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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Jane Hirshfield - It Was Like This: You Were Happy

It was like this:
you were happy, then you were sad,
then happy again, then not.

It went on.
You were innocent or you were guilty.
Actions were taken, or not.

At times you spoke, at other times you were silent.
Mostly, it seems you were silent—what could you say?

Now it is almost over.

Like a lover, your life bends down and kisses your life.

It does this not in forgiveness—
between you, there is nothing to forgive—
but with the simple nod of a baker at the moment
he sees the bread is finished with transformation.

Eating, too, is a thing now only for others.

It doesn’t matter what they will make of you
or your days: they will be wrong,
they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,
all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.

Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,
you slept, you awakened.
Sometimes you ate roasted chestnuts, sometimes persimmons.

Edna St. Vincent Millay - Love is Not All

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.


Nino Rota: Fagottkonzert ∙ hr-Sinfonieorchester ∙ Theo Plath ∙ Christoph Koncz

I. Toccata. Allegretto vivace 00:00
II. Recitativo. Lento 04:44
III. [Tema e variazioni]. Andante 08:07
– Variazione I. Valzer 09:29
– Variazione II. Polka. Molto allegro 10:29
– Variazione III. Siciliana. Larghetto 11:19
– Variazione IV. Scherzo. Mosso 13:21
– Variazione V. Sarabanda. Quasi adagio 14:10
– Variazione VI. Galop. Allegro vivo 15:28

hr-Sinfonieorchester – Frankfurt Radio Symphony ∙ Theo Plath, Fagott ∙ Christoph Koncz, Dirigent

Bachianas Brasileiras nº4

Orquesta Simón Bolívar / Conductor: Roberto Tibiriçá (Brasil) / Violin Solo: Alejandro Carreño (Venezuela)

Recorded live during the V Festival Villa-Lobos in 15/04/2012 Sala Simón Bolívar - Caracas, Venezuela Centro de Acción Social por La Música Sede Nacional de las Orquestas y Coros Juveniles e Infantiles de Venezuela

1)- Preludio : 0:40
2)- Canto do sertão (Chorale): 9:28
3)- Cantiga (Aria) : 14:18
4)- Miudinho (Dance) : 19:49

Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão - Nada tão silencioso como o tempo

Nada tão silencioso como o tempo
no interior do corpo. Porque ele passa
com um rumor nas pedras que nos cobrem,
e pelo sonoro desalinho de algumas árvores
que são os nossos cabelos imaginários.
Até na íris dos olhos o tempo
faz estalar faíscas de luz breve.

Só no interior sem nome do nosso corpo
ou esfera húmida de algum astro
ignoto, numa órbita apartada,
o tempo caladamente persegue
o sangue que se esvai sem som.
Entre o princípio e o fim vem corroer
as vísceras, que ocultamos como a Terra.
Trilam os lábios nossos, à semelhança
das musicais manhãs dos pássaros.
Mesmo os ouvidos cantam até à noite
ouvindo o amor de cada dia.
A pele escorre pelo corpo, com o seu correr
de água, e as lágrimas da angústia
são estridentes quando buscam o eco.
Mas nós sentimos dentro do coração que somos
filhos dilectos do tempo e que, se hoje amamos,
foi depois de termos amado ontem.
O tempo é silencioso e enigmático
imerso no denso calor do ventre.
Guardado no silêncio mais espesso,
o tempo faz e desfaz a vida.

Danez Smith - less hope

apologies. i was part of the joy
industrial complex, told them their bodies were
miracles & they ate it, sold someday,
made money off soon & now. i snuck an ode into the elegy,
forced the dead to smile & juke.
implied America, said destroy but offered nary step nor tool.
i paid taxes knowing where the funds go.
in April, my offering to my mother’s slow murder. by May
my sister filled with the bullets i bought. June & my father’s life
locked in a box i built. my brother’s end plotted as i spend.
idk why i told you it would be ok. not. won’t. when they aren’t
killing you they’re killing someone else. sometimes their hands
at the ends of your wrist. you (you & me) are agent & enemy.
there i was, writing anthems in a nation whose victory was my blood
made visible, my mother too sugared to weep without melting, my rage
a comfort foaming at my racial mouth, singing
gospel for a god they beat me into loving. lord
your tomorrow holds no sway, your heavens too late.
i’ve abandon you as you me, for me. say la vee.
but sweet Satan—OG dark kicked out the sky
first fallen & niggered thing—what’s good?
who owns it? where does it come from?
satan, first segregation, mother of exile
what do you promise in your fire? for our freedom,
i offer over their souls. theirs. mine
is mine. i refuse any Hell again. i’ve known
nearer devils. the audience & the mirror. they/i make you look weak.
they/i clapped at my eulogies. they/i said encore, encore.
i/we wanted to stop being killed & they/i thanked me for beauty.
&, pitifully, i loved them. i thanked them.
i took the awards & cashed the checks.
i did the one about the boy when requested, traded their names
for followers. in lieu of action, i wrote a book,
edited my war cries down to prayers. oh, devil.
they gave me a god and gave me clout.
they took my poems and took my blades.
Satan, like you did for God, i sang.
i sang for my enemy, who was my God.
i gave it my best. i bowed and smiled.
teach me to never bend again.