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In John 18:37-38,
Pontius Pilate asks Jesus "What is truth?" during his trial, a
cynical or sceptical question posed to the one who declared himself to be truth
itself. Jesus testified that his kingdom is not of this world, embodying
absolute, divine truth rather than abstract, worldly definitions. Many interpretations suggest Pilate
asked this in disdain, irony, or scepticism, walking away without waiting for
an answer.
Da infância, o cheiro
do musgo nas levadas, da lama, das amoras
e a violência extrema de aprender.
Do mar, a última nota
da última onda desdobrada
antes da volta, teimando
que sereias não existem.
Da noite, a ligeira fragrância
de um perfume italiano
sempre na moda.
Do teu corpo, o aroma
de livro de aventuras
em nova leitura; mas também de
loendros desolados, a arder.
Cheira a vida queimada.
Trad. A.M.
O poema explora a memória sensorial e o poder evocativo do
perfume. A fragrância surge como metáfora do desejo, da identidade e da
passagem do tempo, revelando como os odores guardam experiências íntimas. O eu
lírico associa o perfume ao corpo e à emoção, transformando-o num símbolo de
presença e ausência, onde o efémero se torna duradouro através da lembrança.
While in the merry
month of May, from me home I started
Left the girls of Tuam
so sad and broken hearted
Saluted father dear,
kissed me darling mother
Drank a pint of beer,
me grief and tears to smother.
Then off to reap the
corn, leave where I was born
Cut a stout black thorn
to banish ghosts and goblins
Bought a pair of
brogues rattling o'er the bogs
And fright'ning all the
dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four,
five,
Hunt the Hare and turn
her down the rocky road
All the way to Dublin,
whack follol de rah.
In Mullingar that night
I rested limbs so weary
Started by daylight
next morning blithe and early
Took a drop of pure to
keep me heart from sinking
That's a Paddy's cure
whenever he's on drinking.
See the lassies smile,
laughing all the while
At me curious style,
'twould set your heart a bubblin'
Asked me was I hired,
wages I required
I was almost tired of
the rocky road to Dublin. Refrain:
In Dublin next arrived,
I thought it such a pity
To be soon deprived a
view of that fine city
So then I took a
stroll, all among the quality
Me bundle it was stole,
all in a neat locality.
Something crossed me
mind, when I looked behind
No bundle could I find
upon me stick a wobblin'
Inquiring for the
rogue, they said me Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on
the rocky road to Dublin. Refrain:
From there I got away,
me spirits never falling
Landed on the quay,
just as the ship was sailing
The Captain at me
roared, said that no room had he
When I jumped aboard, a
cabin found for Paddy
Down among the pigs,
played some hearty rigs
Danced some hearty
jigs, the water round me bubbling
When off Holyhead, I
wished meself was dead
Or better for instead
on the rocky road to Dublin. Refrain:
Well, the boys of
Liverpool, when we safely landed
Called meself a fool, I
could no longer stand it
Blood began to boil,
temper I was losing
Poor old Erin's Isle
they began abusing.
"Hurrah me
soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly
Some Galway boys were
nigh and saw I was a hobble in
With a load
"Hurray" joined in the affray
We quietly cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin. Refrain:
It is a lively,
fast-paced rendition of the traditional Irish folk song The Rocky Road to
Dublin. It follows a young man’s adventurous and often chaotic journey from
rural Ireland to Dublin and beyond, filled with humour, hardship, and
encounters along the way. The Ramparts bring energetic instrumentation and
spirited vocals, emphasizing the song’s rhythmic drive and storytelling charm
while preserving its classic, rebellious Irish character and cultural roots.
Levou-me o meu amado pelas câmaras da festa,
e era o amor o estandarte que ele abria sobre mim.
- Dai-me bolos de passas, reanimai-me
com maçãs. Porque eu estou doente de amor.
O seu braço esquerdo está debaixo da minha cabeça,
o seu braço direito aperta-me fortemente.
Suplico-vos, ó raparigas de Jerusalém,
pelas gazelas, pelas corças dos campos,
não acordeis, não acordeis o meu amor, antes que ele
o deseje.
Tradução de Herberto Helder
Published in the 1924 Christmas Edition of The London Illustrated News, the present watercolour portrays the Angel Gabriel greeting the Virgin Mary, at the moment the first rose bloomed. The poem introducing The Birth of the Rose in The London Illustrated News begins:
'The Rose is not only the emblem of England, the very soul of summer, and the sweetest of all the blooms in an English garden, but it is a flower interwoven with the mystic legends of our religion, and is closely associated with the Virgin Mary. The legend of the rose's birth is that when Gabriel saluted the Blessed Virgin, "the Rose wherein the Word Divine was made incarnate," her namesake first sprang from the earth, and twined itself into a sweet-scented arbour above her head.'
The language of flowers
has been recognized for centuries in many countries throughout Europe and Asia.
They even play a large role in William Shakespeare’s works. Mythologies,
folklore, sonnets, and plays of the ancient Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, and Chinese
are peppered with flower and plant symbolism—and for good reason. This vase is from 17th century.
os pássaros morrem sempre
de noite, e os sinos tocam
os seus nomes pela madrugada
I met your wizards, your pirates, your businessmen
your broken, your angry, your sad,
I met your babies and dogs, your uncles in law
I even met yer moms and yer dads.
Good mornin America! Good evening America!
I love ya, you can't like it or don't
I'm tired but I ain't wore out
gee whiz, it'll be good to be home.
They laid siege to the city of Minneapolis
they tried to break 'em, but they
came away broke
now they changed up their mark, they work quiet, in the dark
that town's full of tough tough folks.
Good morning, America! Good evening, America!
I love ya, you can like it or don't
they're tired but they ain't wore out
anyone can call this land home.
I went to north Caroline where the folks are all fine
they stuck together through the wind and the rain
They took care of their friends when it looked like the end
how I wish we could all do the same.
Good morning, America! Good evening, America!
I love ya, you can like it or don't
they're tired but they ain't wore out
where your heart is, there be yer
home.
From California to Texas and most of the rest of America
I've near see it all and I ain't giving up home
and I never will, nope
someday we're gonna all get along.
Good morning, America! Good evening, America!
I love ya, you can like it or don't
we're tired but we ain't wore out
someday we're gonna know this is home,
someday we're gonna know this is home.
This song feels like being able to
breathe again after holding your breath for a long time.
A que vens tu agora,
juventude,
encanto descarado da vida?
O que é que te traz à praia?
Estávamos tranquilos os mais velhos
e cá vens tu a ferir-nos, com o reviver
dos nossos sonhos impossíveis,
cá vens a remexer-nos a imaginação.
Erguida das ondas,
toda brilho, fulgor, sensação pura
e jeito de animal bravio,
avanças para a margem
com os teus peitos pequenos e rosados,
com nádegas de malícia tal como o sorriso,
ó deusa esbelta de tornozelo grosso
e com a insinuação (tão tua)
do ventre, a dar passagem
para as coxas, beleza delicada,
precisa e indecisa,
para se pousar a fronte
e deixar correr as lágrimas.
E vemos-te chegar - figuração
de um fabuloso espaço ribeirinho
com toiros, búzios e golfinhos,
sobre a areia mole, entre o mar e o céu,
ainda trémula de gotas,
deslumbrada de sol e sorrindo.
Anuncias-nos o reino da vida,
o sonho de outra vida, mais intensa e mais livre,
sem desejo inflamado como um remorso
- sem desejo de ti,
bestinha
infantil sofisticada, juntando
a beleza directa da starlet
e a timidez graciosa do príncipe.
Embora de repente franzas
a testa com um pensamento
obtuso e comovido,
e virando a cara para o mar,
onde brilha a expressão melancólica de Antinoo,
ó bela indiferente,
pela praia caminhes como se não te soubesses
seguida pelos homens e pelos cães,
pelos deuses e anjos e arcanjos,
por trovões, por abominações.
(Trad. A.M.)
Original:
A qué vienes ahora,
juventud,
encanto descarado de la vida?
Qué te trae a la playa?
Estábamos tranquilos los mayores
y tú vienes a herirnos, reviviendo
los más temibles sueños imposibles,
tú vienes para hurgarnos las imaginaciones.
De las ondas surgida,
toda brillos, fulgor, sensación pura
y ondulaciones de animal latente,
hacia la orilla avanzas
con sonrosados pechos diminutos,
con nalgas maliciosas lo mismo que sonrisas,
oh diosa esbelta de tobillos gruesos,
y con la insinuación
(tan propiamente tuya)
del vientre dando paso al nacimiento
de los muslos: belleza delicada,
precisa e indecisa,
donde posar la frente derramando lágrimas.
Y te vemos llegar -figuración
de un fabuloso espacio ribereño
con toros, caracolas y delfines,
sobre la arena blanda, entre la mar y el cielo,
aún trémula de gotas,
deslumbrada de sol y sonriendo.
Nos anuncias el reino de la vida,
el sueño de otra vida, más intensa y más libre,
sin deseo enconado como un remordimiento
-sin deseo de ti, sofisticada
bestezuela infantil, en quien coinciden
la directa belleza de la starlet
y la graciosa timidez del príncipe.
Aunque de pronto frunzas
la frente que atormenta un pensamiento
conmovedor y obtuso,
y volviendo hacia el mar tu rostro donde brilla
entre mojadas mechas rubias
la expresión melancólica de Antínoos,
oh bella indiferente,
por la playa camines como si no supieses
que te siguen los hombres y los perros,
los dioses y los ángeles,
y los arcángeles,
los tronos, las abominaciones...
O poema apresenta a juventude como um ideal sedutor,
associado à liberdade, intensidade e desejo, mas também marcado pela ilusão. O
poema reflete sobre o passar do tempo e a perda inevitável dessa fase,
revelando um tom melancólico e crítico. A voz poética reconhece que a juventude
é efémera e, muitas vezes, idealizada em excesso, contrastando com a
maturidade, onde surge maior lucidez, mas também desencanto perante a realidade
vivida.
A pintura "The Voyage
of Life: Youth" de Thomas Cole, 1842
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King Lear, Act 1, Scene
1 by Edwin Austin Abbey captures the dramatic opening of King Lear. Lear
dominates the composition, dividing his kingdom among his daughters, who stand
in tense expectation. Rich costumes and medieval details heighten the historical
atmosphere. The figures’ gestures and expressions convey flattery, pride, and
looming betrayal, especially Cordelia’s quiet restraint. Abbey’s careful
staging and theatrical clarity emphasize the emotional gravity and tragic
foreshadowing of the scene.
Debaixo
de tantas e tantas folhas caídas,
os
teus pés nem se vêem.
Depois
farei o elogio das folhas
que
o vento arrebata cada vez com mais força.
Entretanto,
recebe estes versos.
Celebram
um carreiro entre as árvores,
a tua
figura cingida por minhas mãos,
o
calor de um instante e a tua voz
e
essa maneira de te calares
como
se à tempestade
fosses
responder com um suspiro.
Original:
Bajo
tantas y tantas hojas caídas
no
se te ven los pies ahora.
Haré
luego el elogio de las hojas
que
arremolina el viento cada vez con más fuerza.
Acéptame
estos versos, mientras tanto.
Celebran
un sendero entre los árboles
y tu
talle ceñido por mis manos
y el
calor de un instante y tu voz
y
esa manera de callarte como si fueras
a
responderle con un suspiro a la tormenta.
O poema explora a fragilidade do amor perante circunstâncias
adversas. O "mau tempo" funciona como metáfora das dificuldades emocionais e
externas que ameaçam a relação. Há um tom melancólico e reflexivo, sugerindo
que o amor persiste, mas sofre desgaste.
And no kings, no kings,
no kings!
No lies, no bullets, no
bombs and no need
But no kings, no kings,
no kings!
No walls, no judgments,
no oppression cowerin'
To kings, no kings, no
kings!
Every colour, every
culture, every language, every creed
And no kings, no kings,
no kings!
No more dyin' in the
clutches, no more dyin' underneath
No kings, no kings, no
kings!
No more dyin' for the
causes, no one asked for, no one needs
And no kings, no kings,
no kings!
To all the dignity, the
love that they deserve and need
No kings, no kings, no
kings!
The pursuit of
happiness, the right to life and liberty
And no kings, no kings,
no kings!
No child going hungry for
there's plenty 'nough to eat
With no kings, no kings,
no kings!
May I recognize your
soul that you may see the soul in me
No kings, no kings, no
kings.
Close your eyes and
listen, so that you may truly see
No kings, no kings, no
kings.
That the killing of my
foe indeed, destroys a part of me
No kings, no kings, no
kings.
No hatred, no violence,
no starvation and no greed
And no kings, no kings,
no kings.
Jesse Welles’ "No
Kings" is a folk protest anthem advocating for a world free from
authoritarianism, greed, and war. Featuring minimalist guitar and harmonica,
the song resonates with contemporary anti-establishment sentiment, emphasizing
unity across cultures and rejecting the influence of modern "kings." It
asserts that contemporary leaders, wealthy, and powerful figures mirror the
roles of historical kings and lords, suggesting they have "wings"
(referring to a, perhaps, unnatural or fleeting nature of their power) rather
than legitimate authority. There is a harmonica, but Dylan is not there. Baez
is.
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It portrays a quiet
domestic scene emphasizing diligence and humility. A focused figure, a child is
absorbed in a simple task, illuminated by soft, natural light. The careful
detail in clothing and surroundings reflects everyday rural life. Anker’s warm
tones and gentle realism convey respect for labour, education, and moral
virtue, capturing the dignity of ordinary people in 19th-century Switzerland.
Eu chamo-te ribeirinho, embora
o teu nome seja docemente diferente.
E chamo-te ribeirinho por teres
um pouco do meu sol e da sua sorte
- brilhar e demorar-se por entre as flores
humildes, silvestres e pequenas.
E aí, diz-me, que mais, então que mais?