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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Luto.

Disse a uma amiga há tempos que se algum dia ganhasse o Euromilhões, contratava o Bernardo Sassetti para fazer a banda sonora da minha vida. Era só uma brincadeira para exemplificar a minha admiração por ele, profunda, sincera. Preferia que a notícia da sua morte fosse um erro, preferia que este ano ou para o ano houvesse disco ou discos novos, mais uma ou duas bandas sonoras, concertos, aventuras. Preferia ter música nova dele para me acompanhar em passeio pela cidade, enquanto escrevo, enquanto acordo e adormeço, enquanto conduzo e penso. Preferia a inspiração de o poder ouvir. Fica o que fez. Fica o que ouvi e vou voltar a ouvir vezes sem conta. Mas estou inconsolável.

 

 

 

 

They were stars.

Foto de família das estrelas da MGM em plena guerra, 1943. Deve ser aliás por isso que o James Stewart está fardado. Também constam nomes como Lucille Ball, Hedy Lamarr, Katharine Hepburn, Greer Garson, Lionel Barrymore, Mickey Rooney, William Powell, Spencer Tracy, Robert Taylor, Gene Kelly, Tommy Dorsey, Donna Reed, Van Johnson, Esther Williams, Mary Astor ou Gladys Cooper. Ao meio na primeira fila, um orgulhoso Louis B Mayer. Encontrado via Kottke.

Peter Boyle - The Unknowable

Who had children. Who died.
Who found himself lucky after thirty years
and stumbling home realised
it was a simple error.
Who ruled behind the scenes in the Department of Misinformation,
who was later conscripted
to underwrite Armageddon.
Whose hand was lost in a sawmill
and was met again as the strange dust
of a new-found galaxy.
Who migrated to the other world
but came home to bury the dog.
Who divorced and died of alcoholism
in the country town where destiny misplaced him.
Who topped high school, failed everything else
twice, married money, then slept through
the death of three children.
Who was invisible, became a wall, became a street,
entered real estate, bought a city,
retired into owning world opinion.
Who saw his son indicted for reluctance, shackled and maimed,
blamed for the colour of the sky.
Who inscribed his name in the old script,
the one no one reads anymore,
the one where things inscribe themselves
so what they are
reads itself back
in us.
Who was my shadow when daylight was.