GRANDCHILDREN

GRANDCHILDREN

♥ GRANDCHILDREN ♥

♥ GRANDCHILDREN ♥

REMARKABLE PEOPLE



FERNANDO PESSOA

(Lisboa, 1888 - 1935, Lisboa)


"Não sou nada.
Nunca serei nada.
Não posso querer ser nada.
À parte isso, tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mundo.


************
"I am nothing.
I will never be anything.
I cannot want to be anything.
Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world."

or...

"I am not nothing.
I will never be nothing.
I cannot want to be nothing.
Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world."


(Álvaro de Campos in "Tabacaria")




LISBOA - Chiado

LISBOA - Chiado
"Fernando Pessoa" by Lagoa Henriques. The place: "Café A Brasileira" (Brazilian Café) - 1905.

PLAYLIST TODAY




MUSIC IS THE PASSION REPORT



♥ ♥ ♥


GUITARS



Sep 10, 2016 - 06:13





ADAM LEVINE + PATRICK MONAHAN - PURPLE RAIN [PRINCE]



YouTube – "The Howard Stern Show"





ANN & NANCY WILSON (HEART) - STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN [LED ZEPPELIN]



YouTube – "The Kennedy Center"





PRINCE, TOM PETTY, STEVE WINWOOD, JEFF LYNNE, DHANI HARRISON & OTHERS - WHILE MY GUITAR GENTLY WEEPS [GEORGE HARRISON]



YouTube – "Rock & Roll Hall of Fame"





ERIC CLAPTON - RIVER OF TEARS



YouTube – "slunky08"





JEFF BUCKLEY - HALLELUJAH [LEONARD COHEN]



YouTube – " Danielle Katsav's Channel"





XUTOS & PONTAPÉS - HOMEM DO LEME



YouTube – "NoSa7"







_____________________


LEANING INTO THE AFTERNOONS by PABLO NERUDA

«Inclinado en las Tardes»



YouTube - "FourSeasons Productions"






CHANGING BATTERIES - OSCAR WINNING ANIMATED SHORT FILM



YouTube - "Bzzz Day"





DIALA BRISLY - A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY

(a huge thanks to my daughter who e-mailed this video to me)



BBC Newsnight

«Syria is devastated by five years of war - and it's taken a huge toll on the country's children. Here's one woman - artist Diala Brisly - who is trying to make life that little bit more bearable for Syria's kids.»

Syria is devastated by five years of war - and it's taken a huge toll on the country's children. Here's one woman -...

Publicado por BBC Newsnight em Domingo, 20 de Março de 2016






A JOURNEY BACK TO ENDEARMENT

A JOURNEY BACK TO ENDEARMENT



FLYING A SECRET



I got here to hide. From equations and patterns. From repetition, after all.
Closed the door and got me a special place where I thought I could
somehow sit close to the stars. But I soon found out that the sky was
still opaque, no matter what the steps. And so I left. Again.

I thought, then, I could build me a different ceiling, a new-coloured scrap
of highness. And then make it work. Where I could dream, more than I sleep.
I have long decided that sleeping is overrated - that I know for sure. So I
take that time instead to travel the night alone and in the meantime I allow
myself to fly, unlike stated before... Yes, I like playing with paradox, to
expose the inside of words and the revelation of writing down the voice of a
silence. My adventurous, ever-walking silence.

So I came back. Here, within this quiet world, I intend to gather all my
things usually kept hidden or inactive. They are here to speak.

And since the future is a stand-by secret, I want to live by a precocious
clock, at every running instant of every entering second.

And I will not slow down until my "future exists now" - kind of reverse
quoting Jacob Bronowski.


Ana Vassalo
in my site "CAFEÍNA"(former "No Flying Allowed")
Nov 11, 2010 - 11:54



THE WALK OF TIME

THE WALK OF TIME

sexta-feira, 2 de dezembro de 2016

MÃE






 


2016, aniversário de black friday, desaparece para o mundo Fidel. Data importante, então, que, em circunstâncias outras, me guardaria para debate. Pelas melhores ou piores razões, discute-se por aí, afinal, e eu... Eu quero lá saber.

Importa, sim, que foi também esse o dia que escolheste para despedida. Após cinco dias de indizível sofrimento - carregados de uma tal ironia que parecia menorizar estes últimos nove anos que te sequestraram em doença e total imobilidade, assim como se fosse pouco, insuficiente para declaração - tomaste o assunto em mãos, fechaste o ciclo e decidiste, por fim, descansar. Escassas horas depois do nosso desalentado boa noite.
 
Saíste, discretamente. Escoltada pela noite, madrugada cedo, de mansinho, como sempre, tu.
 
Tu, que eras tão importante, minha Mãe grande, tão mais que a desagregada maioria, na tua bondade sem tréguas. É fácil tomar o mundo do amor quando se alberga um coração de passarinho, como o teu: todos são bons, existirá sempre, seja onde e como for, uma razão outra na origem de cada má escolha, atitude, erro, que temos de saber buscar e a obrigação de entender.
 
Só por isto, mas muito, tanto mais, essa imperdoável sexta feira deste ano de todos os castigos seria o dia da perda maior para todos os que te amavam, e mesmo para os que mal te conheciam mas a quem, de alguma maneira por inventar, que sempre acabavas por resolver, descobrias como chegar e aconchegar.
 
E foi essa a tua força de vida maior, que soubeste tornar verdadeiramente humana: a todos saber chegar. Ainda que o teu próprio mundo teimasse em ruir, repetida, recorrentemente, atingindo-te como um raio. Vezes sem conta, sem fim, até ao fim.
 
Estou agora ainda mais só, apesar do tanto amor, o imenso carinho que me tem rodeado estes dias, por quem sempre esteve a meu lado, tu sabes, e até por inesperadas mas fortes presenças que muito me têm surpreendido as convicções. Só, por dentro de mim. Tenho tantas saudades tuas, minha querida, mas não sei como dizer-to.
 
Que o tempo eterno te seja amigo, como mereces.
 
Até já, Mãezinha.
 
 

Novembro 25, 2016

____________

 
For these last 9 years I 've been writing to my mother, though posting only a few poems. This one, in english 'cause i wanted everyone to know her, was written exactly one week before she passed away, when her health condition was still under control.
 
 
‘… Cry, cry!
You Poets of my country
Trunks of the one single root
Of life that brought us together
And should'nt you be by my side
Then there would be no fado
Nor fadistas such as I’
 
- “Madness” refrain, written by Júlio de Sousa
 
 
 
This is fado. I was raised by its side. My mother was a stunning fado singer who never pursued a career. She was very popular in her youth and known way far from her home land, a tiny village in Alentejo.
 
Many years later, here in Lisbon, someone I had just met, a taxi driver who used to be friends with her during their youth, once told me: “we used to walk from the railway station up to the village, and when she was performing outdoors, at the main square, her voice echoed so clean, so magic and beautiful through those hills, it was such a special, overwhelming emotion, that we felt like God was talking to us”. His words.
 
But she never took a cent from those shows: though she was poor, she always donated her earnings to institutions specially the fire department, and i only knew about this when i moved to work in Alentejo, at age 44, and people who still talk about her let me know this and many other sweet stories about her. She was a rare beauty, they said, woman and soul.
 
At 17 (1951) she was offered a 2 year contract to sing in Belgium but her parents wouldn’t allow her to move abroad. She was forever devastated. But she was strong as hell. Period.

One day, I was 18, she was 40, we were attending a party at Mila’s - my cousin that I love like a sister - and as she always used to she asked my mother to sing. A young couple sitting near me immediately reacted and started complaining: oh no, not fado, not now!, the guy said, but beautiful Mila, wearing her most enchanting smile, politely asked him to shut the hell up.
 
So, my mom started to sing, acapella, and everyone in that garden suddenly became the witness of the purest silence a crowd can hold – the essential condition to listen to fado. She sounded much like young Amália but she was unique. At a certain point, I looked around and it had happened again: tears were rolling down everyone’s faces - no news, it was the usual reaction - but then I remembered to look at him, the complaining guy, and i noticed he was looking down, firmly facing the ground like he was staring at the grass... cause he was crying too. And this I will never forget.
 
When I was 8, my parents split up. It was mother’s decision, for so many, repeated, obvious reasons. And then she locked herself up in her room for a week, drinking milk only and having a sony tape recorder for her only company. Only I was allowed to enter that room. And for a week she sang to that tape recorder: it was her scream, her struggle to survive. And not before this she was able to let the tears out.
 
This is fado, when watched alive. Beautifully sung, like Amália did or, in this case, in Ana Moura’s rendition, you’ll have no words to describe it. But you have to be right there, with the singer. They carry us to another place from another reality within each one of us. And yet, only a few can do it, cause a great voice is mandatory and yet not enough to sing fado. And in my opinion, there’s only a few fadistas who carry the gift. They do not just sing it, they breathe, live and rise in it.
 
Mother was one of them. She can’t even speak today, her vocal cords are paralysed and she was subject to surgery 2 years ago. Strangely enough, she cannot stand listening to fado anymore. When she hears it on tv, her face shows she’s crying (she can’t cry anymore either) and she keeps moving her head left and right, stating a “no”.

This is “fado”, which also means “fate”. And this is he-art.
 
That’s where my mother’s incredible strength has always lived, right inside her beautiful, pure heart.



Nov 18, 2016

 
 
ANA MOURA – LOUCURA (MADNESS)
 
 

YouTube: “Rita6ouveia”
 
 
 
 
 
Ana Vassalo
Dec 2, 2016
 
 

1 comentário:

  1. Minha Amada, eu, simplesmente, deixo correr as lagrimas, livremente, e releio TUDO!Meu espirito esta' contigo!_ELA, TUA MAE_ estara por certo num suave lugar onde os Anjos cantem!ACEITA O MEU ABRACO IMENSO DE AMOR E SAUDADE! <3 xxx

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