Archive for the Literature Category

In the eye of the storm

Posted in Literature with tags , , , , on July 2, 2009 by Silvia
sailing

sailing

“I’m a boat of sails and oars
I am a vagabond of the sea.
I do not have marked scale
Nor hour to arrive:
It is everything as the wind,
Everything as the tide…
Many times it happens
To loose the taken route
To the beach where I was going…
Was it the wind that turned?
Was it the sea that enraged
And there is no shelter haven?
Or was it my will
Of vagabond of the sea?
I don’t know.
Whatever it was
I have no marked route
I walk to the whim of the tide.
That’s why, my friends,
The storm of life
Caught me in the loafed sea.
And now
Want it or not,
Happy face and strong arm:
I am in my rank to fight!
If I sink, it’s finished.
These things happen
To the vagabonds of the sea.”

Manuel da Fonseca

Another stray dog’s day
I have no words to say…

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Friendship

Posted in Life, Literature on June 30, 2009 by Silvia
Cherry grove in flower at the Auckland Domain.

Image via Wikipedia

“As soon as we knew each other
We inaugurated the word friend!
A friend is a smile
From mouth to mouth,
A very clean look
a house, even modest, that is offered.
A heart ready to beat
In our hand!
Friend (…)
Friend is the opposite of enemy!
Friend is the corrected error,
Not the pursued, explored error.
It is the shared, practised truth.
Friend is the defeated solitude!
Friend is a great task,
An endless work,
A useful space, a fertile time,
Friend is going to be, and is already a great party! “

Alexander O’Neill

Thank you, dear friends, for letting me participate in this party!

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The colours of Love.

Posted in Literature with tags , , , , , on June 22, 2009 by Silvia
Andorinha das chaminés - Hirundo rustica - Bar...
Image by Jose Sousa via Flickr

Once upon a time there was a cat: a big, clumsy ugly cat who lived in a park. He was lazy (all he did was sleep all day in the sunshine) and was known as mean. The truth is that no-one understood him and no-one was even interested in talking with him. The cat was to blame for everything wrong that happened in the park, and no-one even ever tried to understand what was happening to him.

The Spring came, and brought with her the swallows; light, gracious and gentle creatures that cross the skies with their acrobatical flights.

And there she was, a beautiful, fascinating and corageous swallow who defied all the rules and predictions of that conservative society by… talking to the cat. She told him : “you are funny… I’m not afraid of you!” He was surprised, delighted, enchanted… And he fell in love with her.

They met every day and talked – he was down on the ground and she was upon a branch. People commented “Oh, what’s going to happen?… He is going to eat her! Everybody knows that cats eat swallows!…” But the sweet Sinha didn’t mind. She loved the cat and the cat loved her. Nothing else could matter.

One day, her parents arranged her marriage with the Nightingale, a good-looking boy of the neighbourhood, much more adequate to a society girl-swallow like Sinha. She protested, she fought, but she was forced to marry him.

Cadê a Bianca?

The cat’s heart was broken. He, the brave Spotted cat, was never seen crying before. And Sinha took a rose petal and deposited it over Spotted’s head. Red, like a drop of blood.

And the cat was alone. Slowly, depressed, he moved away from the park, towards the nest of the Rattlesnake…

This is a beautiful, brilliant Love Story by Jorge Amado, a great Brazilian writer. It’s name is “O gato Malhado e a andorinha Sinha” (The Spotted cat and the swallow Sinha).

Let’s move it to the reality with one example.

“…
White boy black girl
In the name of love
White boy black girl
Black boy white girl…”

(INXS, Original Sin)

1 Corinthians 13    Holy Bible

Love

 1If I speak in the tongues[a] of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,[b] but have not love, I gain nothing.

 4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

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It’s so difficult to rule the world!

Posted in Literature, rock the cage with tags , , , , , on June 19, 2009 by Silvia

To my father…

Do you know that song?…

“If I ruled the world…”

If I ruled the world, no innocents would be condemned for crimes that they didn’t do.

No-one would suffer from solitude; no-one would feel abandoned.

Razor wire

If I ruled the world, schools would be happy places, where children would love to learn.

If I ruled the world, every child would have a mummy and a daddy


(those words are on purpose).

No infants would be killed.

If I ruled the world, there would be no hunger

No despair, no cold…

There would be free water

and electricity for everyone.

If I ruled the world, no-one would feel ill

And have no doctor to run to.

No-one would remain without a shelter;

No-one would need to sleep on the street


(unless if they wanted to)…

If I ruled the world there would be no pollution,

No specimens in risk of extintion…

I would plant trees everywhere!


If I ruled the world, there would be laughter,

Tears of joy,

Songs everywhere.

If I ruled the world there would be heaven,

With open doors for everyone.

People would wear different colours

children's messages for Peace

children's messages for Peace

In their faces and hearts,

To make it even more beautiful!

Love would be the Law…

 

But this is me…

It isn’t hard to understand why I don’t rule the world, is it?!

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A world beyond your imagination…

Posted in Literature with tags , , , , on June 17, 2009 by Silvia
Gyilkos-tó, Transylvania
Image by Mr. White Rabbit via Flickr

Those who love the Nature must visit this land! A world of high mountains, of lakes and crystal rivers,where the wolves and lynxes roam freely, where the fierce bears come and ask for delicacies. Transilvania isn’t just the world of Dracula, is the home of legends as the one you are going to read. Enjoy it.

“A long time ago, a very beautiful girl lived near the Gyergyó. Her hair was black as a blackberry, her eyes were greyish-green and her body was like a proud and gracious tree in the wind.

In a sunny day of July, before lunchtime, she went to the town fair. There, she found a tall handsome boy, who could with his arms take the breath from a bear. He played a flute as no-one else in those surroundings. He also knew how to build wood houses and wagons. When their eyes met it was like a lightening; they immediately fell in love with each other because true love appears in such a way, as a thunder in a clear blue sky.

The boy bought a silk blue sky coloured écharpe and a cookie with a mirror. He asked Eszter to be his bride.

The marriage didn’t happen, because the boy was taken to the army.

Eszter waited faithfully for her love. In the afternoons, when the sun laid behind the mountains, she picked up a clay jar and went up to where the water sings over the stones. There she stayed for hours, thinking of her beloved. Even the heart of the mountains became softer with her sad sighs and songs.

On a Sunday afternoon, the leader of the highway men saw Eszter by the water. He sat the beautiful girl on the horse saddle, ahead of him and took her, like a hurricane, to the Kis-Cohárd, among the rocks of a thousand faces, where he had his hiding.

He promised her gold, silver, and a palace of diamonds if she loved him, but the girl didn’t feel anything for him. She kept waiting for her love, from the sunrise to the sunset.

Seeing this, the outlaw was furious and wanted to force Eszter to be his wife.

Eszter screamed, asking the silent witnesses of the mountains for help. The rocks prolonged her painful scream and that night they answered with a storm. The rain fell abundantly and the lightening bolts illuminated the darkest night ever.

At dawn, the Earth shook and the rocks rolled down to the valley. The huge earthquake killed everything, buried forever  – Eszter, the outlaws and even the shepherd with his sheep, who was in the other side of the mountain. It was the last Sunday of July and the first rays of dawn found a landscape full of boulders.

The valley, where yesterday the crystal water of the Vereskô stream walked yet, today is completely closed by the fallen rocks. Instead of the narrow valley, there is a lake from which water even today arise the logs of the dead trees. The local shepherds call it the Gyilkos To (Killer Lake or Red Lake). This way came from the death in the mountain the water of life.

Flirck CC - bordescristian - Lacul Rosu

Flirckr CC - bordescristian - Lacul Rosu

If in the sunny days you look at the water of this lake, so sweet and peaceful, Eszter’s greyish-green eyes will look back at you.”

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Don’t lock people in word-cages!

Posted in Literature, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on June 16, 2009 by Silvia
Fernando Pessoa
Image via Wikipedia

He is still there, sitting outside the Brasileira, serenely contemplating the Lisbon he loves. I sat by his side once and had the privilege of drinking a coffee with him. He looked at me with his eyes of stone, and didn’t say a word. Still, sitting there with him, I could hear him talk. Fernando Pessoa was an extraordinary man, one unique personality, one of the highest of the Portuguese (and Universal) literature. In a time when the world demanded frames to categorize everything, he broke all the patterns and defined a world of his own. He refused to be placed inside a frame.   He refused to be placed inside a boundary and defined himself as a “citizen of the World”.

He was a man who was many. His heteronyms (the most known were Alberto Caeiro, Álvaro de Campos, Ricardo Reis and Bernardo Soares. But there were many others. The amazing thing and the one that no-one can explain about Fernando Pessoa was that when he was Fernando he wasn’t Bernardo nor Ricardo and he didn’t know of the existence of others. Was it a literary strategy? Was it a multiple personality? Was it… What does it matter? I’m glad no-one found a word to lock Pessoa inside. I’m glad we don’t have to see him through a word but in all his geniality instead.

And here I raise the question… Why do we have to find word-cages to lock people inside? Why does someone have to be categorized as “fat”, or “black” or “white” (no-one is black or white!) or “blind”, or “gipsy”, or “geek”, or “gay”, or “ugly”, or whatever… And be seen through this word as if it was a filter to the human being inside? Every person is a world and every person is unique and we must get to know him or her in each one’s special characteristics. Fernando Pessoa demonstrated this very clearly.  And there may come a thousand psychologists and two thousand intellectuals try to launch new theories about him – no-one will be able to understand him if this understanding doesn’t come from feeling him.

X. PORTUGUESE SEA   

“Oh, salty sea, how much of your salt

Are tears of Portugal!

For crossing you, how many mothers cried,

How many children in vain prayed!

How many fiancés remained unmarried

So that you were ours, oh sea!

Was worth it? All is worth it

When the soul is not too small.

Who wants to pass beyond the Bojador

must pass beyond pain.

God gave to the sea the danger and the abyss,

But in it He mirrored the sky.”

 

Today, I was reading about Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Though I was a teacher of Special Needs for so many years, I always had a certain difficulty in distinguishing the limits between what is called the disability and the geniality. I remember Barry Levinson’s Rain man, with an extraordinary participation of Dustin Hoffman, which certainly raises questions and throws to the ground any kind of prejudice we may have concerning this disability.

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Fantasy world – The Wolves’ Keeper Legend

Posted in Literature with tags , , , on June 2, 2009 by Silvia

 Origins of the story  

cover_1This book was written when I was twelve years old (1980), which makes it, even for me, something rare. It’s usual to see books about teenagers, but they normally are written by adults. my career as a teacher, I realised that few adults can see the world in the way a child does – I can name Jostein Gaarder, Jorge Amado and, of course, Saint-Exupery. Generations go by, and the teenagers love them. In the time I wrote it, there were no Golden Compass, no Narnia and no Harry Potter. Though the themes might seem similar to these works, my book is different and whoever reads it to the end understands it very clearly. It’s a unique and very pure vision, not even influenced by television and Internet. I translated it myself from Portuguese to English and gave it the final features, but the original manuscript is a hundred per cent in it, word by word.

 …Seven harmonious voices grew over the sea, chanting:

“Welcome, little King!” “But…why do you call me little king?

I am not a king, I am a simple farmer!”… 

My book is a dream, created by a dreamer’s mind, founded on Celtic tales. If talks about ideals that may seem so old-fashioned nowadays to many people, but that in my vision should be eternal targets to Humanity – Freedom, Love, Peace, Justice, Life. It’s a world of Children, but I think that on of the greatest abilities a grown-up can have is to see the world by the eyes of a child. The true hero is “Seanns”, a thirteen years old boy who seeks fulfilment and enlightenment in his life. This boy strives for truth and has a long way to go in a world inhabited by fairies, griffins and dragons. His companions are an old savant man and an older boy who guides him through the Mine of Dreams, where pearl-books are kept as the most precious treasures.

 Though the wolf, traditionally, is seen as a terrible creature, associated to everything that is evil, my book tries to demystify this idea, presenting him as in “My friend, the wolf”, a traditional children’s poetry of my country whose author is unfortunately unknown.

Visit my Site and find out more 🙂  The Wolves’ Keeper Legend