Galeria (26)

Gregor Johann Mendel (1822-1884)

Natal

Neste caminho cortado
Entre pureza e pecado
Que chamo vida,
Nesta vertigem de altura
Que me absolve e depura
De tanta queda caída,
É que Tu nasces ainda
Como nasceste
Do ventre de Tua mãe.
Bendita a Tua candura.
Bendita a minha também.

Mas se me perco e Te perco,
Quando me afogo no esterco
Do meu destino cumprido,
À hora em que eu Te rejeito
E sangra e dói no Teu peito
A chaga de eu ter esquecido,
É que Tu jazes por mim
Como jazeste
No colo de Tua mãe.
Bendita a Tua amargura.
Bendita a minha também.

REINALDO FERREIRA [1959?]

The burning Babe

As I in hoarie Winters night stoode shivering in the snow,
Surpris'd I was with sodaine heat which made my hart to glow ;
And lifting up a fearefull eye, to view what fire was neare,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the ayre appeare ;
Who, scorched with excessive heate, such floods of teares did shed,
As though his floods should quench his flames, which with his teares were fed:
Alas (quoth he) but newly borne, in fierie heates I frie,
Yet none approach to warme their harts or feele my fire, but I;
My faultlesse breast the furnace is, the fewell wounding thornes:
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoake, the ashes, shame and scornes ;
The fewell Justice layeth on, and Mercie blows the coales,
The metall in this furnace wrought, are mens defiled soules:
For which, as now on fire I am to worke them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood.
With this he vanisht out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I callede unto minde that it was Christmasse day.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL [1592]

Galeria (25)

Niccolò Paganini [por Ingres] (1782-1840)

Ceremony

KING HENRY:
Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives,
Our children and our sins lay on the king!
We must bear all. O hard condition,
Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
But his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease
Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!
And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is thy soul of adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;
I am a king that find thee, and I know
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running 'fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
And follows so the ever-running year,
With profitable labour, to his grave:
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Henry V, 4.1.227-281 [1599]

Para ler em voz alta (29)

Coitado, quem me dará
novas de mim onde estou?,
pois dizeis que nam som lá,
e cá comigo nam vou.

Tod'este tempo, senhora,
sempre por vós preguntei,
mas que farei, que já agora
de vós nem de mim nam sei?
Olhe Vossa Mercê lá
se me tem, se me matou,
porq'eu vos juro que cá
morto nem vivo nam vou.

SÁ DE MIRANDA [séc. XVI]

Galeria (24)

Friedrich Wilhelm Plumpe, alias Murnau (1888-1931)

Começos... (36)

Since it is the Understanding that sets Man above the rest of sensible Beings, and gives him all the Advantage and Dominion which he has over them; it is certainly a Subject, even for its Nobleness, worth our Labour to inquire into. The understanding, like the Eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all other Things, takes no notice of itself; and it requires Art and Pains to set it at a distance and make it its own Object. But whatever be the Difficulties that lie in the way of this Enquiry; whatever it be that keeps us so much in the Dark to ourselves; sure I am that all the Light we can let in upon our Minds, all the Acquaintance we can make with our own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but bring us great Advantage, in directing our Thoughts in the search of other Things.

JOHN LOCKE, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding [1689]

Para ler em voz alta (28)

Als das Kind Kind war,
ging es mit hängenden Armen,
wollte, der Bach sei ein Fluß,
der Fluß sei ein Strom
und diese Pfütze das Meer.
Als das Kind Kind war,
wußte es nicht, daß es Kind war,
alles war ihm beseelt,
und alle Seelen waren eins.
Als das Kind Kind war,
hatte es von nichts eine Meinung,
hatte keine Gewohnheit,
saß oft in Schneidersitz,
lief aus dem Stand,
hatte einen Wirbel im Haar
und machte kein Gesicht beim Fotografieren.

PETER HANDKE [Filmbuch Der Himmel Ueber Berlin 1987]