Catholic shrines with water fountains hold immense spiritual significance, primarily rooted in the tradition of holy water and miraculous springs. It's also a way to protect fields and harvests in rural places.
José María Cumbreño - A campainha / El Timbre
Sim,
disseste que não voltavas.
Que
te ias embora para sempre.
Que
era o melhor para ambos, na tua opinião.
Bem
sei.
Apesar
de tudo, não quis que me devolvesses a chave.
Porque,
embora não me ligasses uma única vez.
Uma
só.
Nem
atendas o telefone quando eu ligo.
Todas
as tardes, ao voltar do trabalho,
antes
de abrir a porta,
eu
toco à campainha.
E
espero.
Para
o caso de.
Tradução
de A.M.
Original:
Sé
que me dijiste que no pensabas volver.
Que
te marchabas definitivamente.
Que,
según tú, era lo mejor para los dos.
Lo
sé.
A
pesar de todo, no quise que me devolvieras las llaves.
Porque
aunque no me hayas llamado ni una vez.
Ni
una sola.
Ni
cojas el teléfono cuando yo lo hago.
Todas
las tardes, al regresar del trabajo,
antes
de abrir la puerta
pulso
el timbre.
Y
espero.
Por
si acaso.
O poeta transforma um objecto quotidiano num símbolo de
espera, ausência e comunicação falhada. O toque do timbre interrompe o silêncio
e desperta tensão emocional, sugerindo memórias persistentes. O poeta utiliza
imagens simples para explorar a solidão contemporânea e a fragilidade das
relações humanas.
The Medievals - Douce Dame Jolie
Douce dame jolie, pour dieu ne pensés
mie
Que nulle ait signorie seur moy fors
vous seulement.
Qu'adès sans tricherie chierie
Vous ay et humblement
Tous les jours de ma vie servie
Sans villain pensement.
Helas!
et je mendie d'esperance et d'aïe;
Dont ma joie est fenie, se pité ne vous en prent.
Mais vo douce maistrie maistrie mon cuer si durement
Qu'elle le contralie et lie en amour tellement
Qu'il n'a de riens envie fors d'estre en vo baillie;
Et se ne li ottrie vos cuers nul aligement.
Et quant ma maladie garie ne sera nullement
Sans vous, douce anemie, qui lie estes de mon tourment,
A
jointes mains deprie vo cuer, puis qu'il m'oublie,
Que
temprement m'ocie, car trop langui longuement.
"Douce Dame
Jolie" - composed by French composer and poet Guillaume de Machaut. He was
a central figure of the ars nova style in late medieval music. Machaut embodies
the culmination of the poet-composer tradition stretching back to the
traditions of troubadour and trouvère. In "Douce Dame Jolie", the
lyrical subject praises the beauty of the young lady, assuring her of his
undying love. A glimpse of the age of the Troubadours.
Anna Alma-Tadema - Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema's Library in Townshend House, London, 1884
It depicts an elegant
Victorian interior filled with refinement and quiet intimacy. The richly
furnished library glows with warm light, revealing polished wood, patterned
textiles, books, ceramics, and carefully arranged decorative objects. Every
surface demonstrates her meticulous attention to texture and detail. The
composition reflects both aesthetic harmony and intellectual culture, while
offering a personal glimpse into the domestic world of her father, Sir Lawrence
Alma-Tadema, celebrated for his luxurious classical scenes.
Egito Gonçalves
Nenhum amor é total,
nenhum
amor desenha a latitude
e
longitude como linhas ideais;
na
massa em fusão
há
sempre uma impureza,
todo
o amor tem as suas fissuras
a
vigiar constantemente.
O
dia, raro atinge a sua ponta extrema.
O poema reflete sobre os limites inevitáveis do amor humano. O sujeito poético reconhece que qualquer relação permanece incompleta, marcada pela imperfeição, pela ausência e pela impossibilidade de entrega absoluta. Além disso, o poema valoriza a consciência da fragilidade afetiva, mostrando que amar implica aceitar falhas, distâncias e contradições. Assim, o amor surge simultaneamente como experiência e insuficiente, capaz de unir pessoas sem eliminar a solidão.
Angels and Insects, 1995, dir. Philip Haas
%20dir.%20Philip%20Haas.jpg)
William Adamson, a naturalist returning to England after years exploring the Amazon, finds himself destitute following the loss of his possessions at sea. He is taken in by a wealthy Victorian family whose patriarch shares his fascination with entomology. As William becomes integrated into their household and begins studying their extensive insect collection, he develops a complicated relationship with the enigmatic Eugenia, the patriarch’s daughter.
Haas crafts the film with a refined visual sensibility that reflects the rigid elegance of Victorian society. The cinematography by Remi Adefarasin captures candlelit interiors, lush gardens, and the delicate textures of the natural world, mirroring the film’s fascination with observation and classification. The performances by Mark Rylance and Kristin Scott Thomas bring subtle tension to a story where restraint often conceals deeper desires and secrets.
Adapted from a novella by A. S. Byatt, the film explores parallels between human behaviour and insect societies, suggesting that beneath the veneer of civility lie instincts shaped by hierarchy, survival, and reproduction. The narrative gradually reveals the darker implications of these comparisons within the household itself.
Premiering in the Un
Certain Regard section at the 1995 Cannes Film Festival, the film was praised
for its performances and intellectual ambition, standing out as an unusual
blend of period drama, scientific reflection, and psychological mystery.
Folk music in the Australian bush, 1966
Notes in YouTuve video: Please turn on subtitles if you are struggling to understand the conversation at 2:30. If you are able to clarify any of the missing parts, it would be helpful to share this information in the comments.
As some people have pointed out in the comments, the lyrics at 3:23 should probably be ‘at Jackass, at sawpit, at spring gully clear’. ‘Gullies’ are apparently where gold was found.
The line at 5:48 should
be ‘at the sun they take a look’.
0:00 Simon McDonald -
Cockies of Bungaree (Roud 20415)
1:03 Simon McDonald -
The Old Bark Hut (Roud 22662)
2:03 Lumsden family
collecting Simon McDonald's songs
3:13 Simon McDonald -
Gold in the Creswick Hills
3:50 Lumsden family
4:13 Elizabeth Jamieson
- The Murray River Shore
5:01 Lumsden Family -
Lime-Juice Tub (Roud 22605)
Anna Katarina Boberg, (Swedish, 1864–1935), Evening Silence, 1916
,%20Evening%20Silence,%201916.jpg)
"Using tones of coral pink, lemon yellow, mint green, and sapphire blue, Swedish artist Anna Boberg created this twilight view of mountains and the sea in Lofoten in northern Norway. The swirling patterns and thick application of paint lend a sense of decorative abstraction to the picture. Boberg travelled to this remote region repeatedly, often working outdoors to capture the atmospheric effects of light reflecting off the bay. Despite this, Evening Silence was likely painted from memory in the artist’s studio."
Via Saint Louis Art Museum
Carlos Salem - Testamento de dúvidas
O
que será destes meus escritos, tão alheios,
no
dia em que eu já cá não esteja para os nomear?
Quem
apanhará do chão os versos
quando
se desfolhar o tempo que me cabe?
Farão
contas os meus herdeiros de alguns improváveis benefícios,
ou
negarão qualquer relação com este batoteiro de poemas
que
quis só meter a mão e a palavra por baixo das saias da vida
(e
conseguiu às vezes)?
Disputarão os meus amores a provocação de uma estrofe,
esquecendo
que amar não é mais do que repetir-se a si mesmo?
Organizarão
um congresso de despeitas e perdões
com
o peito ao vento e copos e pernas ao alto?
Lamentarão
ter concedido os seus favores a um autor
mais
interessado no mistério de certas virilhas
do
que no futuro dos mercados?
Não
chegarei a sabê-lo, felizmente.
Por
isso escrevo.
Por
isso amo.
Tradução A.M.
No poema, o sujeito poético constrói um legado assente na incerteza, recusando verdades absolutas. A dúvida surge como forma de liberdade intelectual e emocional, revelando uma visão existencial marcada pela ironia e pela lucidez. O tom intimista aproxima o leitor das fragilidades humanas, enquanto a linguagem simples intensifica a profundidade reflexiva.
Dervish & Andy Irvine - The Rambling Siúler. Shrewsbury Folk Festival 2010
Oh the highland lands are come to
town
And landed in head waters
The colonel fell for a pretty little
girl
The farmer's only daughter
The general bet five thousand pounds
The colonel wouldn't dress up in a
beggars gowns
Would she travel the world around and
round
Would she go with the rambling siuler
Oh the colonel started out next day
Dressed in beggars clothing
It wasn't long til he found his way
To the farmer's lowly dwelling
"Oh farmer shelter me for the
night
I'll sleep in your barn until
daylight
Take pity on a beggar's awful plight
God help a rambling siuler."
The farmer said, "The night is
wet
You can come to the kitchen
fire."
The colonel says to the serving maid
"It's you I do admire
Would you leave them all and come
with me
Leave them all my stor mo chroi"
"What a lusty beggar you must be
Away with the rambling siuler!"
The farmer and his servants all
They fell into loud laughter
When who came tripping down the
stairs
But the farmer's only daughter
She'd two bright eyes like the
morning skies
Soon as the beggar he did her spy
She fairly caught his roving eye
"She'll be mine," says the
rambling siuler
And the farmer and his servants all
They went out to the byre
He put his arm around her waist
As they sat by the kitchen fire
He put his hand upon her knee
Unto her gave kisses three
Says she, "How dare you make so
free
And it's you but a rambling
siuler."
When supper it was over
They made his bed in the barn
Between two sacks and a winnow cloth
For fear that he take harm
At twelve o'clock that very night
She came to the barn
She was dressed in white
The beggar rose in great delight
"She's mine," says the
rambling siuler
And he threw off his beggar's clothes
He threw them against the wall
He stood the bravest gentleman
That was among them all
Will you look at my locks of golden
hair
Under this sooty old hat I wear
"I'm a colonel bold I do
declare, and none but a
Rambling siuler."
"And I wouldn't for one hundred
pounds
That you and I be found here
Would you travel around the whole
night long
And go with the rambling siuler,
"
So it's off to the general's house
they've gone
Great is the wager he has won
And away to the sound of the fife and
the drum
She's away with the rambling siuler.
The Rambling Siúler was collected in the North of Ireland by Sam Henry and is obviously Scottish in origin. Once again a fatal fascination for beggars brings ultimate reward to the farmer’s daughter (how did they do it?) An unlikely tale, this, but we like the colonel-come-beggar’s cunning in the third verse where he feigns interest in the serving girl, presumably to convince the farmer that he wasn’t going to try and get off with his daughter.
Marta Sanz - Chega sempre / Siempre llega
Chega
sempre
um
momento na vida
em
que deixamos
de
sentir-nos invulneráveis.
Torcemos
as
linhas da mão.
A
memória,
o ar
feliz,
os
gestos de ternura,
o
sal e a praia,
não
servem já
de
nenhum consolo.
Não são carnais.
Trad. A.M.
Original:
Siempre
llega
un
segundo en la vida
en
que uno deja
de
sentirse invulnerable.
Se tuercen
las
rayas de la mano.
La
memoria,
los
aires felices,
los
gestos de ternura,
la
sal y la playa,
no
representan ya
ningún
consuelo.
No
son de carne.
O poema explora a inevitabilidade do tempo e da memória, que transforma a realidade humana em algo maior. Espiritual? O tom intimista e
reflexivo evidencia a fragilidade humana perante perdas, mudanças e
expectativas. Há um caminho em direção à luz que não entendemos.
Eduard Ritter - Brave Girls, Bad Boys, School Class in Tyrol
It portrays a lively
nineteenth-century rural classroom filled with playful disorder. Well-behaved
girls sit attentively while mischievous boys distract themselves with paper
hats, fruit, and chatter. An elderly teacher watches calmly, his long pipe
adding humour and warmth to the scene. Portraits of Emperor Ferdinand I hang in
the background, grounding the painting in Austrian Tyrol. Ritter captures
village education with affectionate realism, balancing innocence, chaos,
discipline, and everyday humanity beautifully.
Jack Gilbert – O Vale abandonado
Sabes
o que é estar sozinho por tanto tempo
que
sais a meio da noite
e
enfias o balde no poço
só
para sentires algo lá em baixo
a puxar a outra ponta da corda?
Estas linhas são poesia? São, não são? Poesia é outra coisa, mas que coisa? A Samaritana velhinha ao recordar-se do que passou com Jesus. Nunca é tarde para beber dessa água.
Andy Irvine - As I Roved Out, 1976
As I roved out on a
bright May morning
to view the meadows and
flowers gay
Whom should I spy but
my own true lover
as she sat under yon
willow tree.
I took off my hat and I
did salute her
I did salute her most
courageously
When she turned around
well the tears fell from her
sayin’ "False young
man, you have deluded me.
A diamond ring I owned
I gave you
a diamond ring to wear
on your right hand
But the vows you made,
love, you went and broke them
and married the lassie
that had the land."
"If I’d married the
lassie that had the land, my love
it’s that I’ll rue till
the day I die
When misfortune falls
sure no man can shun it
I was blindfolded I’ll
ne’er deny."
Now at nights when I go
to my bed of slumber
the thoughts of my true
love run in my mind
When I turned around to
embrace my darling
instead of gold sure
it’s brass I find.
And I wish the Queen
would call home her army
from the West Indies,
Amerikay and Spain
And every man to his
wedded woman
in hopes that you and I
will meet again.
His voice would bring a
tear to a glass eye.
Vladimir Makovsky (Russian, 1846-1920), Mother and child, 1876
,%20Mother%20and%20child,%201876.jpg)
The painting portrays a
tender domestic moment filled with warmth and realism. A peasant mother cradles
her young child with quiet affection, emphasizing emotional intimacy over
grandeur. Soft lighting and earthy tones create a humble, lived-in atmosphere
typical of Russian realist art. Makovsky captures everyday life with
sensitivity, highlighting maternal devotion and the dignity of ordinary people
in nineteenth-century Russia.
Ángeles Mora - Poética
Eu
sei que estou aqui
para
escrever a minha vida.
E
que pouco a pouco cheguei
a
esta cadeira.
E
não quero errar.
Sei
que vou contá-la
e
que será mentira:
Em
cima da mesa suja
uma
gota de tinta.
Tradução A. M.
Original:
Yo
sé que estoy aquí
para
escribir mi vida.
Que
vine poco a poco
hasta
esta silla.
Y no
quiero engañarme.
Sé
que voy a contártela
y
que será mentira:
Sobre
la mesa sucia
una
gota de tinta.
O poema apresenta a escrita como um espaço de procura
interior e de reconstrução da identidade. O tom reflexivo aproxima o leitor de uma visão humana e
sensível da criação poética, onde a verdade e a perfeição são improváveis.
A Very Unusual Town (Part 4) | The Odd Jobs That Keep the Town Running
This shows that a.i. is
a tool not the brains of creativity.
There is a difference. The right tools in the right hands with the right
eye. Absolutely love the music and I wish I could just disappear down one of
those alleyways.
Vojtěch Hynais, Czech painter (1854–1925)--Společnost v přírodě, 1889
--Spole%C4%8Dnost%20v%20p%C5%99%C3%ADrod%C4%9B,%201889.jpg)
The painting portrays
an elegant outdoor gathering immersed in soft natural darklight and lush greenery.
The painting balances refined social interaction with the tranquillity of
nature, reflecting late 19th-century academic realism infused with lyrical
atmosphere. Figures dressed in fashionable attire recline and converse
casually, creating a sense of leisure and cultivated sophistication. Hynais
uses delicate colour transitions and careful composition to blend human
presence harmoniously with the surrounding landscape, evoking serenity,
intimacy, and quiet cultural refinement.
Carmen Martín Gaite - Beco sem saída / Calejjón sin Salida
The Three
Fates: Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos.
Já
sei que não há saída,
mas deixai-me ir por aqui,
não peçais para voltar.
Cravaram-se-me
os olhos
e a
carne,
e
não posso voltar,
e
não quero voltar.
Não
me griteis que não há
saída,
julgando
que eu não oiço,
que
não entendo.
As vossas
vozes tropeçam-me na crosta
e
caem como cascas,
que
eu piso ao andar.
Avanço
sozinha e alegre
na
exacta manhã
pelo
meu próprio caminho
que
encontrei
embora
não haja saída.
Tradução A.M.
Original:
Ya
sé que no hay salida,
pero
dejad que siga por aquí.
No
me pidáis que vuelva.
Se
han clavado mis ojos y mi
carne,
y no
puedo volver.
Y no
quiero volver.
Ya
no me gritéis más que no hay
salida
creyendo
que no oigo,
que
no entiendo.
Vuestras
voces tropiezan en mi costra
y se
caen como cáscaras
y
las piso al andar.
Avanzo
alegre y sola
en
la exacta mañana
por
el camino mío que he
encontrado
aunque
no haya salida.
No poema existe a sensação de bloqueio existencial e
emocional. A imagem do espaço fechado traduz a impossibilidade de fuga,
revelando solidão, dúvida e desencanto. A linguagem simples intensifica o tom
íntimo e reflexivo, aproximando o leitor da inquietação da voz poética. O beco
funciona como metáfora da condição humana perante escolhas limitadas e caminhos
interrompidos. O poema destaca ainda a tensão entre desejo de mudança e
incapacidade de avançar.
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