Sunday, March 04, 2012

Languidez do tempo




Anne Deguelle "Yvette Guilbert on Divan"
Le Tapis Sigmund (2011 exposition)

Today I woke up in the mood to hear my caller bird. But he did not come it landed on my window sill. Withdrew. 

There are two or three nights, had heard his announcer corner spring, late. And happy my body screamed: Here comes the spring!

How can a bird go every spring near my window for me to announce Spring! Unfathomable charm. How grateful I am!

The rain reappeared. Sunny days, when there, bring me  serenity. And my bird caller was silent again. 

Lives around among the neighboring trees, stalking the first opportunity to display their provocative singing, flying near my window.

Sunday! Leisure! I decided to wait, and reclined on the couch. A book at random, open and read:

In his life poisam
as birds at the end of the day forms the world
and their senses pours himself literalness of things
so timeless and so without thinking

that would tell you to look at some
disturb his solitude. (...)

Manuel António Pina, The precepts of poets *

This already high afternoon desfito the book, and the adentro d look beyond the window, beyond the distance of time. 

Cuddling words, while outside the wind blows between a ray of sunshine undecided if afoitando-racy through the clouds floating in elegant shapes of a gray white, dotting the blue sky I love.

In certain high, absolute afternoons,
when the world finally gets in
as we were also world,
our own absence is one thing.

Manuel António Pina, Things

And so I remain, stroking the welfare of an afternoon of interiority.


Nots (pseudonym)

04.03.2012
Copyright © 2012 Blog-fragmentosdanoitecomflores, fragmentosdanoitecomflores.blogspot.com®

Creative Commons License

References:
Manuel António Pina, How to Draw a House, Assyrian & amp; Alvim, September 2011
* Poem " Auraceipt in n-ECEs "or Precepts of poets, p.39

Creative Commons License

6 comments:

mfc said...

Esse bem estar intangível da nossa interioridade... é lindo!

heretico said...

o corpo grita e clama - como o pássaro se cumpre em seu canto.

texto de uma beleza pagã.

gostei muito.

beijo

Elisa T. Campos said...

Miosótis.

Amei.
Linda escolha.
Obrigada

Bjs.

Miosotis said...

Oh! Muito obrigada, 'mfc'. Foi assim que senti.

Miosotis said...

Por aqui, escreve-se ao sabor do sentir...

Um beijo afectuoso, 'Herético'

Miosotis said...

Muito obrigada, Elisa!

Este é um espaço bastante intimista!
Um beijo,