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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Eavan Boland - And Soul

My mother died one summer—
the wettest in the records of the state.
Crops rotted in the west.
Checked tablecloths dissolved in back gardens.
Empty deck chairs collected rain.
As I took my way to her
through traffic, through lilacs dripping blackly
behind houses
and on curbsides, to pay her
the last tribute of a daughter, I thought of something
I remembered
I heard once, that the body is, or is
said to be, almost all
water and as I turned southward, that ours is
a city of it,
one in which
every single day the elements begin
a journey towards each other that will never,
given our weather,
       the ocean visible in the edges cut by it,
cloud color reaching into air,
the Liffey storing one and summoning the other,
salt greeting the lack of it at the North Wall and,
as if that wasn't enough, all of it
ending up almost every evening
inside our speech—
coast canal ocean river stream and now
mother and I drove on and although
the mind is unreliable in grief, at
the next cloudburst it almost seemed
they could be shades of each other,
the way the body is
of every one of them and now
they were on the move again—fog into mist,
mist into sea spray and both into the oily glaze
that lay on the railings of
the house she was dying in
as I went inside

Sharon no espírito.

Ahead of the holiday season, Sharon Van Etten releases a pair of songs, “Silent Night” b/w “Blue Christmas.” Van Etten’s rendition of “Silent Night” is broody and minimalistic, emphasizing her muscular voice over droning synth. It was recorded in 2018 for the “The Letter,” a short film by Eric Paschal Johnson that received a Vimeo Staff Pick Award.  In Van Etten’s cover of the holiday classic "Blue Christmas,”  her voice prettily mulls over lulling, simplistic guitar. It originally appeared  on a benefit album called Do You EAR what I Ear in 2009 for the Association to Benefit Children, an outstanding New York-based service dedicated to permanently breaking the cycles of abuse, neglect, sickness and homelessness among disadvantaged children and their families. Today, the two tracks are available to digitally stream anywhere for the first time.

'Tis the season.

“Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” (written and composed by John Lennon and Yoko Ono) from Calexico's very first holiday album "Seasonal Shift" - Dec 4th 2020

Drawings: Joey Burns
Animation: Johnny Sanders

Joey Burns - vocal, steel string acoustic, electric guitar
John Convertino - drums, shaker, triangle, bowed vibes, tambourine
Scott Colberg - upright bass
Sergio Mendoza - piano, mellotron strings, vibes, tambourine
Jacob Valenzuela - trumpet
Martin Wenk - trumpet
Jairo Zavala - baritone guitar
Connor Gallaher - pedal steel
Luke Ydstie - backing vocals
Katie Claborn - backing vocals
Beth Goodfellow - backing vocals

Seán Hewitt - Dryad

I remember her covered in snow in a field
where each dead stalk of wildflower was thick
with frost. The sky was pink in the hawthorns,
the day held on the light-edge of breaking.
A woman carved from the bole of an oak,
her feet (if she had any) buried in the winter’s
shedding weight. Whoever had turned her
from the tree had given her an orb
which she held in both hands, close to the gentle
curve of her face. And she stood there
by the half-rotten stile off Broad Lane,
head bowed, as though waiting to greet us
and offer the frozen circumference of a new
world. Years ago, our school had planted
the woods behind her, when I was eight or nine,
and now each tree ages alongside us.
Every time I go back, I see a part
of my life laid out, still growing in a field
by the old village. I used to come here
often, at eighteen or so, with men at night
and it was strange to pass her as we stumbled
in the undergrowth and into the woods
like deer plummeting through the wet branches.
And I think now of all the men forced outside
after clearing-out, into the dark spaces of towns,
how they walk in vigil to woodlands and old
estates, to the smell of the day settling. Once,
I came here with a man whose whole body
was muscled, as though he too had been carved
from a single trunk of wood. I pretended
all the time to be a man like him,
answering each lie in a deep, alien voice.
I think I was afraid he would kill me,
and walked a few steps ahead, hearing
him moving through the sodden grass,
pulling his feet from the bramble-vines.
We passed the woman without comment,
though she stood there in her cloak of wood,
the globe held in the lathed green of her hands.
Here was so unlike the places other people went,
a place without doors or walls or rooms.
The black heavy-leafed branches pulled back
like a curtain and inside a dark chamber
of the wood, guarded, and made safe.
The bed was the bed of all the plants
and trees, and we could share it. And then
the kneeling down in front of him, keeping
my secrets still in the folds of night, trying
not to shake in the cold, and the damp floor
seeping up. I remember the cold water
spreading in the capillaries of my jeans.
As I looked up, the sky hidden under a rain
of leaves, each tree stood over me
in perfect symmetry with his body.
Each was like a man with his head bent,
each watching and moving and making slow
laboured sighs. I came back often,
year on year, kneeling and being knelt for
in acts of secret worship, and now
each woodland smells quietly of sex,
not only when the air is thick with it,
but in winter too when the strains
are grounded and held against the earth,
and each time I half-expect
to meet someone among the trees
or inside the empty skeleton
of the rhododendron, and I wonder if I have ruined
these places for myself, if I have brought
each secret to them and weighed the trees
with things I can no longer bear. But then
what is a tree, or a plant, if not an act
of kneeling to the earth, a way of bidding
the water to move, of taking in the mouth
the inner part of the world and coaxing it out.
Not just the aching leaf-buds
in spring, the cloud of pollen, or in autumn
the children knocking branches for the shower
of seed, but the people who kneel in the woods
at night, the woman waiting by the gate, offering
to each visitor a small portion of the world
in which they might work for the life of it.

Lost But Never Alone

‘Lost But Never Alone’ (Official Video), taken from the new album ‘Magic Oneohtrix Point Never’ out now on WARP |

Directed by Josh & Benny Safdie
Written by Josh & Benny Safdie and Ronald Bronstein
Edited by Benny Safdie
Produced by Sebo Bear, Eli Bush, Miranda Kahn, Jake Fleischman
Executive Produced by Elara Pictures
Production Company MIRMADE

Oneohtrix Point Never’s ‘Lost But Never Alone’ is written, produced, performed and engineered by Daniel Lopatin with additional guitar synth by Nate Boyce.

DEVON - Cam “Ash” Rice
MOM - Angela Wildflower
DAD - Timothy Stickney
ENGINEER - Matt Cohn

With support from Amazon Music

Currentzis | Kopatchinskaja | SWR Symphonieorchester

Opening concert for the 2020 season with works by Lachenmann, Dowland, Kourliandski, Biber and Scelsi | Liederhalle Stuttgart, September 2020

00:00:11 - Helmut Lachenmann: "... two feelings ...", music with Leonardo
00:23:39 - John Dowland: Weep you no more, sad fountains
00:28:25 - Dmitri Kourliandski: possible places for violin and orchestra
00:39:39 - Heinrich Ignaz Biber: Battalia for strings and basso continuo (Ed. By Nikolaus Harnoncourt)
00:51:25 - Giacinto Scelsi: Anahit, lyric poem on the name of Venus for violin and 18 instruments

Helmut Lachenmann, speaker
Patricia Kopatchinskaja, violin and vocals
Teodor Currentzis, vocals
Axel Wolf, lute
SWR Symphony Orchestra
Conductor: Teodor Currentzis

Black Square











Black Square (2006–) is an ongoing project in which Simon collects objects, documents, and individuals within a black field that has precisely the same measurements as Kazimir Malevich’s 1915 suprematist work of the same name.

Taryn Simon was born in 1975 in New York, where she currently lives and works. Collections include Centre Pompidou, Paris; Tate Modern, London; Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt am Main, Germany; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; and Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. Institutional exhibitions include A Living Man Declared Dead and Other Chapters, Tate Modern, London; Neue Nationalgalerie, Berlin (2011, traveled to Museum of Modern Art, New York; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington, DC; and Ullens Center for Contemporary Art, Beijing, through 2013); Contraband, Centre d’Art Contemporain Genève, Geneva (2011); A Polite Fiction, Fondation Louis Vuitton, Paris (2014); Rear Views, A Star-forming Nebula, and the Office of Foreign Propaganda, Jeu de Paume, Paris (2015); 56th Biennale di Venezia (2015); Action Research / The Stagecraft of Power, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow (2016); Galerie Rudolfinum, Prague (2016); A Soldier Is Taught to Bayonet the Enemy and Not Some Undefined Abstraction, Albertinum, Dresden, Germany (2016); An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar, Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Humlebaek, Denmark (2016–17); An Occupation of Loss, Park Avenue Armory, New York (2016); The Innocents, Guild Hall, East Hampton, NY (2017); Paperwork and the Will of Capital, Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal (2017); Shouting Is Under Calling, Kunstmuseum Luzern, Lucerne, Switzerland (2018); A Cold Hole + Assembled Audience, MASS MoCA, North Adams, MA (2018); and An Occupation of Loss, presented by Artangel, London (2018).


Black Square (also known as The Black Square or Malevich's Black Square) is an iconic painting by Kazimir Malevich. The first version was done in 1915. Malevich made four variants of which the last is thought to have been painted during the late 1920s or early 1930s. Black Square was first shown in The Last Futurist Exhibition 0,10 in 1915. The work is frequently invoked by critics, historians, curators, and artists as the "zero point of painting", referring to the painting's historical significance and paraphrasing Malevich.