Primavera, apesar de tudo

Leonardo da Vinci, Hurricane over horsemen and trees.

Daqui.

Noite

Ângelo de Sousa

Manhã

Edward Steichen, Milk Bottles: Spring

Campo

Não basta abrir as janellas

Alberto Caeiro

Primavera

Galo e galinha

Mais campo

Campo

Campo

Campo

De volta ao campo.

A arte perdida

Europeana

O blogue está aqui: Europeana.

Ainda as violetas

Fim de dia

Edição de autor, um livro com violetas que pode ser lido aqui: Bunch of violets, lembrado a propósito de um filme visto ontem, onde um jovem leva um ramo de violetas à namorada, a condizer com a cor dos olhos dela.

Detalhes

Ali, na Praça de Espanha.

Pescador em águas turvas.

Lembrança do Japão, que se espera volte a florir

One Hundred Famous Views of Edo Meisho Yedo Hiakkei

Mais livros, claro

Manhã

 Le nu provençal, Willi Ronis

Mulheres

"No dia 23 de Março, o Técnico homenageará as mulheres da «casa» com um tributo a três pioneiras revolucionárias: Maria Amélia Chaves, a primeira engenheira portuguesa, a Isabel Maria Gago, a primeira professora de uma escola de engenharia nacional (Isabel e Maria Luísa Pereira dos Santos, que com ela entraram no IST em 1933, foram as primeiras engenheiras químicas e as segunda e Terceira alunas do Técnico), e a Sílvia Marília Costa, a primeira catedrática em engenharia de Portugal."

a wonderful time waiting for me

The Library from Sergey Stefanovich on Vimeo.

Encontrado aqui: oh my cavalier

COMPREENSÃO DA ÁRVORE

A tua voz edifica-me sílaba a sílaba ...

e é árvore desde as raízes aos ramos

Cantas em mim a primavera breve tempo

e depois os pássaros irão

povoar de ti novas solidões

E eu sentirei na fronte permanentemente

o sudário levemente branco do teu grande silêncio

ó canção ó país ó cidade sonhada

dominicalmente aberta ao mar que por fim pousas

na fímbria desta tua superfície.

Ruy Belo

Confesso tudo: roubei este post aqui: Amigos do Botânico. Acho que é compreensível.

Another Spring

Encontraste-me um dia no caminho

Camilo Pessanha

Hesitações de Domingo à tarde

Não sei se gosto mais destas:

THE THREE KHARITES

THE GRACES, Fresco, Imperial Roman IV Style, Pompeii,

 House of Titus Dentatus Panthera, ca 65 -79 AD

 
Ou destas:

Hans Baldung, The Three Graces

Mas aqui há mais por onde escolher: Origem da Comédia

Domingo de manhã

Bric-á-Brac

Little things that no one needs--
Little things to joke about--
Little landscapes, done in beads,
Little morals, woven out,
Little wreaths of gilded grass,
Little brigs of whittled oak
Bottled painfully in glass;
These are made by lonely folk.

Lonely folk have lines of days
Long and faltering and thin;
Therefore -- little wax bouquets,
Prayers cut upon a pin,
Little maps of pinkish lands,
Little charts of curly seas,
Little plats of linen strands,
Little verses, such as these.

Dorothy Parker

Lua

Les Bourgeoises, Daumier

Poesia

Quadro Rústico, Florbela Espanca 

Daqui: Biblioteca Nacional

Primavera

Forças estranhas

As velhas árvores

Olavo Bilac

Lembrança

Lullaby

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.


Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's carnal ecstasy.


Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.


Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

W. H. Auden

Primavera

Petrarca, Just de Gand e Pedro Berruguete

Petrarca, Cancioneiro

Primavera

Anna Akhmatova

S. Jerónimo, numa exposição que eu gostava de ver.

Primavera

Domingo

Hoje, não vou ver as camélias

Talvez amanhã.

Guess I'm Doing Fine

Mulheres

Aqui.

Campo

Anselm Kiefer,   freunde

Limões

Let's do it

Anselm Kiefer, Zweistromland

Primavera

Primavera

embody the truths of one's culture

"Queequeg is not from our rotten line, and we have seen already that he exhibits a kind of hale, eternal health. His pagan culture is too far from our own to be the saving possibility to which the wise old Manxman alludes, but there is nevertheless something we can learn from Queequeg's way of life. For the great warrior's immortal health comes from his native recognition that one must embody the truths of one's culture, even if one can never get clear about what they mean. This is emphasized most clearly in the story of Quequeeg's extraordinary tattoos.

The tattoos that cover Queequeg's body are of mystical origin, and they don't so much represent as embody his understanding of both himself and the world. Like the Maorian chief Te Pehi Kupe on whom he is almost certainly modeled, Queequeg signs his name by copying from memory a central portion of his tattoos. Taken as a whole, the markings seem to incarnate his culture's understanding of everything that is, and the way that it is; they manifest a whole Kokovokan understanding of being. And they are thoroughly indecipherable. It is as if Queequeg were a prospective comment on a famous saying by Yeats. In one of his last letters, written only weeks before he died, Yeats rejects all aspiration to abstract knowledge of the deepest truths. "Man can embody the truth," he writes, "but he cannot know it." Just so Queequeg embodies his culture's truth:

“[His] tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even he himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.”

Daqui:

All things shining

Anselm Kiefer, Naglfar

Fim de dia

Livros velhos