Poetry TunY Installations

POETRY INSTALLATIONS

TUNY.PROJECT.TONDELA.2014

POETRY

INSTALLATIONS

T U N Y

P A R T N E R S H I P

E U R O P E | J U N | 2 0 1 4

P O E T R Y INSTALLATIONS edition|design: jo達o paulo fonseca proofreading: dulce lopes photos: ana rita ribeiro | ana amaral | konstantinos amygdalitsis | jo達o fonseca | nelson marques publisher: tunY partnership europe jun 2014 ISBN 978-989-99077-1-3

The tunY project was co-funded by the European Commission.

The content of this handbook is the sole responsibility of the tunY partnership and it does not represent views of the European Commission.

P o e t r y

is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives.

It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.

Audre Lorde

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The idea\ The exhibition| The album/

Under the comenius project TunY, students from seven different schools of Germany, Slovenia,Spain, Greece, Portugal, Poland, and Turkey, were challenged to choose three poems of their respective countries.

Based on the reading and interpretation of these poems, Portuguese students, from Tondela Secondary School,imagined a set of artistic installations that were presented and discussed with their foreign colleagues.

This process resulted in the joint creation of the exhibition opened on 8 October 2013 in Tondela City Park.

In this album are presented the chosen poems, photos of the artistic installations and, for each one, a text written by the students summarising their interpretation of the poem and the installation.

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in·stal·la·tion

noun \.in(t)-stə-lā-shən\

Art that is created, constructed, or installed on the site where it is exhibited, often incorporating materials or physical features on the site.

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po·e·try noun \ˈpō-ə-trē, -i-trē also ˈpȯ(-)i-trē\ Writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound and rhythm.

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P O R

TUG U E S E

p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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Portuguese

Portugal Futuro 8

Ruy Belo

O portugal futuro é um país aonde o puro pássaro é possível e sobre o leito negro do asfalto da estrada as profundas crianças desenharão a giz esse peixe da infância que vem na enxurrada e me parece que se chama sável Mas desenhem elas o que desenharem é essa a forma do meu país e chamem elas o que lhe chamarem portugal será e lá serei feliz Poderá ser pequeno como este ter a oeste o mar e a espanha a leste tudo nele será novo desde os ramos à raiz À sombra dos plátanos as crianças dançarão e na avenida que houver à beira-mar pode o tempo mudar será verão Gostaria de ouvir as horas do relógio da matriz mas isso era o passado e podia ser duro edificar sobre ele o portugal futuro.

English

Future Portugal

Free Translation

The Future Portugal is a country where the pure bird is possible and over the dark bed of the road’s asphalt the deep children will draw in chalk that fish of the childhood that comes in the torrent and it seems to me that it is called shad.

No matter what they draw that is the shape of my country and no matter what they call it Portugal will be and there I will be happy It may be small like this one having in the west the sea and Spain in the east everything in it will be new from the branches to the root In the shade of the sycamores children will dance and in the avenue that there will be by the seaside may the weather change it will be summer.

I would like to listen to the hours on the clock of the church but that was the past and it could be hard to edify on it the future Portugal.

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The time: past, present and future.

The past, already lived.

The present, so minimal, a fraction of a second, that we can´t realise if it exists or not, because ... “it is something that it isn´t when it comes to be”

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The future, constantly being lived and shaped by us. Maybe, the reason why it worries and arouses more curiosity.

“Future Portugal”is a poem about our country.

A country that will be different from what it was, but will never stop “having in the west the sea and Spain in the east” A future, our future, that we can build, completely new, through innovation, creativity, freedom and curiosity, with no resembling with the past, only in our shape and identity.

A shad, a symbol of the past but, simultaneously, of the future we are shaping and where we hopefully will write our wishes for a future country.

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“because the is something that it isn´t when it comes to be”

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Future Portugal|450x220mm|cds\

plastic net\nylon cord

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P

O LI S H

p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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Polish

Terrorysta, On Patrzy

Wisława Szymborska

Bomba wybuchnie w barze trzynasta dwadzieścia.

Teraz mamy dopiero trzynastą szesnaście.

Niektórzy zdążą jeszcze wejść, Niektórzy wyjść.

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Terrorysta już przeszedł na drugą stronę ulicy.

Ta odległość go chroni od wszelkiego złego No i widok jak w kinie:

Już nie ma dziewczyny.

Czy była taka głupia i weszła, czy nie, to się zobaczy, jak będą wynosić.

Trzynasta dziewiętnaście.

Nikt jakoś nie wchodzi.

Za to jeszcze wychodzi jeden gruby łysy.

Ale tak, jakby szukał czegoś po kieszeniach i O trzynastej dwadzieścia bez dziesięciu sekund On wraca po te swoje marne rękawiczki.

Kobieta w żółtej kurtce, ona wchodzi.

Mężczyzna w ciemnych okularach, on wychodzi.

Chłopaki w dżinsach, oni rozmawiają.

Jest trzynasta dwadzieścia.

Trzynasta siedemnaście i cztery sekundy.

Czas, jak on się wlecze.

Ten niższy to ma szczęście i wsiada na Już chyba teraz. skuter, Jeszcze nie teraz.

A ten wyższy to wchodzi.

Tak, teraz.

Bomba, ona wybucha.

Trzynasta siedemnaście i czterdzieści sekund.

Dziewczyna, ona idzie z zieloną wstążką we włosach.

Tylko że ten autobus nagle ją zasłania.

Trzynasta osiemnaście.

English

The Terrorist, He Watches T.by Magnus j. Krynskand Robert A. Maguire

The bomb will go off in the bar at one twenty p.m.

Now it’s only one sixteen p.m.

Some will still have time to get in, Some to get out.

One eighteen p.m.

The girl’s not there any more.

Was she dumb enough to go in, or wasn’t she?

That we’ll see when they carry them out.

The terrorist has already crossed to the other side of the street.

The distance protects him from any danger, And what a sight for sore eyes:

One nineteen p.m.

No one seems to be going in.

Instead a fat baldy’s coming out.

Like he’s looking for something in his pockets and at one nineteen and fifty seconds he goes back for those lousy gloves of his.

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A woman in a yellow jacket, she goes in.

A man in dark glasses, he comes out.

Guys in jeans, they are talking.

One seventeen and four seconds.

That shorter guy’s really got it made, and gets on a scooter, And that taller one, he goes in.

One seventeen and forty seconds.

That girl there, she’s got a green ribbon in her hair.

Too bad that bus just cut her off.

It’s one twenty p.m.

The time, how it drags.

Should be any moment now.

Not yet.

Yes, this is it.

The bomb, it goes off.

Despite the fact that one second will always last a second – a very well defined unit of time - to our eyes, a second may drag on for a whole hour and an hour may collapse into a second. This has to do with the fact that human beings are very emotional and not objective at all. The perception we have of time

is often modified by our state of mind and, ironically, not in the way that would please us the most: we can be exposed to an unpleasant situation

for only 10 min.; nevertheless, our brains will trick us into thinking that we’ve been blue for a full hour. Even worse, the reciprocal is also true: the moments we’d like to live forever are the ones which appear to be the briefest. To the terrorist, time flows extremely slowly, as he is anxious about the bomb exploding. From the victims’ point of view, who are experiencing perfectly mundane situations, time flows at a normal pace.

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The Terrorist, He Watches|

100 clocks with 100 short poems|quotes\ nylon cord

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SP A N ISH p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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Spanish

Assaig De Càntic En El Temple

Salvador Espriu

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Oh, que cansat estic de la meva covarda, vella, tan salvatge terra, i com m’agradaria d’allunyar-me’n, nord enllà, on diuen que la gent és neta i noble, culta, rica, lliure, desvetllada i feliç!

Aleshores, a la congregació, els germans dirien desaprovant: “Com l’ocell que deixa el niu, així l’home que se’n va del seu indret”, mentre jo, ja ben lluny, em riuria de la llei i de l’antiga saviesa d’aquest meu àrid poble.

Però no he de seguir mai el meu somni i em quedaré aquí fins a la mort.

Car sóc també molt covard i salvatge i estimo a més amb un desesperat dolor aquesta meva pobra, bruta, trista, dissortada pàtria.

English

Rehearsal Of A Canticle In The Temple

Translated by Kenneth Lyons (1975)

Oh, how weary I am of my Cowardly, old and uncivilized land!

And how I would like to fly from it And go north, To where they say the people are clean, Noble and cultured, rich and free, Alert and happy!

Then in the temple the brethren would say Disapprovingly: “Like a bird that leaves the nest Is the man who abandons his native place!�

While I, far away, would only laugh At all the laws and the ancient wisdom Of this arid people of mine.

But I can never follow my dream; I will remain here till die.

For I, too, am craven and uncivilized And besides I love With hopeless pain This land, my poor, Dirty, sad, unfortunate country!

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We have all already felt an enormous desire of leaving all of our problems behind and simply escaping, hoping that they would disappear. But no matter how big this desire is, there is always something that prevents us from making that dream come true, either our dear family, friends, love or the fright of what might happen if we escape. We wish to fly to somewhere else because we only see defects where we live. But we cannot, because despite all its faults, we love our country. We were born and have grown up in this place and it is part of us. Escaping could be the best solution, but it would mean abandoning a part of ourselves.

Sometimes, even completely free, we are prisoners of our own land, of ourselves. We build an imaginary prison and we believe we live inside it.

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We build an imaginary prison and we believe we live inside it.

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Rehearsal of a Cantic in the Temple

220x220x300|metal structure\ rope\mirror

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TURK I S H p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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Turkish

Memleket İsterim Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı 36

Memleket isterim Gök mavi, dal yeşil, tarla sari olsun; Kuşların çiçeklerin diyarı olsun.

Memleket isterim Ne basta dert ne gönülde hasret olsun; Kardeş kavgasına bir nihayet olsun.

Memleket isterim Ne zengin fakir ne sen ben farkı olsun; Kış günü herkesin evi barkı olsun.

Memleket isterim Yasamak, sevmek gibi gönülden olsun; Olursa bir şikayet ölümden olsun.

English

I Want a Country Translate by Bernard Lewis I want a country let the sky be blue, the bough green, the cornfield yellow let it be a land of birds and flowers I want a country let there be no pain in the head, no yearning in the heart let there be an end to brothers’ quarrels I want a country let there be no rich and poor, no you and me on winter days let everyone have hose and home.

I want a country let living be like loving from the heart if there must be complaint, let it be of death.

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Sometimes we only wish for a normal country. And not a special one, with more than it would be fair, a country where things happen as naturally as they should happen, a simple country. A country where things can happen. Something which seems not to occur often.

There are countries that appear to be dark on the outside but inside have a glow that 38

only believing can we see it.

And trees so normal, like all others, with memories of the origins of all of us.

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I Want a Country

170x170x220|cement blocks\ fluorescent lights\olive tree\ clippings

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S L O

VE N E

p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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Slovene

Tako sam Neža Maurer

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Okrog vseh dreves se lahko loviš.

Za vsemi drevesi se lahko skrivaš.

Na nobeno se ne naslanjaj!

Ne veš, kako je trhlo, nagnito, spodkopano, nažagano.

Lahko padeš.

Hudo.

A to ni najhujše.

Huje je, ker potem sumiš, da so vsa drevesa trhla, nagnita, spodkopana, spodžagana.

In nenadoma si tako žalosten in sam.

English

So Alone  Translated

by

Andrej Rijavec

Around all trees you can play tag.

Behind all trees you can hide.

Do not lean on any of them!

You don’t know which is rotten, decayed, sapped, sawn into.

You can fall.

Heavily.

Which is not the worst.

It is much worse that thereupon you will suspect all trees to be rotten, decayed, sapped, sawn into.

And all of the sudden you are so sad, and alone.

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We all have friends with whom we live every day. Are they all trustworthy? Can we trust them all? Even those whom we do not know well enough? Even when someone disappoints us, and we feel the urge to isolate ourselves so as not to fall into the same situation?

When a friend, a tree, where we lean to, unexpectedly lets us fall,

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is this reason enough to be suspicious of everyone else?

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So Alone|190x40mm|newsprint\wood glue\styrofoam

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G

R

EE

K

p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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Greek

Ο πληθυντικός αριθμός Κική Δημουλά (Kiki Dimoula)

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Ο έρωτας όνομα ουσιαστικόν. πολύ ουσιαστικόν. ενικού αριθμού, γένους ούτε θηλυκού ούτε αρσενικού, γένους ανυπεράσπιστου. Πληθυντικός αριθμός οι ανυπεράσπιστοι έρωτες. Ο φόβος, όνομα ουσιαστικόν, στην αρχή ενικός αριθμός και μετά πληθυντικός: οι φόβοι. Οι φόβοι για όλα από δω και πέρα. Η μνήμη, κύριο όνομα των θλίψεων, ενικού αριθμού, μόνον ενικού αριθμού και άκλιτη. Η μνήμη, η μνήμη, η μνήμη. Η νύχτα, Όνομα ουσιαστικόν, γένους θυληκού

English

Plural Tr. Cecile Margellos and Rika Lesser

Love: noun, substantive, extremely substantive, singular in member; gender not feminine not masculine, gender defenseless.

Plural the number Of defenseless loves.

Fear: substantive, singular to start with plural afterward: fears.

Fear of everything from now on.

Memory: noun, proper name for sorrows, singular in number, singular only, and indeclinable.

Memory, memory, memory.

Night: substantive, gender feminine.

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Each time we write our love, our loves, on the beach sand there is something different in that writing.

Each time the sea water reminds us what we felt once, there is something different in that feeling.

Hence the fear, because it is always different.

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Because the past is a production and the memory is singular.

Or, is it not?

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Plural|500x100x50mm|metal barrels\fine sand\herbs\clippings

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G E

R

M A N

p o e m | i n s t a l l a t i o n

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German

Mondnacht Joseph von Eichendorff

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Es war, als hätt’ der Himmel Die Erde still geküsst, Dass sie im Blütenschimmer Von ihm nun träumen müsst.

Die Luft ging durch die Felder, Die Ähren wogten sacht, Es rauschten leis’ die Wälder, So sternklar war die Nacht.

Und meine Seele spannte Weit ihre Flügel aus, Flog durch die stillen Lande, Als flöge sie nach Haus.

English

Moon-night It was as if the sky Had quietly kissed the earth, So that in a shower of blossoms She must only dream of him. Â The breeze wafted through the fields, The ears of corn waved gently, The forests rustled faintly, So sparkling clear was the night. Â And my soul stretched its wings out far, Flew through the still lands, as if it were flying home.

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made us feel happy,

in past times, was present and

the presence of someone who,

soft breeze will make us feel

embedded in us that even a

sensations. It can be so

objects, songs, aromas and

it through places, landscapes,

relationship, we can remember

Being the case a love

common day-to-day situations.

from the memory of the most

of these things will arise

people of the future. And all

a mark on us and mold us into

and that will, somehow, leave

and that we will never forget

that are part of our past,

stories, people and situations

There are always moments,

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tenderly,

as if sudenly the sky kissed the earth.

the one we loved, briefly, but

reflecting also the image of

image reflected in a mirror,

of the wind or by seeing our

be remembered by the passing

someone’s life could always

A relationship which marks

happiness.

is the memory of a breeze of

what we are and that today

Someone who was the mirror of

and wavering through our hair.

of wind flying past our faces

just like the mundane feeling

ephemeral, brings us pure joy,

dimension where what seems

has transported us to another

cherished and loved ... And

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Moon-night|300x300mm|styrofoam\

reflector sticker paper

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Creating

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B EFO RE...

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D E F I N I N G

T H E

P L A C E S

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M

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M O U N T I N G

T H E

E X H I B I T I O N

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T HE

OP E NI N G

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tunY partnership Š | 2013