842018-04-27T23:58:00.000+01:002018-04-28T00:00:16.802+01:00words mean more at nightWords mean more at night,<br />
Like a song.<br />
Did you ever notice,<br />
The way light means more than it did all day long?<br />
Words mean more at night,<br />
Light means more.<br />
Like your hair in your face,<br />
And your smile,<br />
And your bed and the dress that you wore.<br />
And I'll send you my words,<br />
From the corners of my room,<br />
Though I write them by the light of day,<br />
Please read them by the light of the moon.<br />
I wish I could leave my bones,<br />
And my skin.<br />
And float over the tired, tired sea,<br />
So that I could see you again.<br />
Maybe you would leave too,<br />
We'll blindly pass each other,<br />
Floating over the ocean blue,<br />
Just to find the warm bed of our lovers.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="350" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/CFw7AaBxatA" width="539"></iframe> dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-74347382045488977102018-03-09T16:26:00.001+00:002018-03-09T16:28:13.053+00:00remember:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWs0eMb7IH2mE_tiRfxTqyZESUWbevwZMysdJiq8dMW8dBpyXq1HRp4-DwA4G3j0tOs_rjWpy7IeJ52HrxKg1w9GOrdv__Ws2E4zrShXjOL0RP90hrSznfcODwAt7SeBvIan7F/s1600/tumblr_n33g4fLDY91szrv2so1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="500" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWs0eMb7IH2mE_tiRfxTqyZESUWbevwZMysdJiq8dMW8dBpyXq1HRp4-DwA4G3j0tOs_rjWpy7IeJ52HrxKg1w9GOrdv__Ws2E4zrShXjOL0RP90hrSznfcODwAt7SeBvIan7F/s400/tumblr_n33g4fLDY91szrv2so1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-67648881531219282752018-03-04T23:14:00.001+00:002018-03-04T23:16:54.646+00:00É Isto o Amor<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Em quem pensar, agora, senão em ti? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Tu, que
me esvaziaste de coisas incertas, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e trouxeste a
manhã da minha noite. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">É verdade que te podia
dizer: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">«Como é mais fácil deixar que as coisas
não mudem, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">sermos o que sempre fomos, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">mudarmos
apenas dentro de nós próprios?» </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mas ensinaste-me
a sermos dois; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e a ser contigo aquilo que sou,
<br />
até sermos um apenas no amor que nos une,
<br />
contra a solidão que nos divide. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mas é isto o amor:
<br />
ver-te mesmo quando te não vejo, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ouvir a tua
voz que abre as fontes de todos os rios, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">mesmo
esse que mal corria quando por ele passámos,
<br />
subindo a margem em que descobri o sentido
<br />
de irmos contra o tempo, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">para ganhar o tempo
que o tempo nos rouba. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Como gosto, meu amor, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">de chegar antes de ti para te ver chegar: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">com
a surpresa dos teus cabelos, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e o teu rosto de água
fresca que eu bebo, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">com esta sede que não passa. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Tu:
a primavera luminosa da minha expectativa,
<br />
a mais certa certeza de que gosto de ti, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">como
gostas de mim, até ao fim do mundo que me deste. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
<i>Nuno Júdice, in 'Pedro, Lembrando Inês'</i></span><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/k-WyxbwU82A" width="459"></iframe>
dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-3325890336305978402018-01-01T18:15:00.001+00:002018-01-01T18:19:47.467+00:00be not afraid <pre id="the_text_1_"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
<iframe frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/377393762&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe></span></span></pre>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Be not afeard: the isle is full of noises, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The clouds methought would open and show riches </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak'd, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I cried to dream again. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">William Shakespeare. "The Tempest" - act 3 scene 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">said by Joseph Fiennes. </span>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-85123902991769198722017-11-10T02:03:00.001+00:002017-11-10T02:03:23.991+00:00lilium<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_liakpg8PrG1qc0jiao1.mp3">press</a></span></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>( and close your eyes ... )</i></span></span><br />
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<br />dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-14294647765385575682017-10-09T15:16:00.003+01:002017-10-09T15:16:44.707+01:00how to disappear completely<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6AeRFQw986k" width="480"></iframe>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-34380397601940302422017-09-11T14:10:00.004+01:002017-09-11T14:10:55.165+01:00Pós-Graduação em Livro Infantil - 10º edição<div style="display: block; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 12px auto 6px auto;">
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<iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" data-aspect-ratio="1.414442700156986" data-auto-height="false" frameborder="0" height="600" id="doc_42371" scrolling="no" src="https://www.scribd.com/embeds/358592828/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll&access_key=key-3ItvpfB4iK0LfH4Ef9nK&show_recommendations=true" title="Curso de Pós-Graduação em Livro Infantil 2017/2018" width="100%"></iframe>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-49643094944758040572017-06-28T01:01:00.002+01:002017-06-28T01:16:06.022+01:00 ( ) <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"it is the very error of the moon; </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">she comes more nearer earth than she was wont, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">and makes men mad..."</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">william shakespeare - <i>othello </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">| othello to emilia, act v, scene </span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZH9btU_XZNg9w__uvwGN3eHdlK9iUIJUZO2yMLDgDOB_-xvgPzmt3YG6myTNI8HQ_A2ianeXncpcRze26TYk4HZzHfqqQ00q_2rPAZD2XYEptXvUBFoalgZJJtvL8XavvsTq/s1600/nikkimcclure+copy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="389" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZH9btU_XZNg9w__uvwGN3eHdlK9iUIJUZO2yMLDgDOB_-xvgPzmt3YG6myTNI8HQ_A2ianeXncpcRze26TYk4HZzHfqqQ00q_2rPAZD2XYEptXvUBFoalgZJJtvL8XavvsTq/s640/nikkimcclure+copy.gif" width="496" /></a>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>img: nikki mcclure </i></span></span>dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15768205.post-1845221808512958562017-06-22T01:30:00.001+01:002017-06-22T01:30:13.156+01:00E então a mãe deu-lhe pão, e deu-lhe leite, deu-lhe carne....<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9gKjcKo9s0e0bfU6UkxD1bCN4zcXNSKDwZEgT02UaJ4Dmonfq6oYTb8zWNZe8ymr1FMVvMbWYfjOhKRLL53IXZZ0QQZ1cYX9iDnmxAALhqvQQizZZQQ9MYRD2ZMMoVb9e51H/s1600/Carl+cneut+anto+nio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="194" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9gKjcKo9s0e0bfU6UkxD1bCN4zcXNSKDwZEgT02UaJ4Dmonfq6oYTb8zWNZe8ymr1FMVvMbWYfjOhKRLL53IXZZ0QQZ1cYX9iDnmxAALhqvQQizZZQQ9MYRD2ZMMoVb9e51H/s400/Carl+cneut+anto+nio.jpg" width="258" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">"Every life that you live will give material for fiction. But given that I
do have children, it is that experience of just the simple thing of
seeing life in the round. It’s so dull to say that, but it is
extraordinary to see your childhood replayed, refracted, to see yourself
saying things your parents said, to be in this new relation to death."</span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span class="byline"> <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2016/11/a_conversation_with_zadie_smith_about_cultural_appropriation_male_critics.html"><i>Zadie Smith</i></a></span></span></span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>img. carll cneut in António do outro lado do mundo </i></span></span></h3>
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dorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11536140037476982339noreply@blogger.com2