Special - Covidius Poeticus

Να Κάνουμε Έρωτα σε Καιρούς Πανδημίας

Hacer el Amor en Tiempos de Pandemia

To Make Love in Pandemic Times

Fazer Amor em Tempos de Pandemia

Fare l’Amore in Tempi di Pandemia

A Face Dragoste în Vremurile Pandemiei

covidius poeticus

COVIDIUS POETICUS

Fazer Amor em Tempos de Pandemia

/To Make Love In Pandemic Times

2020-2021

Title:

Covidius Poeticus – Fazer Amor em Tempos de Pandemia / To Make Love in Pandemic Times

Blog website:

https://covidiuspoeticus.blogspot.com/

Blog design: Sara Brandão

Shared edition by:

Boicote and Balkan Hotspot

Editorial design: Boicote

Idea and compilation:

Bernardo Guerra Machado

Translations:

Bernardo Guerra Machado revised by Iulia Costache except João Pedro Azul’s poems, translated

by Ricardo Marques; Roberta Ferraiuolo’s translations of Eduardo de Filippo; Iulia Costache’s Doua Figurine, by herself; and Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου’s Παρατυπίες, by herself.

Collaborating authors: Ana Luísa Delgado A. M. André Garcia Aquele Gajo Maluco Bárbara Guedes Capelas Bernardo Guerra Machado Carmín Marmore Eufemia Bonino G.T. Iulia Costache Joana Peres

João Pedro Azul Lourenço Providência Luca Di Eusanio Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου Natacha Martins Roberta Ferraiuolo Sara Brandão Vítor Hugo Moreira Y. @UAIAPI among other anonymous contributions

COVIDIUS POETICUS

Fazer Amor em Tempos de Pandemia

/To Make Love In Pandemic Times

With support from European Solidarity Corps and United Societies of Balkans

INDEX: 26/03/2020

Ancora io (Incorreggibile)

26/03/2020

Self on Wood

29/03/2021

[sem título]

31/03/2020

Dignitas

31/03/2020

Traduzione di “E’ Nott”

31/03/2020

Legacy

01/04/2020

Era mais fácil escrever poemas

02/04/2020

Partially responding to Man-Erg

02/04/2020

Our love in times of pandemic

05/04/2020

Conheces já tu a voz de poeta?

05/04/2020

Il Silenzio come musica

*07/04/2020

Um amor de gif

08/04/2020

Vivências entrelaçadas em cânticos

08/04/2020

Spring Wilt

09/04/2020

Modos de Estar I e II

09/04/2020

Some introduction to this blog were made I fall in love

13/04/2020

Una Avenida

19/04/2020

The Procrastinator’s Nest

02/05/2020

Come-me devagarinho

2020

Bernardo Guerra Machado Bárbara Guedes Capelas Aquele Gajo Maluco Eufemia Bonino Roberta Ferraiuolo Iulia Costache Ana Luísa Delgado Bernardo Guerra Machado A.M. Ana Luísa Delgado Bernardo Guerra Machado Lourenço Providência Joana Peres Iulia Costache Bárbara Guedes Capelas @UAIAPI Luca Di Eusanio Y. G.T.

COVIDIUS POETICUS

Fazer Amor em Tempos de Pandemia 03/05/2020

Speak Song

04/05/2020

Habla la esperanza

28/04/2020 09/05/2020

Carta de desamor (que nem

*11/05/2020

Caubóis, Confinamento e Rock&roll

17/05/2020

Meu caralho (carta dirigida a

21/05/2020

Ilusão de um (des)amor

26/05/2020

Mirrored

29/05/2020

[sem título]

17/06/2020

Cheiros de pássaros na boca

Vítor Hugo Moreira

20/06/2020

Para as estrelas

André Garcia e Ana Luísa Delgado

06/07/2020

I Nuovi Trionfi

06/09/2020

Free

14/11/2020

Παρατυπίες

19/12/2020

Manifesto contra o estado das coisas

Bernardo Guerra Machado

27/12/2020

Animais simbologias I, II e III

Bárbara Guedes Capelas

27/12/2020

Manifesto del Destrutturalismo

31/01/2021

O Eco

Sara Brandão

06/02/2021

Doua Figurine

Iulia Costache

28/02/2021

The Annunciation

19/03/2021

Átomos

por isso deixa de ser amorosa)

um eu despandemizado)

@UAIAPI Luca Di Eusanio Bernardo Guerra Machado e Ana Luísa Delgado João Pedro Azul

Bernardo Guerra Machado Anonymous

Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου Ana Luísa Delgado

Bernardo Guerra Machado Iulia Costache

Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου

Bernardo Guerra Machado

Natacha Martins Carmín Mormore

2021

Preface

Covid hit Portugal around March 2020. Following neo-modernist tendencies of seeking to digitise artistic expression, I thought of creating a blog named “Fazer Amor em tempos de pandemia” (To make Love in pandemic times). Or “Covidius Poeticus”; never decided exactly which. There was one simple rule: to share original works produced in isolation, which are somehow connected with Love. Obviously, it did not need to be the romantic variant of the term. It could be the affection for the friends you miss; the nostalgia about places we were not able to visit; the family members you were looking forward to seeing again… and so on, and so forth. There was no problem regarding the offer and demand, as the whole World was bursting with the desire to squeeze out emotions and lacking Human contact! Little by little, some interesting posts started popping in. In the end, there were contributions in 5 different languages; some home-made, others consisting of tales from travellers trapped in distant continents. There were, as well, materials including songs and videos, marked with an asterisk in the index, which can be found using the QR codes, or on the website.

It all started, of course, within my close-friendship network.

Nonetheless, the situation got happily out of control – with anonymous participations and people who are completely unknown to me joining in! Alongside this chaos, something was made more and more clear: that we are not made to be still, inert! And, though it has its pros and cons, we simply need each other. Still, it is also true that we had a wonderful opportunity of exploring the power of solitude.In fact, many of us may well consider this harsh year to have been a great tutor, hopefully, managing to use its teachings to deeper know ourselves. Interestingly, it became quite common to hear that the countryside was the right place to be. There was an exodus from the city’s apartments to the piece of land closest to Nature each one of us could find. In my case, I had my grandparents’ farm to seek refuge. There, I found peace working in the fields, collecting chicken eggs, cleaning the garden, and building a birds’ shelter. Digging in

the house’s old library, I rediscovered the pirates that populated my childhood, old myths concerning my origins, forgotten verses… It was very hard for me to master the art of being alone, but I think I did a good job.

An ironic paradox emerged: despite being the only thing we had to remain in touch with, we got proof that digital technologies were not enough! Alone, they could not, by any means, deeply satisfy us.

All these algorithms, pixels, tons of information saying one thing and its opposite… they are not the whole story, they cannot contain Human Nature in all its complex diversity. There is something more to us, which can only be transmitted by eye glances, street shoves, bus drivers, lonely storytellers, and other similar little stochastic aspects of our daily Lives. Our faith in the holy technology and our certainty of being in control of the situation, both were deeply shaken. It seems that we are destined to have at least one big, healthy disappointment each century. Recently, when I moved to Greece, I had the childish hope that the whole thing would be over (I like to consider myself an undercover optimist)… Yet, having had to face a second lockdown, I decided to turn back to the blog, gather more material, and try my luck at making a diary-like book out of it. Well, here it is, apparently… I hope you enjoy it!

A deep “thank you” to all those that contributed with their works to this project; to Ana Luísa and Sara for the extra help; to my dear Boicote colleagues for the fundamental, generous contribution to make this idea real; and, finally to Balkan Hotspot and the European Solidarity Corps, for all the given support!

Bernardo Guerra Machado

Remembering this most peculiar period of our Lives made me think of a psychedelic song from the end of the 60s; which goes: Thinking is the best way to travel...

ANCORA IO (INCORREGGIBILE)

Ai vecchi e futuri Amori, e a tutti i Sogni che si estendono tra di loro: Grazie per i viaggi in cui mi avete messo; per i pezzi di me che da voi ho preso, dalla vostra Bellezza d’Essere; per le tante situazioni pazzesche in cui mi sono trovato, storie da raccontare ai nipoti (almeno a quelli degli altri); ma, soprattutto, per la capacità di Credere in qualcosa di Umana oltre la realtà, di portare nell’Anima idee e progetti che vanno verso l’impossibile (per ora)!

Ai vecchi Amori spero di aver lasciato qualche battuta divertente che faccia ancora ridere; un pugno di racconti tuttora vivi nella vostra memoria; forse due o tre passi all’incontro di una Bella Vita, un paio di suggerimenti utili; se non altro, un pezzo di sopracciglio...

26/03/2020

Del Grande Amore che ho vissuto restano tanti ricordi dolci, una enorme tenerezza da bambino ed una piccola paura che un sentimento così sia irripetibile. È da un bel po’ che il mio cuore non funziona... però mi fido di me – e mi credo ancora Incorreggibile; Romantico!

Ai futuri Amori, bene... auguro buona fortuna!

A tutti i Sogni d’Amore che ho avuto vorrei chiedere: Vi riccordate di me, anche voi?

Vi ringrazio per avermi mantenuto lontano della sonnolenza!

Ai vecchi e futuri Amori, e tutti i Sogni che si estendono tra di loro: Sapete che mi piace davvero danzare davanti allo specchio?

Così, stiamo già ballando in due; è praticamente una festa!

Bernardo Guerra Machado 26/03/2020

STILL MYSELF (INCORRIGIBLE)

To the past and future Loves and all the Dreams laying between them: Thank you for the journeys into which you pushed me; for the pieces of me collected from you, from the Beauty of your Existence; for the foolish situations I found myself in, stories to tell the grandchildren (at least to other people’s grandchildren); but, most of all, for the possibility to Believe in something Human, beyond reality, to light in my Soul ideas and projects slightly impossible (for now)!

To the old Loves hoping to have left some funny joke, which still brings some smile to the lips; a feast of tales still alive in memory; eventually, two or three steps towards a Good Life, a couple of useful advices, or, if nothing else, a piece of eyebrow...

From the Great Love I have lived, so many sweet memories remain, an immense childish tenderness, and a little fear that a feeling like this is unrepeatable.

It’s been a while since my heart is not working... but I believe in myself and I fancy I will keep on being an Incorrigible; Romantic!

26/03/2020

To the future Loves, well...

I wish you good luck!

To all the Love Dreams I had I would like to ask: Do you still remember me as well?

I want to thank you for having kept me away from somnolence!

To the past and future Loves and all the Dreams laying between them: Did you know that I really enjoy to dance in front of the mirror?

This way, we are already two people shaking; it’s technically a party!

Bernardo Guerra Machado

26/03/2020

SELF ON WOOD

Bárbara Guedes Capelas

26/03/2020

SEM TÍTULO

O miúdo não devia ter mais que 4 anos.

Roliço, loiro, de sorriso prazeroso de glutão, escrevinhava uns rabiscos na parede branca.

E eu só deixava, só sorria ternamente por saber que aquele era eu, por o sentir eu, por me rever.

De uma porta para o pátio ensolarado vejo-te sair com esse teu vestido turquesa e com esse sorriso ternurento, encostada à ombreira e com a cabeça pendendo para a esquerda numa inquisição também ela apropriadamente infantil.

Vi que também tu sentias esse bambino, que também tu o escutavas com os olhos perdidos, e isso encheu-me de alegria para o resto do dia.

Se tivesses acordado comigo não teria precisado de voltar a adormecer.

Aquele Gajo Maluco

29/03/2020

NO TITLE

The kid can’t be more than 4.

Chubby, blond, with a pleasant, glutton smile, writing some doodles on the white wall.

And I let him, only smiled fondly for knowing he was me, for feeling it, for finding myself in him.

From a door leading to the sunny yard, I can see you with that turquoise dress of yours, and with that tender smile, close to the jamb, with your head laying to the left, expressing an appropriately childish inquisition.

I saw that you, as well, felt that bambino, that also you used to listen him with lost eyes, and such filled me with joy for the rest of the day.

If you had awakened beside me, I wouldn’t have had needed to fall asleep again.

Aquele Gajo Maluco

29/03/2020

DIGNITAS

Hai fame di occhi rassicuranti, eh?

Anch’io.

Come chi sono?

Sono la tua coscienza! No, ti prendo in giro. Volevo solo spaventarti.

Sono il buio. Se mi apri, sono la luce.

Sono quello che hai rimandato fin’ ora.

Sono la vicina di casa che ti porta un pezzo di pizza, sono Edi Rama che saluta i suoi trenta uomini e donne, mentre si spegne la telecamera.

Sono il cinese, sì…uno di quelli tutti uguali, sono qui che ti infilo una mascherina nella cassetta della posta. Tu continua a dormire, domani la troverai lì.

Sono il sorriso di una madre che tenta di nascondere la preoccupazione per la tua solitudine. Sapesse che sono anni che tu ne sei preoccupata!

Sono l’etiophe che lascia un pacco di farina dall’altra parte della strada.

Sono il calore. Sono il freddo.

31/03/2020

Sono un corpo, un corpo umano, e una pianta, un cactus.

Per quanto bello, tu lo abbracceresti un cactus? Sono un corpo da roulette russa. Forse non ti faccio nulla o forse no. Sono il rischio che non voglio darti. Se non ti fidi lo capisco.

Sono la livella recitata a voce calma. Sono per tutti.

Sono un servizio aperto a tutte le ore, affinché non ti trucchi il viso di lividi.

Sono il turno di notte, le lacrime versate per quegli occhi chiusi per sempre, sono la stanchezza che tira la pelle del viso.

Sono la mano che affetta un etto, sono la rabbia, la pretesa del rispetto.

Sono il guanto invisibile, che puzza di lattice e ha appena richiuso la tavoletta, aspettandone un’altra.

Sono il salario da portare a casa la sera.

Sono un’incertezza. Una domanda senza risposta tenuta per me. Un dubbio ad un ballo in maschera, vestito da arlecchino.

Sono un orecchio che si sintonizza sulle sirene.

Sono una cesta di vimini dove puoi donare quello che vuoi a chi non ha nulla.

Sono la stanza, la baracca, la villa. Sono un riparo.

Sono la piazza vuota nell’ora più bella.

Sono un balcone, sono uno spazio aperto.

Sono il sonno e il risveglio naturale.

Sono un giorno come un altro. Un tempo come un altro. Sono un minuto in più di sole.

Sono l’improvvisazione.

Sono quello che desideravi.

E tu chi sei?

Eufemia Bonino

31/03/2020

DIGNITY

Are you hungry for reassuring eyes?

I am as well.

What do you mean who am I? I am your conscience! No, I am not fooling you. I just wanted to scare you. I am dark-ness. If you open me, I’m the light.

I am the one you have postponed until now.

I am your house neighbour who brings you a slice of pizza.

I am Edi Rama saluting his thirty men and women, while the telecamera is being turned off. I am the Chinese, yes... one of those who are all the same, I am the one who places a mask in your mail-box. Continue to sleep, tomorrow you will find it there.

I am the smile of a mother who tries to hide her worry because of your solitude. If he only knew that you have been worrying for years!

I am the Ethiopian who leaves a bag of flour on the other side of the road.

I am the warmth. I am the cold.

I am the body, a human body, and a plant, a cactus.

Beautiful it may be, would you hug a cactus? I am a russian roulette body. Maybe I won’t make anything to you, or maybe not. I am the risk I do not want you to take. I understand if you don’t believe it.

I am the level recited with a calm voice. I am for everybody.

I am a service open every single hour, so you do not make up your face with bruises.

I am the night shift, the tears shed because of those eyes which closed forever, I am the tiredness which pulls the skin from your face.

I am the hand which cuts a pound, I am the anger, I am the demand for respect.

I am the invisible glove, with an unpleasant latex smell, and which has just closed the board, waiting for another.

I am the salary that shall be brought home at the end of the day.

I am an uncertainty. A question from which I never obtained an answer. A doubt in a masked ball, dressed as a harlequin.

I am an ear tuned by the sirens.

I am a wicker basket where you can donate whatever you want to those who have nothing.

31/03/2020

I am I am I am I am I am more I am I am

the room, the shack, the villa. I am a shelter. the square empty in the most beautiful hour. a balcony, I am an open space. sleep and natural awakening. a day like any other. A time like any other. I am one minute of sun. an improvisation. the one you desired.

And you? Who are you?

Eufemia Bonino

31/03/2020

TRADUZIONE DI “E’ NOTT”, DI EDUARDO DE FILIPPO

Tutt’è silenzio dint’a sta nuttat nun se sente nu passo ‘e cammenà.

Nu ventariello tutta na serata pare ca me vulev accarezzà.

E finalmente chiangno!

Tu non vide, tu staje luntano, comme ‘o può ‘vedè?

Però t’ ‘o ddico pecchè tu me cride e si me cride, chiagne nzieme a me!

Scenne stu chianto lento, doce doce, nun aizo na mano p’ ‘asciuttà.

Io strillo pe’ re fa’ sentì sta voce, ma tu non puo’ sentì... c’allùcco a ffa’?

Tutt’è silenzio... ncielo quanta stelle!

Affaccete, tu pur ‘e ppuo’ vedè: songo a migliare, e saie pecchè so’ belle?

Pecchè stanno luntano, comm’a tte!

Eduardo De Filippo

Tutto è silenzio in questa nottata non si sente un passo camminare.

Un venticello per tutta la serata pare che mi volesse accarezzare...

E finalmente piango!

Tu non vedi, tu sei lontana, come puoi vedere?

Però te lo dico perché tu mi creda e se mi credi piangi assieme a me!

Scende lento questo pianto, dolce dolce, e non alzo la mano per asciugarlo.

Grido per farti sentire questa voce, ma tu non puoi sentire... che grido a fare?

Tutto è silenzio... in cielo quante stelle!

Affacciati, anche tu le puoi vedere: sono migliaia, e sai perché son belle?

Perché sono lontane, come te!

31/03/2020

TRADUÇÃO DE “E’ NOTT”, DE EDUARDO DE FILIPPO (É noite - o amor quebra qualquer confinamento)

Tudo está em silêncio nesta noitada não se sente um passo a caminhar.

Um ventinho sopra toda a noite parecendo querer acariciar-me...

E finalmente choro!

Tu não vês, tu estás longe, como poderias ver?

Mas digo-to para que possas acreditar em mim e se acreditares chora comigo!

Escorre lentamente este choro, doce doce, e não alço a mão para o secar.

Grito para fazer-te ouvir esta voz, mas tu não a podes escutar...para quê gritar?

Tudo é silêncio... no céu quantas estrelas!

Olha pela janela, também tu as podes ver: são milhares, e sabes porque são tão belas?

Porque estão longe, como tu!

Roberta Ferraiuolo

31/03/2020

TRANSLATION OF “IT’S NIGHT”, BY EDUARDO DE FILIPPO

Everything is silence in this long night, not a single step can be heard walking.

A subtle wind passes through the whole evening on, it seemed it wanted to caress me...

And, finally, I cry!

You cannot see it, you are far away, how can you see?

Nonetheless, I am telling it to you, so you can believe me, and, if you do, cry together with me!

These tears come down slowly, sweet sweet, and I do not raise my hand to dry it.

I scream, so to make you feel this voice, but you cannot hear it, why the hell am I screaming?

Everything is silence... the sky is plenty of stars!

Look out, you can see them as well: there are thousands, and do you know why are they beautiful?

Because they are far away, just as you!

Roberta Ferraiuolo

31/03/2020

LEGACY

I was born to be a yellow grain of sand, On the bank of the Mediterranean seashore Particularly insignificant, irregular and bland; Just like the rest of them; nothing less - nothing more.

The direction of the wind is no concern of mine, It may take me whichever way it so desires, Whether it’s up North, where the sun’s rays never shine Or close by, so I can extinguish beach-goers’ fires.

And yet, of all places, it carried me to you; Leading me to pause, ponder and debate Was my destination arbitrary, out of the blue Or did somewhere, along the journey, intervene fate?

Iulia Costache

31/03/2020

IT WAS EASIER TO WRITE POEMS

It was easier to write poems Before I had met you The moon shined comprised the infinite And the books made so much sense...

According to the vice which would be having dreamt of you, maybe, too much And I dreamt you in such a way that I matured all my poems In a single act.

On your nocturnal chest I was repeating, viciously, open circles in the intimacy of a closed moonlight.

You were having yes, then no.

You knew, To be honest, Sometimes I celebrated funerals inside my head But I did not understand them.

My voice, my illness, my happy tear and blood Rock by the solemn improvise of discovery.

Now I sense that each poem could have just one name.

By that time, I used to sing, inside the poem’s scent, which were about to really about to fall.

Ana Luísa Delgado

01/04/2020

ERA MAIS FÁCIL ESCREVER POEMAS

Era mais fácil escrever poemas Antes de eu te haver conhecido A lua brilhava abrangente ao infinito E os livros faziam todos tanto sentido...

Condizente com o vício que seria haver-te sonhado, talvez, demasiado E sonhei-te tanto que amadureci todos os poemas Num só acto.

Sobre o teu peito noturno eu repetia, viciosamente, círculos abertos no íntimo de um luar fechado.

Tu ias acenando que sim, que não.

Tu sabias.

Para dizer a verdade, Às vezes celebrava funerais dentro da minha cabeça Mas não os entendia.

A minha voz, minha doença, minha lágrima feliz e sangue Embaladas ao improviso solene da descoberta.

Agora eu pressinto que cada poema poderia ter um só nome.

Na altura eu cantava, dentro do cheiro dos poemas, que estavam prestes prestes a cair.

Ana Luísa Delgado 01/04/2020

PARTIALLY RESPONDING TO MAN-ERG

Man-Erg is a song by Van der Graaf Generator Reality is the mythology we tell ourselves constantly.

Thus, we can chose.

And there is nothing more Beautiful than choosing to be just a Human – to have a killer inside, the anger and the strength to act as such, but always try to find another path over the tempest in our mind, to choose creativity; to have an angel inside asking for virtue, which we shall give… after finishing our scheduled sinning, to choose to find our own equilibrium.

Now, every mythology needs some tragic aspects, mythologies cannot survive without chaos – chaos is the point!

From all the infinite ways someone can get into a mess, Love is arguably the most interesting one.

Therefore, choose passionately, carefully, your mistakes; this may be Life’s better kept secret:

02/04/2020

to a great extension, it all comes to opt for the right mistakes!

If you manage, through Love, to upset the angel living inside you; to cradle the killer who inside you lives; you will find the most curious thing: you too live inside you!

Only then you will truly understand that there is nothing more Beautiful than the mythology of being just a Human – no heroes, dictators, saviours, or refugees!

Just a Human capable of Love.

Finally, you will see: that, even if all the World is burning and you are completely by yourself (meeting Silence at last), there is a parallel Universe of Wonder in your head, with impossible romantic dreams floating all around, and a deep sense of fascination for your fireplace, struggling to give bath to your dog, each Friend of yours, the way the green of trees’ top mixes with blue-and-white projected in the sky; fascination for pretty much everything!

You take care, and write carefully, passionately, your mythology!

02/04/2020

Bernardo Guerra Machado

OUR LOVE IN TIMES OF PANDEMIC

I ran away to meet you.

It was an intuitive choice, I just took the train the next day.

Those 900 km should not keep us apart in such times of turmoil.

And here we are, together in the same house as we always want to be.

But we would never guess that spending a long time together would separate us more than the distance ever did.

No difference between hours.

Work pulling our attention.

No time to breathe you in, to linger and see the sun in your smile.

It’s the small details.

The dark side of the home office.

The lack of attention to each other, keeping the focus on the outside.

The fear that things have changed and that our love stopped flowing.

And that’s when we fight.

Tired and blind, we miss each other even when spending every second together.

Where is our love flow?

This relationship is too important to let go now.

We had made a commitment, to work on it whenever needed.

And that’s when we finally see - we finally see each other.

We only need each other.

02/04/2020

Every time the pressure washes away the affection, we stick to hope, my immortal hope that things get better in some way, your continuous relaxed trust in time.

I said everything is going to be fine.

And slowly, it is.

And maybe in some way, it always was.

A.M.

02/04/2020

CONHECES JÁ TU A VOZ DE POETA?

Conheces já tu a voz de um poeta?

Aquela que transporta com ela a seiva e a exatidão perecível do instante Aquela que fala do detalhe em aproximação às grandes coisas Aquela voz míope, tão isolada e serena na vida que se afunda, Entre o grito alvo soletrado pelos objectos e a combustão fértil de uma paisagem que nos informa e acolhe Mas que pouco nos dá sobre a realidade insignificante do pormenor.

Porque o pormenor, esse, não nos compreende. E ainda bem. É nele que reside a natureza única de todas as coisas A natureza irrepetível de cada erro E a faculdade do que é pretérito a transformar-se, pelo que é Impossível tomar corpo dentro dele Mas há qualquer coisa de poético não pertencer a lado nenhum, Não há?

Confessa, conheces já tua voz de poeta?

Aquela que não tem medo de dar uso às palavras E que se perde na distância que faz a paisagem Dias inteiros juntando sílabas umas às outras Com a esperança capaz de dar sentido ao texto.

A tudo isto. É raro. Eu sei que é raro.

Pois há infâncias que nos duram décadas no corpo Desvendando a profecia lenta de uma insónia Cujo radical não pode assumir forma mais simples Que a espera demorada da vigília.

Ana Luísa Delgado 05/04/2020

HAVE YOU ALREADY MET YOU POET’S VOICE?

Have you already met your poet’s voice?

That which carries with her the sap and the perishable exactness of the instant That which talks about approximating detail concerning the big things That myopic voice, so isolated and peaceful within the life sinking, Between the target scream, spelled by the objects and the fertile combustion of a landscape

which informs and welcomes us But how little it gives us about the insignificant reality of the little things.

Because the little things, those, they do not understand us. And we are better off that way.

It’s within them that resides the essence of everything The unique essence of each mistake And the ability of the past tense transforming For what it is Impossible to incarnate inside it However, there is something poetic about not belonging anywhere,

Right?

Confess, do you already know your poet’s voice?

That which is not afraid of using words And gets lost within the distance made by the landscape Days, entirely, gathering syllables together Hoping to be able to give a meaning to the text.

Ana Luísa Delgado 05/04/2020

IL SILENZIO COME MUSICA

Mai hai ascoltato il Silenzio?

Perché sarà che è così raro, se il Silenzio è la partitura della Natura...?

Da quanto lo hai ignorato?

Dobbiamo almeno conoscere i nostri vicini; ma questo, benchè vada sempre accanto a te, lo stavi evitando da un’eternità!

Ed adesso che gli hai lasciato spazio per esistere, per parlati; cosa senti?

Non è meraviglioso il suo mormorio?

Solo attraverso il Silenzio si può imparare il linguaggio dei Sogni!

Ci sono delle cose che possono essere meglio spiegate proprio da non dette.

(L’Amore, ad esempio, viene solo veramente espresso in Silenzi!)

Sai quanto mancavi al Silenzio?

Ah, c’è un Mondo che si apre nelle sue braccia!

05/04/2020

Un Mondo dove puoi sentire gli scherzi con i tuoi Amici Zingari, come se steste bevendo poncha nel vostro bar; l’eco dell’Amore passato, ed il soffio degli Amori futuri; la signora della biblioteca che ti chiedeva di stare zitto (e gli urli che facevi “voglio pisciare; voglio pisciare!”); le parole dei professori che ancora ti scrivono; la famiglia dispersa; quelli vecchi che vendevano accanto alla tua república libri, quaderni, penne, matite... anche il tuo padrone di casa Cinese, la rottura di coglioni overseas; e pure i pescatori che vivono nel bel quartiere vicino al fiume, quelli che hai una voglia immensa di conoscere; insomma, tutti quanti ti sembravano lontani prima!

La pandemia ci può curare dall’assenza di Silenzio – e questo può essere l’inizio di un Grande Amore!

- Hai capito?!

- Cioè, sto parlando con me stesso...

Bernardo Guerra Machado 05/04/2020

SILENCE AS MUSIC

Have you ever listened to the Silence?

Why is it so rare, providing Silence is Nature’s music score...?

Since when have you been ignoring it?

You should at least get to know our neighbours; but this one, despite always being next to you, it’s been an eternity avoiding it!

Now that you have given it space to exist, to speak to you; what do you feel?

Isn’t it wonderful its whisper?

Only through Silence can the language of dreams be learned!

Some things can be much better explained, precisely, untold.

(Love, for example, can only be truly expressed through Silences!)

Do you know how much Silence was longing for you?

Ah, a new World is unravelled in its arms!

A World in which you can listen again to the jokes with your Amici Zingari [1], as if you were drinking poncha in your bar; the echo of the past Love, and the winds of future Loves; the library lady

05/04/2020

asking you to be quiet (and how you were shouting “I want to pee; I want to pee!”); the kind words of the professors who still write you; the scattered family; that old couple who sold, next to your república [2], romances, notebooks, pens, pencils… also you Chinese landlord, the overseas pain-in-the-ass; and the fishermen who live in the beautiful neighbourhood close to the river, the one you have an immense curiosity of exploring; in conclusion, everyone who seemed distant before!

The pandemic can cure us from the absence of Silence – and this can be the beginning of a Great Love!

- Did you understand?!

- I mean, I am talking to myself…

Bernardo Guerra Machado

[1] Amici Zingari – Gipsy Friends, reference to the movie “Amici Miei”.

[2] República – historical students houses which can be found in Portugal, mostly in Coimbra. A living utopia.

05/04/2020

UM AMOR DE GIF

a convite de um amigo galego Juanma LoDo, fiz este gif que ele projectou desde a sua casa na Galiza, a ideia por detrás do gif é simples, é partilhar amor com os vizinhos sejam eles quais forem. o Juanma todos os dias faz projecções, espreitem o instagram onde ele as partilha.

PAZ

A LOVELY GIF invited by a Galician friend, Juanma LoDo, I made this gif, which he projected from his house in Galicia. The idea behind the gif is simple, it is to share love with the neighbours, whoever they may be.

Juanma made projections every day, take a look at his instagram, where he shares them.

PEACE

Lourenço Providência 07/04/2020

VIVÊNCIAS ENTRELAÇADAS EM CÂNTICOS MOMENTS TIED TOGETHER BY CHANTS

Joana Peres 08/04/2020

SPRING WILT

I’ve set my lover in a half-empty glass, Atop a corkscrew coaster - stained with wine, He taps now and again, to see the hours pass, Unfurling under the spring Sun’s dull shine.

I dare not remove him from his place For he might perish and I, as well, from guilt.

Oh, but how I long for his thorny embrace!

Yet, let my spirit be the only thing to wilt.

Iulia Costache

08/04/2020

MODOS DE ESTAR WAYS OF BEING

I, 20x20cm, acrylic paint on canvas

09/04/2020

II, 15x20cm, acrylic paint on canvas

Bárbara Guedes Capelas 09/04/2020

SOME INTRODUCTION TO THIS BLOG WERE MADE I FALL IN LOVE

Some introduction to this blog were made I fall in love Some people are at home counting their rice one by one Affection to oneself they dance one more song

This is me on a sunny afternoon Some struggle to cook I left London after all the harassment

09/04/2020

Began my life elsewhere in the north where the virus is hard to spread So it is my love for England Some introduction to this blog were made I fall in love Some people are at home counting their rice one by one Affection to oneself they dance one more song

Do you imagine all that time hearing songs that you love And you have no one to share that appreciation with?

Like dying with no one by your side?

And now that I go down the stairs and find drunken souls Looking for a song to play on the tv screen I fade inside into nonexistence when something is asked of me I don’t know what to say when someone asks me the name of a musician But then, again why not if I can hide that I have been through so much? I can’t look surprised I can’t look surprised, I can’t look surprised, I can’t look surprised Some introduction to this blog were made I fall in love Some people are at home counting their rice one by one Affection to oneself they dance one more song

We have so much outside We stop and listen, meditation cry For a reason unknown The world never meditated together Until the Queen told them to They never experienced war either Only us the strong ones, either dead or alive, got in real terms with our past And came out of it saying “imposed inactivity” Reminding you that to never experience war in a lifetime is only a recent thing They used to know how it feels The real war happens by the first breath taken away from our beloved mother who allowed someone to cum inside her If I were a woman I would never conceive a child You need to own a bank to see any sign of happiness on that child’s face recession on their heads 09/04/2020

Do you think that child would be full of bullies asking their parents to buy new clothes for them? no there should be real people yelling to go back inside with their mothers the father would be away killing either Jews, colonialists or fascists. there is no go-between Some introduction to this blog were made I fall in love Some people are at home counting their rice one by one Affection to oneself they dance one more song

that of paedophilia comes out from wars Enrich every grown person with the heavy dream of never living another day we only know what occurs in poesy when the result comes from an inner pain but this is not a poem masked as something else this is the very reason for poets the memory of this war is remembered by every member of the family until they pass it on without speaking like silent death What does war feel like?

I want to know the same answer Answer to me Do the clothes I am wearing right now mean something to you? they come from the back of a lorry like all our babies The war had to be silent death Some introduction to this blog were made I fall in love Some people are at home counting their rice one by one Affection to oneself they dance one more song

Not one of them have done what we done They’re all going wild and free Those from the telly! have never experienced coronavirus They never lived hard times like this

09/04/2020

We are the ones that been through this you know when to like me if I speak or not speak Then say it to my face You fucking stink!

And carry on with your drinking Be a fucking man and say it to my face!

And carry on with your drinking And carry on with your drinking but what if you become transformed by the proper knowledge ?

There are not decent people that actually know how to play football There is only 80’s, 82”s and kids Man I am tired of this!

Listen to what I am telling you!

After this I am binning this game!

Why don’t you play a different game?

You just add fire Mom! the one that makes one see behind this simple question What do you see beyond this skin?

What do you hear?

What do you miss that sets you free?

What never lasts forever that must end for mortality sake?

Love

@UAIAPI

09/04/2020

UNA AVENIDA

La imagen desoladora de la avenida sin vivir es un silencioso golpe al corazón que recuerda y nostálgico sueña con mosaicos cenicientos de piernas danzantes y atrevidas bicicletas Es la alegría del pasto alto convencido que por fin los gigantes dejarán que el intente alcanzar el cielo

AN AVENUE

The desolate image of the lifeless avenue is a silent strike on the heart which remembers and nostalgically dreams with ash-like mosaics having dancing legs and audacious bicycles It is the joy of the high pasture convinced that finally the giants will let him try to reach the sky

Luca Di Eusanio

13/04/2020

THE PROCRASTINATOR’S NEST

19/04/2020

Reframe, Refocus, Wwor...coffee break!

Dishes, Social media, Coffee break.

Cook, Dog walk, Coffee break.

Contemplating If there is a way to get you back...

Productivity <3 Upside down life New demands, Things. Just. Take. Longer.

‘Cause, Relations impact Prod u c t

i

v

i

t

y.

Y.

19/04/2020

DEVOUR ME SLOWLY

Devour me slowly, As if it were Sunday, And in the blood you leave along the way Splashes now a starling.

Offspring and mother Without, The snow, the figs, the wine, Doesn’t look to the belly button Figuring out It was born to raise: Under the sun, In verdant plains, In immense grain fields, Caressing the wheat.

You deliver, little one What is yet to come.

You bleed, woman, What the starling sang, On a warm evening.

G.T. 02/05/2020

COME-ME DEVAGARINHO

Come-me devagarinho, Como se fosse Domingo, E no sangue que deixas pelo caminho, Chapina agora um estorninho.

Cria e mãe Sem, A neve, os figos, o vinho, Não olha para o umbigo E percebe Que nasceu para criar: Ao sol, Em planícies verdejantes, Em searas imensas, A dar festas ao trigo.

Geras, pequena O que ainda não passou.

Sangras, mulher, O que o estorninho cantou, Num fim de tarde quentinho.

G.T.

02/05/2020

SPEAK SONG

When her bird tells me that at least you dream And I go away just to find it A step closer to you away from harm speaking out of love and hate (to your arms) How does one teach how to smile with flames on ones eyes Let the smile on your face fall as long as you speak with the silent confidence dissolves rocks what Is the dream? (HHHH) Without smiling there is no dream there only violent storm of muscles and bones I smile not to know how your pain tastes Only to have a taste of my own mouth For your confidence to go away Like a broken mirror goes away way way When her bird tells me that at least you dream And I go away just to find it A step closer to you is one away from harm speaking out of love and hate (to your arms) Your demons fall inside a little box made of wooden sticks I found on the back of my head When you enter I splash some mothers (fucking) love and father tears A pet A brother And a little cousin All for narcissism The narcissism of love

03/05/2020

When her bird tells me that at least you dream And I go away just to find it A step closer to you is one away from harm speaking out of love and hate (to your arms) A pigeon giving birth in the fluffy hoody passing over the egg over around the glacier floor In the risk of breaking or freezing to death The mother makes a frozen son Is death The father squeezes the egg His body is covered by the son guts ripped open and skull in tears It was that insufficient smile that made this song Tell me if that is not good enough On his birthday it’s not good enough Tell me if that is not good enough When her bird tells me that at least you dream And I go away just to find it A step closer to you is one away from harm speaking out of love and hate (to your arms) When her bird tells me that at least you dream And I go away just to find it A step closer to you is one step away from harm and closer to the comfort of your loving arms speaking out of love and hate

@UAIAPI 03/05/2020

HABLA LA ESPERANZA

En el voluntario silencio de la gran ciudad sin ciudadanos en el claro y libre vuelo de esos pájaros de mil colores y en la hermosa soledad de una luna, observada y observadora he escuchado la esperanza susurrar a mis oídos trayendo la sonrisa dibujada de la imagen que se viene pintada con colores de justicia y de armonía

HOPE SPEAKING

In the voluntary silence of the big city without citizens, in the clear, free flight of these birds with a thousand colours, and in the lovely solitude of a moon, observed and observer, I heard hope whispering in my ears bringing the drawn smile of the approaching image, painted with colours of justice and harmony.

Luca Di Eusanio

04/05/2020

CARTA DE DESAMOR (QUE NEM POR ISSO DEIXA DE SER AMOROSA)

Pudesse eu ver concedido um desejo, pediria que a Solidão tivesse ouvidos, dois ninhos, para me escutar quando lhe digo o quanto gosto dela.

E nessa noite observaria, sentado no terraço a fumar cachimbo, uma nítida estrela cadente anunciando três mais graças: que a Solidão tivesse boca, cordas vocais como heras de um verde vibrante e argumentos sólidos para me abalar as crenças e convicções, consumindo-me q.b. ... ou simplesmente discutir cinema; que a Solidão tivesse regaço com que me pudesse dar abrigo nos momentos de dor e insegurança, fechando-se sobre mim parecendo dois gamos aos saltos, a cruzarem-se num prado; enfim, que da Solidão partissem duas pernas tal raízes, encaixando numas ancas ágeis como um moinho-de-água – e que a Solidão soubesse dançar a Mazurka, Tango, Flamenco... e que para valsear aceitasse apenas Jacques Brel!

No dia seguinte, para grande surpresa minha, é o meu aniversário – e eu deito-me debaixo da mesa em posição fetal a mastigar velas...

Quantas outras bênçãos isso dará?

28/04/2020

Bom, queria que a Solidão tivesse olhos através dos quais pudesse expressar as suas mágoas e reflectir o salto que as rãs dão para os charcos!

Queria que a Solidão tivesse um cabelo alto, frondoso e outonal, que se abatesse sobre uma pele branca

09/05/2020

à semelhança dos troncos dos eucaliptos selvagens.

Queria que os licranços que tenho visto fugir para o mato fossem os dedos da Solidão... gostava de pedir em casamento um fura-mato; será que aceitaria o meu anel (ou um anelídio em alternativa)? É esta a minha carta para ti, Solidão – a única que aceito por companhia!

Espero que te encontre com o teu costumado cheiro a hortelãs silvestres e que toque o teu pensamento, onde assentam bútios e gaviões.

P.S.: Queria também deixar um grande abraço à Voz Dentro de Mim, que escreve!

Bernardo Guerra Machado Texto (28/04/2020)

28/04/2020

Ana Luísa Delgado Ilustrações (09/05/2020)

09/05/2020

UNLOVE LETTER (WICH IS NONETHELESS LOVELY)

If I could have a wish made real I would ask that Solitude had ears, two nests, to be able to listen when I say how much I like her.

And that night I would see, sitting in the terrace smoking the pipe, a shooting star announcing three more graces: that Solitude had a mouth, vocal chords like ivy with a vibrant green, and solid arguments to shake my beliefs and convictions, troubling me as required... or simply discuss cinema; that Solitude had a lap where I could find shelter in the moments of pain and insecurity, embracing me as if two jumping deers crossed by each other in a prairie; that from Solitude had sprout two legs alike roots, which would fit into hips agile as a water mill – and that Solitude would know how to dance the Mazurka, Tango, Flamenco… and for the Valse she would only accept Jacques Brel!

The following day, unexpectedly, is my birthday and I lay below the table in foetal position chewing candles...

How many more blessings can I get with that?

Well, I would want Solitude to have eyes through which she could express her heartaches and reflect the jump given by the frogs to the puddles!

I would want Solitude to have hair, tall, leafy, and autumnal, which would fall down into a white skin, similar to the trunk of wild eucalyptuses.

28/04/2020

I would want the slow-worms I have been seeing escaping into the woods to be the fingers of Solitude...

I would like to ask a slow-worm in marriage; would it accept my ring (or an annelid [1] instead)?

This is my letter for you, Solitude – the only one I accept for company!

I hope it finds you with your usual sylvatic mint scent and that it touches your thoughts, where buzzards and hawks stop to rest.

P.S.: I would also like to leave a big hug to the Voice Inside Me who writes!

Bernardo Guerra Machado Text (28/04/2020)

Ana Luísa Delgado Illustrations (09/05/2020)

[1] This word was chosen for the sake of making a pun. In Portuguese ring is written “anel” and annelid “anelídeo”.

09/05/2020

CAUBÓIS, CONFINAMENTO E ROCK&ROLL

NO TEMPO EM QU’EU ERA CAUBÓI

No tempo em qu’eu era caubói e estava apaixonado por um touro mecânico fumava cigarros de cuspir no futuro e montava dia sim dia não e assim o amor ia ganhando espaço entre as pernas as unhas afinava-as numa guitarra herdada sem uma corda não sabia escrever mas cantava de cor à noite no estábulo as vacas sorriam-me sem desconfiar daquela minha afeição pouco comum as raparigas achavam que era tudo virilidade e começavam também a sorrir-me e eu também sorria: eram tempo felizes Certo dia sendo já noite e eu no estábulo vieram os irmãos de uma dessas raparigas uma Martha ou Melanie já não sei que a irmã sorria demasiado na minha presença e que isso tinha de ser tratado eram família decente e devota

11/05/2020

era preciso ir à igreja mas como se eu nada tinha feito nem nada sentia pela rapariga não não podia ser isso é impossível ficaram furiosos perante este meu atrevimento de nada sentir pela Melanie ou Martha nunca soube arrancaram-me a guitarra e dela uma das cordas que restava e de mim todas as canções por cantar Diz quem com o desafinado acordou que nunca vira tanta lágrima em olhos de bicho O touro esse acabou a um canto morto pela ferrugem O MEU PAÍS

não é para velhos nem para novos nem para os assim-assim no meus país é sempre manhã e de manhã somos todos recém-nascidos e eu gosto de recém-nascer no meu país recém-desperto para a manhã no meu país os pássaros cantam mesmo que eu não lhes saiba o nome nem conheça quem os meteu na minha cabeça essa eu sei - foi inventada por mim na manhã de ontem lembro-me como se fosse hoje estava nublado e os pássaros não vieram no meus país as causas das coisas podem parecer simples depende do fuso horário de quem as observa ou do ponto-de-fuga ou 11/05/2020

FAIXA BÓNUS:

posso ir à praia? e jantar fora? e abraçar o cão do vizinho? ou a gata da minha prima? e ver ao longe, mesmo estando perto? e ser o longe, mesmo que deserto? e subir pra cima em linhas tortas? e trazer a aorta a descoberto? fazer de conta que ainda é ontem? comer de pé com uma colher? cuspir para o ar sem deixar cair? ir à lua e voltar, em pensão completa? posso ser mais eu, sendo menos eu? posso olhar pró fundo do poço? voltar a ser moço? um fino e tremoço, posso? plantar uma árvore no sofá? escrever um poema com as raízes pintadas? crescer prós lados e comer rebuçados? posso? posso? quero tudo tudo tudo agora posso posso posso ??? posso pelo menos ir à casa de banho?

João Pedro Azul

11/05/2020

COWBOYS, LOCKDOWN AND ROCK&ROLL

BACK WHEN I WAS A COWBOY Back when I was a cowboy and in love with a mechanical bull, I smoked future-spitting cigarettes and rode day in day out, and that way love kept occupying space between the legs my nails were sharpen in a handed down guitar single stringed I didn’t know how to write but I sang by heart at night in the stables the cows smiled not knowing about my unusual affection the girls thought it was all virility and started to smile at me and I would smile back: those were happy times Then one day, by night, I was in the stall and in came the brothers of one of these girls some Martha or Melanie, I can’t recall, that the sister smiled too much in my presence and that it had to be taken care of they were a pretty decent family devout I had to go to church but I, having done nothing wrong, nor feeling anything for the girl no, it couldn’t be done it would be impossible they were mad given my audacity for feeling nothing towards Melanie or Martha, I never knew they took away my guitar torned one of the remaining strings torned all the songs I had to sing

11/05/2020

It is said Whoever was wakened by that ill voice never saw so many tears in the eyes of a beast The bull, that bull, ended up in a corner eaten by rust.

MY COUNTRY

is not for old men neither for the young neither for the so-and-so in my country it is always tomorrow and in the morning we are all newborns and I enjoy to newly born in my newly-awaken country in the morning in my country the birds sing even if I do not know their names nor who placed them in my head That I know - it was invented by me yesterday morning I remember as if it were today it was cloudy and the birds didn’t show up in my country the reason for things might seem simple it depends on the timezone of the observer or the vanishing point or

11/05/2020

BONUS TRACK:

can I go to the beach? what about going out for dinner? and hug the neighbour’s dog? or my cousin’s cat? and to see far beyond, though close? and to be the far beyond, though long? and climb up on crooked lines? and wear the aorta on my sleeve? pretend it is still yesterday? eat, while standing, with a spoon? spit in the air, not letting it fall? go to the moon and back, all included? can I be more myself, being less like me? can I look to the bottom of the well? be young again? a pint and some lupins, can I? plant a tree on the couch? write a poem in dyed roots? grow to the sides and eat turkish delight? can I? can I? I want everything everything everything n o w can I can I can I ??? can I at least go to the bathroom?

João Pedro Azul

11/05/2020

MEU CARALHO (CARTA DIRIGIDA A UM EU DESPANDEMIZADO):

Escrevo-te com um copo de Vinho do Porto na mão; ou moscatel; não sei, sou um plebeu nestas coisas – mas espero que tu entretanto te informes bem acerca destas derivados da uva e me ajudes a tomar sentido daquilo que estou a ingerir.

Nunca te esqueças: é dos grandes fadalhos que nasce a consciência dos discretos pedaços de Beleza espalhados pelo milagre da Existência afora – e assim se vai ganhando este jogo de escondidinhas com os Fados!

Eu serei filho de Deus e das Ganas de Viver; tu, neto de tudo isto, e hás-de ser o Pródigo.

(E posto que o meu Deus é o Dia que se me apresenta, eu nascerei a cada 24 horas, em Eterno Retorno; até reencarnar em ti!)

Muitos têm vindo a anunciar que isto é um sinal dos tempos, a chegada do Apocalipse... talvez; todavia, o que eles desconhecem é que esta palavra significa tão-somente Revelação – da importância dos Amigos e respectivas reinações, do fascínio inerente à arte do vagueio, do charme irresistível dos transeuntes (tanto que eu às vezes até dou por mim maravilhado no supermercado; ficando-me a sensação de que só saí para ver pessoas, com particular e demorada atenção à senhora da caixa 7)...

Lembra-te de tudo isto

17/05/2020

e trata de degustar a Vida setenta e sete vezes mais Apaixonadamente do que o nosso coração é agora capaz.

Que o abrigo para pássaros que eu hoje estou na carpintaria a construir possa vir a ser no futuro, teu presente, a morada fiscal do teu Sonho – manda-me, por favor, desse espantoso delírio um melro-correio a dar-me notícias tuas de mim.

Nestes próximos dias sentar-me-ei no terraço à escuta.

E a ver as atléticas joggers passar!

Estes são monásticos tempos de Solidão; contudo, eu gostaria que me contasses da loucura que virá após a tempestade!

Entrementes, ocupar-me-ei de encontrar a maior das excitações nas mais pequenas coisas – peço-te apenas que nunca as deixes cair em desencanto!

Meu caralho, quantas vezes disse a mim mesmo que se me safasse desta e daquela me tornaria no meu herói?

Acaso sinto-o aqui e agora?

Ando-me a adiar há muito tempo!

Mas sabes que mais...?

Fá-lo tu também, mantém-nos frágeis e inseguros: pois se toda a peça requer o seu personagem de alguma forma trágico-cómico, e se sem hamartia não há tragédia, temos que este biscate de erguer uma Boa Vida é em grande parte uma questão de cometer os erros certos – de modo a que o esbardalhanço abunde em pompa e circunstância!

17/05/2020

Por isso, meu caralho, enmerdemo-nos e desenmerdemo-nos até que a morte nos separe E tu vê se partes mais um ou dois dos nossos ossos, que eu quero ir desta para melhor bem amassado.

Como vês, tenho pouco para te ensinar.

Era sobretudo a curiosidade de saber de ti que me assoprava as velas do zingarelho escrevente...

Bernardo Guerra Machado, 17 de Maio de 2020, Famalidog P.S.: Na verdade... já que paguei o bilhete para Viver, não me faças spoiles, e deixa-me ver onde isto vai dar...

Um abraço!

17/05/2020

DEAR PRICK (LETTER WRITTEN TO MYSELF WHEN OUT OF CONFINEMENT):

I am writing to you with a Glass of Port in the hand; or muscatel; I’m not sure, I tend to be plebeian in these things but I hope you get well informed in the meantime about this grape products and help me understand what exactly am I ingesting.

Never forget: it is from the greatest fatigues that flourishes the consciousness regarding the discreet pieces of Beauty scattered around through the miracle of Existence and we shall keep winning this hide-and-seek match against Fortune!

I may be son of God and the Will to Live; you, the grandson of all this, and you shall be the prodigal.

(And given that my God is the Day I find myself in, I shall be born every 24-hours, in Eternal Return; until reincarnating as you!)

Many have been announcing that time is signalling us something, Apocalypse’s coming... maybe; however, what they do not know is that this word means simply Revelation of the importance of our Friends, and the jokes we share, of the fascination associated with the art of wandering around, the irresistible charm of those who anonymously pass by (sometimes I even find myself astonished at the supermarket; it is as if that I only went out to see people, giving particular and prolonged attention to the lady in the balcony 7)...

Remember all these things and make sure you enjoy Life seventy seven times more Passionately

17/05/2020

than our heart now endures.

May the bird shelter, which I am today constructing in the carpentry, be, in the future (your present), the tax address of your Dream send, please, from that amazing delirium a carrier blackbird bringing your news about me.

In days to follow I will be sitting in the terrace with my ears opened.

And seeing the athletic joggers passing by!

This is a monastic era of Solitude; nevertheless, I would like you to tell me about the craziness which will come after the tempest!

In the meantime, I shall occupy myself finding a huge excitement in the smallest things let me just ask you to never let them fall into disenchantment!

Dear prick, how many times have I told myself that if I get through this and that, I would become my hero?

Do I, by any chance, feel it here and now?

I’ve been postponing myself for quite a while!

But, you know what...?

Go and do the same, keep us fragile and insecure: because if each pay requires a character somehow tragic-comic, and if without hamartia there is no tragedy, we are left to conclude that this odd job of erecting a Good Life is, to a great extension, a question of committing the right mistakes so that when one blows things up, it is with tremendous pomp and circumstance!

Therefore, dear prick,

17/05/2020

we shall dig and undig ourselves out of the shit [1] until death set us apart!

By the way, please do try to break some more of our bones, because I would like to pass away quite creased.

As you have seen, I have very few things to teach you.

It was mostly curiosity to know about you what blew the sails of my writing device...

P.S.: After all... given that I’ve paid the ticket to Live, do not make me spoilers, and let me see where this is going to...

A hug!

Bernardo Guerra Machado

[1] From the Portuguese expression “desenmerda-te”, literally translated to “dig yourself out of the shit”, meaning to find a way to overcome the contingencies of Life.

17/05/2020

ILUSÃO DE UM (DES)AMOR

Olhas-me como quem olha o seu próprio ego Faminto do desconhecido saciável E enquanto delicias o teu âmago Não sei se me tenho ou se me esqueci Esqueci-me no passeio das possibilidades inexistentes Esqueci-me nos reconhecimentos das inexpressões (Só micro-momentos) Sou ser longínquo, não de distância, mas de tempo Aluciono com perspectivas idealistas, reais, imensuráveis, inimagináveis Porque no momento não sou só eu, mas moléculas Uma imensidão de moléculas E quem as controla?

Elas mesmas?

Ou um fio invisível numa construção aparente?

E o amor? É fio ou molécula?

Anonymous

21/05/2020

ILLUSION OF A (UN)LOVE

You see me as you were looking to your own ego Hungry for the unknown that can be satisfied And while you please your core I’m not sure if I remain, or if I forgot me I forgot me within the tour of non-existent possibilities I forgot me while recognising absent expressions (Nothing more than micro-moments) I am a distant being, not by metres, but by time I hallucinate with perspectives; idealistic, real, (immeasurable,unimaginable) Because in that moment I’m not only me, but molecules An immensity of molecules And who controls them?

Themselves?

Or an invisible string in an apparent construction?

And love?

Is it a string or a molecule?

Anonymous

21/05/2020

[SEM TÍTULO]

Passa uma rola.

Um académico diz: - Olha que pomba tão bela!

Adeja esbelta, a gaja.

[NO TITLE]

A turtledove passes by.

An academic says: - What a beautiful pigeon!

Prettily hooves, the chick.

Ana Luísa Delgado

29/05/2020

CHEIROS DE PÁSSAROS NA BOCA

E agora aqui estamos, desabotoando conchas e búzios dos cabelos, onde as memórias se afeiçoam às memórias e aos dedos que percorrem a pele suave e salgada do mar que desagua sobre o olhar impiedoso onde em cada instante recordamos humildemente os instantes da mão pousada sobre o ombro, como pássaro primaverizando os novos dias na ousadia ou no assombro da luz que nos deixa nomes e corpos e almas de paz celebrando às mãos cheias o segregar da seiva das árvores e os olhos sorriem sobre cada tamanho da estrada. Ali diante do infinito, uma ferida onde uma navalha fere a vida e que dói sobre a mão direita apertando o coração é a voz presa na garganta e o não bastar, o encontro da razão e a certeza, os cheiros de quem abraça na chegada a profundidade da viagem, a inspiração de quem fica sentado no lado escuro da luz esperando a claridade dos dias, observando tudo para além das janelas e onde pessoas se cruzam, desconhecidamente, falam sobre as águas dos rios e a desgraça nas páginas dos jornais. Há quem fique sentado diante de outro, observando a boca silenciosa e os olhos profundos explodindo de verdades. Ali rejuvenescem borboletas de sonhos e de amor. A mão que vagueia num silêncio tépido onde a pele exige outra pele e aceita a melancolia e o tédio das horas distantes e espreitamos a existência divina sobre as palavras singelas de gratuitidade e do gesto profundo que nos amontanha a boca sobre a grande luz do sol gritando a intimidade o azul do céu é dos olhos e o vermelho do sangue e do desejo e o doirado da pele e do campo. E desconhecemos o som dos animais da noite e o bater dos ponteiros do relógio do futuro, os pássaros que rasgam as nuvens coloridas dos fins dos dias e trazemos no olhar os sinais de que ainda trazemos vida e fogo e pensamentos roubados sobre a noite. Morávamos com a mão a apontar para a tinta do poema, a morada do poema antecedente do reencontro. A cabeça se encosta na almofada comprimindo toda a vida do dia. E entornamos o sorriso da boca, numa saliva de luz onde não há muros para estradas de futuros e de sonhos.

17/06/2020

Vítor Hugo Moreira

SMELL OF BIRDS IN THE MOUTH

And here we are, unbuttoning shells and whelks from the hair.

Where the memories get attached to the memories and to the fingers travelling through the soft skin, salty from the sea which empties on a merciless glance. Where in each instant we humbly recall the instants of the hand laying on the shoulder, like birds springing the new days with the audacity or the haunting of the light, which leave us names and bodies and souls of peace. Celebrating towards the full hands, the trees secreting the sap and the eyes smil-ing about each size of the entrance.

There, facing the infinite, a wound. Where a knife injures life, and it hurts on the right hand, squeezing the heart. It’s the voice trapped in the throat and the not being enough; the encounter of reason and certainty; the smells of whoever hugs on the arrival the journey’s depth; the inspiration of who stood seated in the dark side of light, waiting the days’ clarity, while observing everything further the windows. Where the people cross each other, unknowingly, speaking about the waters of the rivers and the disgrace in the newspapers’ pages. There are some who remain seated facing the other, observing the silent mouth and the deep eyes, exploding with truths. There turn young butterflies of dreams and love. The hand that wanders in a tepid silence. Where the skin demands another skin and accepts the melancholy and the boredom of the distant hours. And we peek at the divine existence, the simple words of gratitude, and the deep gesture, which piles enlarging our mouths on the in the huge sunlight, screaming intimacy. The sky’s blue is for the eyes and the red is for the blood and desire and the golden within the skin and the fields. And we do not know the sound of night’s animals and the strike of the future clock’s hands; the birds that rip colourful clouds of the evenings.

And, in our glance, signs that we still carry life and fire and stolen thoughts about the night. We used to inhabit with the hand pointing towards the ink of the poem, the address of the poem anticipating the reen-counter. The head lays in the pillow, compressing all the life contained within a day. And we spill the mouth’s smile, in a saliva of light. Where there are no walls for the roads made out of futures and dreams.

Vítor Hugo Moreira

17/06/2020

PARA AS ESTRELAS

Lente sobre noite / Lens above the night

Ana Luísa Delgado

20/06/2020

Ou não falamos nunca Tudo ou nada A realidade prostrada às visões nos diários As ideias as cores os dias que pareciam infinitos E nós aqui, procurando Clareiras no céu para as estrelas Encarando a vida com garra e força e a alegria de um sorriso rasgado na cara por um espinho de uma rosa O jardim como o contexto da humanização da casa E a esperança das igrejas Desfazendo-se na matéria do sonho Da luz da manhã Obrigado

André Garcia 20/06/2020

TO THE STARS

Or we never speak Everything or nothing Reality prostrates to the visions in diaries The ideas the colours the days that seemed infinite And us, here, searching Clearings in the sky to the stars Facing life with enthusiasm and fierceness and the joy of an opened smile in the face by a thorn of a rose The garden as the context of the humanization of the house And the churches’ hope Crumbling within the dream’s matter From the morning light Thank you

André Garcia

20/06/2020

MIRRORED

Oil on paper 10x10cm, digital edit

Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου

26/05/2020

I NUOVI TRIONFI

Forse la più bella espressione d’Amore è quella non consumata – l’Amore che nasce, esplode e muore immortalato in un pezzettino di carta.

Forse quel che veramente importa è coltivare dei Sogni ogni sera; raccogliendo nella sveglia una voglia immensa di fare casino e guerriglia alla realtà – trovare la Follia che tutte le tragedie in commedia cambierà.

Non abbiamo bisogno d’altra moralità oltre alla Risata!

Forse questo Amore non consumato era proprio quello che io avevo cercato.

Ma scusate, abbiamo davvero necessità di ammazzare l’Innocenza tutti i giorni?!

Io preferirei lasciare ogni tanto un bel bambino pezzo d’Impossibile danzare nella carta; mistiche romancizzazioni del Mondo obbiettivo; viaggi verso un Universo parallelo dove ci sei anche Tu, e ci sediamo tutti quanti

06/07/2020

intorno ad una tavola raccontando tante storie divertenti (ed arrivando alla conclusione che un abbraccio profondo può essere meglio del sesso)...

Conosciamo già I Trionfi dell’Amore, della Pudicizia, della Morte, della Fama, del Tempo e dall’Eternità – però forse non abbiamo ancora scritto I Trionfi dell’Umanità!

L’Amore che lascia partire e si reinventa; lo Scherzo; la capacità di scelta e riflessione; l’Arte; lo scorruto; il Senso di Giustizia; l’Ideale; la consapevolezza che basta rovinare l’Esistenza con dicotomie e categorizzazioni che non c’entrano nulla, basta estremi, destra e sinistra – mi avete già rotto i coglioni! – basta nazionalismo, ossantocielo, vogliamo finalmente l’Umanismo, basta con le stronzate del politicamente corretto, cazzo, smettete di disturbare la Libertà – lasciatela fiorire, ombre dittatoriale! – basta pregiudizi contro il pregiudizio – non ci resta altro che affrontare questi strani istinti come semplici battute cognitive senza prenderli sul serio; ma sopprattutto abbiamo bisogno del Trionfo tramite lo Scorruto!

Boh.

06/07/2020

Dai... piangere versi qualche volta non fa nessun male – anzi!

Vivere... Scrivere: sono perfetti sinonimi!

(Benchè con qualche dispersione) ecco le mie lacrime; ecco un Amore stampato in carta, non consumato.

E questa è la più Bella espressione d’Amore!

(O forse sbaglio...)

Bernardo Guerra Machado

06/07/2020

THE NEW TRIUMPHS [1]

Maybe the most beautiful expression of Love it’s the non-accomplished one – the Love that springs, explode, and dies immortalised in a piece of a letter.

Maybe what really matters is to cultivate Dreams every night; collecting in the morning an incredible will to create some chaos and continue the guerrilla against reality – find the Folly which shall transform all tragedy into comedy.

We do not need any morality further than the Laughter!

Once in a while, I would rather leave a nice, childish piece of Impossible dancing on the paper sheet; mystical romanticizations of the objective World; journeys towards a parallel Universe where You exist as well, and we all sit around a table telling amusing stories (and arriving at the conclusion that a deep hug can sometimes be better than sex)…

We already know the Triumphs of Love, Pudency, Death, Fame, Time, and Eternity – although we might still haven’t written The Triumphs of Humanity!

[1] Reference to “The Triumphs” from Petrarca.

However, if you may excuse, is it really a necessity to kill Innocence every day?!

06/07/2020

Eh. Well… to cry a couple of verses from time to time doesn’t hurt nobody – on the contrary!

To Live… to Write: they are perfect synonyms!

(In spite of all my dispersion) here are my tears; here you have a piece of Love, printed on a paper sheet, non-accomplished.

And this may be the most Beautiful form of Love!

(Or maybe I’m wrong…)

06/07/2020

Bernardo Guerra Machado

[2] “Furp” is an ancient technique that derives from the combination of “fart” and “burp”.

The Love that gives freedom, and reinvents itself; the Joke; the capacity to choose and to wander; Art; the furp [2]; the Sense of Justice; the Ideal; the conscience that we had enough of these Existence-ruining dichotomies and categorizations that do not make any sense, that we had enough of extremes, left, right – I declare my balls to be already busted with you all! – that we had enough of nationalism, by heaven’s sake, we need Humanism at last, that we had enough of the silly political correctnesses, damn, stop disturbing Freedom – let it flourish, dictatorial shadow! – that we had enough of silly political correctness, against prejudice – there is no other solution than to face these strange instincts as simple cognitive buffoonery without taking their presence in our mind seriously; but, most of all, we need the Triumph through the Furp!

FREE

Quiet man sporting a loud shirt.

Blasé, Mary Jane against his lip, Inhaling her, he winks at me, the flirt.

He wants me to join him on his trip.

A fraction of his thoughts evoke devotion, To the wingtip of a migratory bird, Floating above the line between dusk and ocean, Basking in the potential liberty conferred.

Offering me a taste of pure flight, Our essence trails off, upward-bound.

With no desire to resist it, not to fight, May our feet never again touch the ground.

Iulia Costache

06/09/2020

IRREGULARITIES

A “safety distance” we named the gap, confined in our boxes.

We hung over our screens, desperately seeking for solace.

-we have only existed in thereirregularly and a bit ironically.

And if sometimes I fooled myself, there would probably have been some leak of hope from the deeply cracked glass.

So I draw your absence and adorning it as an embroidery.

Thus, I can count the moments you are missing with threads, and all the rest we could have been together, with knots.

Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου

14/11/2020

Παρατυπίες

Αποστάσεις ασφαλείας βαφτίσαμε το χάσμα, και κλειστήκαμε στα κουτιά μας. Κρεμαστήκαμε πάνω από τις οθόνες,

μήπως βρεθεί παρηγοριά.

-μόνο εκεί υπήρξαμε, μάτια μουπαράτυπα και λίγο ειρωνικά. Κι αν κάποιες φορές γελάστηκα, θα υπήρξε μάλλον κάποια διαρροή ελπίδας από το βαθιά ραγισμένο, κατά τ’άλλα, γυαλί.

Zωγραφίζω την απουσία σου, και τη στολίζω σαν υφαντό. Μετρώ τις στιγμές που λείπεις με κλωστές κι όσες θα μπορούσαμε να ‘μαστε μαζί, με κόμπους.

Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου

14/11/2020

MANIFESTO CONTRA O ESTADO DAS COISAS - UM DISCURSO PARA FAZER À HORA DE ALMOÇO

Peço cinco minutinhos de atenção e que mastigais de boca fechada nos entretrementes – descontenta-me o estado das coisas e esta forma cisuda de lidar com a Vida.

Em primeiro lugar, questiono-me se estamos a degustar esta refeição condignamente – isto é, se dissemos “Bom apetite”, referindo-nos à Bênção da Existência, antes de pegar nos talheres que cortam o dia em 24 Sagradas, irrepetíveis horas...

Andam os mortos com tanta fome de Viver e nós aqui a desperdiçar Tempo!

Ao menos, quanto aos restos alimentares, espero que os guardemos para fazer depois uma ferocíssima guerra de comida!

Preocupa-me também a contenção das nossas partilhas nestes importantíssimos momento de confraternização de seu nome “Almoço”!

Gostaria de ver os nossos Corações a serem postos sobre a mesa e a passarem de um lado para o outro como num jogo de sueca.

O que nós andamos a tramar tendemos a enfiar numa merda de um qualquer repositório online – mas eu estou-me a cagar de alto e de repuxo para cartões de visita e personalidades pixelizadas; eu quero-te a ti, a ti e a ti aqui Inteiros!

Declama-me o que tens secretamente guardado

23/01/2021

nos teus caderninhos, que tanto são pedaços de ti como de árvore!

Canta-me, toca-me, faz-me ouvir o raio da música da tua Alma, a partitura do teu pesar!

E não me escondas as pinturas que andas a conspirar e os desenhos daquele desconhecido por quem te ias apaixonando! É tudo coordenadas para nos Conhecermos, para nos Desvendarmos; somos todos pistas para chegar ao Amor que tanto quero descobrir – um Amor Imenso pela Humanidade!

Terceiro ponto: quando tiro um macaco do nariz e o piparoteio ele perder-se-á para todo o sempre; assim que nos desaparece da vista, um mesmo macaco não pode ser encontrado segunda vez!

Assim é também Milagre de cada Momento – e lembrem-se de que na nossa Mocidade, carago... até os comíamos!

Porém, o busílis é esse – o que passou, passou; todavia, o nariz não seca, basta estarmos atentos para notar que há a cada passo algo fascinante à espreito, algum louco mirabulante projecto à espera de ganhar forma na Asa da nossa Imaginação; façamos, então, das tripas Coração, que a Vida é sempre oh p’rá frente e há tanto pano para rasgar!

Exorto-vos a ter ganas, gente de pouca Fé em si própria; admoesto-vos a Sonhar ainda acima do impossível, bem para lá do acessível –

e não ter outra expectativa que não a de Viver Plenamente antes de regressar à inexistência!

Não podemos estar constantemente à espera do empurrão que pode nunca chegar – levantai o homem caído no chão, ajudai a velha com os sacos, dai corda às histórias dos solitários e, do autocarro à mesa do café, ide-vos lá sentar ao lado daquela pessoa misteriosamente atraente!

Deixo-vos, no entanto, as seguintes advertências: eu não tenho coragem para vos oferecer – nunca a encontrei sem que primeiro me dominasse o medo, sem que acagassasse tremendamente a Criança em mim, indefesa!

Não tenho força para vos transmitir – porque nunca a alcancei sem antes me sentir humilhado, encostado à parede (e ela em mim, em havendo, assume invariavelmente esta forma, a Palavra)!

Nem determinação tenho para vos entregar – pois esta só se me revela quando me sinto tentado a ceder ao atavismo, no momento em que estou prestes a desistir!

E muito menos conselhos poderia partilhar – eu que tantas vezes me precipito, que parece que não perco uma oportunidade para errar; eu, que talvez tenha até perdido o meu Grande Amor...

Contudo, não me lamento, posto que todos estes tropeções foram grandes tutores; Nascemos, está feita a hamartia... que seja Cómico-Bela a tragédia!

E o que passou, passou; e quem me diz que aos 24 anos eu não posso comer um macaco?!

Em boa verdade vos digo que o que eu tenho para vos deixar é tão-somente um pneumotórax, um quinto metacarpo partido, 23/01/2021

calos, suor e, sobretudo, olheiras!

Há olheiras que chegue para todos!

Faço o que posso, e procuro manter-me sempre fiel à minha guerrilha contra a realidade, esmifro-me por uma boa Brincadeira ou por um punhado de versos para vos foder o juízo à hora de Almoço!

Não obstante, se tiver conseguido aqui aWcender um sorriso que seja, caralhos me fodam se não ganhei a batalha e dei Graças ao meu Deus, O Dia de Hoje!...

Quinto e último aspecto: vamo-nos deixar do “suficientemente bom”, é p’ra dar tudo, carago!

Tomara que cada um de nós consiga deixar Obra que toque ao menos uma geração; que Comova, que provoque Riso, que pegue nas pessoas e as agite bramindo: Toca a Viver, seus cabrões!

E porque sei que poderia ter feito mais e melhor, em batendo a bota, vos autorizo a mijar na minha campa – em todo o caso, eu serei um morto demasiado exausto para vos amaldiçoar, estou convicto disso!

Antes, porém, do venha a nós a vossa urina convido-vos a mudar o estado das coisas fazendo da Vida um romântico casamento Cigano – assim, em vez dos dois dias, teremos três; e serão garantidamente de suruba da grossa!

Bom Regabofe, podeis voltar aos vossos tabuleiros!

Desculpai-me o importúnio.

Bernardo Guerra Machado 23/01/2021

MANIFESTO AGAINST THE STATE OF THINGS - A SPEECH TO DO DURING LUNCH TIME

I ask no more than five minutes of your attention, and that you chew with your mouth closed in the meantime – it bothers me, the state of things and this serious manner of facing Life.

To start, I ask myself whether or not we are properly enjoying this meal – meaning, if we said “Bon appetit”, referring to the Blessing of Existence, before holding the cutlery which cuts the day into 24 Sacred, unrepeatable hours...

The dead are starving from Life, and look at us, how much Time we waste!

At least, regarding the leftovers, I hope we keep them, so as to do a ferocious food war!

It worries me as well how self-contained our sharing is in these most important moments of confraternization which we have been calling “Lunch”!

I would like to see our Hearts being laid, and going around the table, like in a card game.

We tend to keep what we have been conspiring in some shitty online repository – but I don’t give a single fuck about business cards and pixelated personalities; I want you, you, and you, here Wholly!

Declaim to me what you have secretly stored in your little notebooks, which are pieces of you, just as they are pieces of trees!

Sing to me, play, make me listen to the damn music from your Soul, the score of your sorrow!

And don’t hide from me 23/01/2021

the paintings you have been plotting, and the drawings of that stranger with whom you almost fell in Love with!

The are all coordinates to get to Know us, to Unravel each other; we are all clues to get to the Love I truly want to discover – an immense Love for all Humanity!

Third on the list: when I take a booger out of my nose and flick it, it will be lost forever; as soon as it disappears from our eyesight, a given goober cannot be found twice!

It’s just the same regarding the Miracle which is each Moment – and never forget that in our Childhood, hell… we would even eat them [1]!

However, that’s precisely the point the past is past; still, the nose doesn’t get dry, we just need to be aware, to notice that there is always something fascinating out there, some mad, crazy project waiting to come to be on the Wings of our Imagination; shall we, then, make a heart out of our guts [2], and forward we go, until the tissue can’t get anymore rotten [3]!

I exhort you to be strong-willed, oh people with lack of Faith in the self; I admonish you to Dream above the Impossible, further off the accessible – and to have no other expectation than to Live Fully, before returning to inexistence!

We can’t be constantly waiting for the push that might never come – raise the man who fell on the ground, help the old woman with the bags, wind the solitaries’ stories[4], and, be it in the bus or in a coffee table, just go sitting next to that mysteriously attractive person!

23/01/2021

Nonetheless, I will leave you the following warnings: I do not have courage to offer to you – as I have never found it without first being dominated by fear, not without seeing the defenceless Child in me falling into terror!

I do not have strength to transmit to you – for I never reached out to it before feeling humiliated, thrown against the wall (and when I find it in me, It always takes this expression, the Word)!

Not even I can deliver you determination – because it is only revealed to me when I feel tempted to give up to atavism, at the moment I’m about to quit!

Most of all, I could not share any advice – I, who have so many times taken the wrong steps, I, who never missed an opportunity to make a mistake; I, who might well have lost the Great Love…

Despite all this, I do not lament, given that all these misfortunes were marvellous tutors to me.

We were born, the hamartia is done... may the tragedy be Comic and Beautiful!

And the past is the past; and who could say to me that, having 24 years, I cannot eat a booger?!

Let me tell you solemnly that what I have to share with you is solely a pneumothorax, a broken fifth metacarpus, calluses, sweat, and, most of all, dark circles under the eyes!

I have dark circles enough for everyone!

[1] “Até os comíamos” is an idiomatic expression. It refers to something done with great conviction, an unstoppable action. The text presents a literal translation. Portuguese allows a game of words: to eat the booger, and to live Life with passion.

[2] “Fazer das tripas coração” is another idiomatic expression, which means to be willing for great sacrifices, taking something to the last consequences, in a passionate way. Again, the translation was literal.

23/01/2021

I do what I can, and I seek to keep faithful to my guerrilla against reality; I tear myself up for a good Joke, for a couple fistful of verses to burst your balls at Lunch time!

Nevertheless, if I have managed to light up a single smile, may I be voted into eternal damnation, but I’m quite sure that I won this round and have given graces to my God, the Present Day!...

Fifth and last aspect: let’s cease with the “good enough” spirit, we shall give everything we have, whenever!

I wish each of us could leave some kind of legacy which would reach the heart of at least one generation; which would light tenderness, laugh, which lifts people and shakes them claiming: Get up and Live, you pricks!

And, because I know I could have made more and better, when I die, I authorize you to take a piss on my grave – either way, I will be dead, too exhausted to curse you, I’m sure of that!

[3] “Rasgar pano”, to tear tissue, literally, means to live Life intensely, as it were a bohemian theatre play.

[4] “Dar corda”, goes from the literal meaning of ensuring the clock will keep on working, to the sense of stimulating some action to keep on. In this case, incentive solitaries to continue their storytelling.

23/01/2021

However, before I’ll invite you to face Life as and so, instead or maybe a full and there shall

your urination shall be done, to change the state of things, a romantic Gipsy wedding – of the old two days[5], we will have three; week; assuredly be tremendous partying!

Happy feast, please do return to your plates!

And sorry for bothering you.

Bernardo Guerra Machado

[5] There is a Portuguese expression behind the particular number: “a Vida são dois dias”, Life is just two days. The message is that all passes too quickly, and thus we might just as well seek to enjoy what is given us to experience.

23/01/2021

ANIMAIS SIMBOLOGIAS ANIMALS SYMBOLOGIES

I, 60x45cm, acrylic paint on canvas

27/12/2020

II, 60x45cm, black plaster and acrylic paint on canvas 27/12/2020

III, 45x30cm, acrylic paint on canvas

27/12/2020

Bárbara Guedes Capelas 27/12/2020

MANIFESTO DEL DESTRUTTURALISMO

Secondo le parole e idee di Marco Scarangella, giustamente detto Il Maestro

1. Dopo la ruota nient’altro è stato inventato; 2. Da quel punto fino ad adesso, abbiamo appena destrutturato; 3. Tutto è variazione di una stessa, antica barbarità; 4. Tutto nella Vita è noia e fatica - e può venire paragonato al vano sforzo dei soldati in battaglia; 5. Specialmente quelli dell’esercito Francese!

6. Ridere non è mai che un strano modo di stimulare le ghiandole lacrimale; 7. Posti questi assiomi in tavola, difendiamo l’idea che non c’è altro approccio all’Esistenza che non quello della Tragico-Comedia; 8. Sosteniamo pure che siamo tutti nati troppo vecchi per qualsiasi cosa; 9. Se c’è un Dio: cazzi suoi!

10. Se non c’è un Dio: cazzi di qualcun’altro, delego!

11. Delegare è la massima forma di Arte; 12. Intanto, è chiaro che Dio sarebbe un commediante di media qualità; 13. Buona notte all’Amore;

27/12/2020

14. Siamo anche troppo vecchi per esso, avvocato!

15. “Oramai” è la più importante voce del dizionario; 16. Affermiamo convitamente che il Mondo viene diviso in paesi superiori, paesi inferiori e paesi extra-inferiori - e che assolutamente tutti fanno cagare; 17. Davanti al conflitto ci smarmelliamo; 18. Per ogni persona a cui siamo spiacevoli, ci avviciniamo un po’ di più alla virtù: è insultuoso essere apprezzato; 19. Secondo noi, questa filosofia è l’unica traduzione corretta del Silenzio, la Quinta-Essenza scorreggiata in faccia all’Umanità; 20. Perciò, ci siamo già espressi troppo - e così finiamo!

Bernardo Guerra Machado

27/12/2020

MANIFEST OF DE-STRUCTURALISM

According to the words and ideas of Marco Scarangella, fairly called Il Maestro

1. After the wheel, nothing else was invented; 2. From then until nowadays, we have done no more than destructuring; 3. Everything is a variation of the same old barbarity; 4. Everything in Life is boring and tiring - and can be compared to the vain efforts soldiers do in battle; 5. Namely those of the French army!

6.Laughing is just a strange way of stimulating our lacrimal glandules; 7. Having laid these axioms on the table, we conclude that there is no other approach to Existence than the TragicComedy one; 8. We defend, as well, having been born too old for whatever; 9. If there is a God: it’s its goddamn business; 10. If there is no God: it’s some other person’s goddamn business, I delegate!

11. To delegate is the maximum form of Art; 12. Nonetheless, it is obvious that God would be a comedian of medium quality; 13. Au revoir to Love; 14. We are also too old for that; 15. “Anymore” is the most important item of the dictionary;

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16. We convincedly sustain that the World is divided in superior countries, inferior countries, and extra-inferior countries - and that either way they are all crap; 17. When facing conflict, we apply marmalade; 18. Every time we displease somebody, we get a little bit closer to virtue: it is an insult to be appreciated; 19. According to us, this philosophy is the only correct translation of Silence, the Quintessence farted in Humanity’s face; 20. Thus, we shall write no more.

Bernardo Guerra Machado

27/12/2020

THE ECHO

You know better the divisions of the house than the shape of words.

Your steps echo and the solitude of the glasses that no longer love the voices that no longer speak.

Alone, you scream to the walls longing and the echo you get is empathy.

Sara Brandão 31/01/2021

O ECO

Conheces melhor as divisões da casa do que o contorno das palavras.

Os teus passos ecoam e a solidão dos copos que já não ama das vozes que já não falam.

Sozinho gritas às paredes saudade e do seu eco ouves empatia.

Sara Brandão

31/01/2021

TWO FIGURINES

Two glass figurines, on the windowsill One’s gaze turned towards the West And the other with its forehead bowed Towards the scorching asphalt Towards the dandelion in the fissure Life born from nothingness Towards the smiling gran Holding a bundle of dill In her hand, weathered by dearth Towards the youth who spits Seed husks in the street Towards two cross neighbours Shouting empty words at one another Two glass figurines, on the windowsill One’s gaze turned towards the West And the other shattered.

Iulia Costache 06/02/2021

DOUA FIGURINE

Două figurine de sticlă, pe pervaz Una cu privirea spre Vest Iar cealaltă cu fruntea plecată Spre asfaltul dogoritor Spre păpădia din fisură Viață-nfiripată din nimic Spre muica ce zâmbește Cu a ei legătură de mărar În mâna-i asprită de neajunsuri Spre puștiul ce scuipă Coji de semințe în stradă Spre doi vecini mânioși Zbierandu-și unul altuia cuvinte goale Două figurine de sticlă, pe pervaz Una cu privirea spre Vest Iar cealaltă spartă.

Iulia Costache

06/02/2021

THE ANNUNCIATION

Oil and Charcoal on Linen 150 x 285 cm

28/02/2021

Natacha Martins 28/02/2021

ÁTOMOS

fragmentos de melancolía, amor, vida, rastros de humanidad y vida cotidiana en un contexto un tanto difuso.

Se trata de un retrato de lo íntimo, lo cercano y de las secuelas del tiempo y de la huella que deja el ser humano en distintos objetos y espacios. se captura una imagen de esos “átomos” esde lo simple, lo esencial, la luz y lo anónimo de la secuelas que hay detrás de estos objetos y escenas.

Carmín Marmore 19/03/2021

ATOMS

fragments of melancholy, love, life, traces of humanity and everyday living, in a context rather diffuse.

This is a portrait about intimacy, about proximity, and all the sequels carried by time and by the footprint that human beings leave on distinct objects and spaces. it captures an image of those “atoms” within the simple, the essential, the light and the anonymity of those sequels behind these objects and scenes.

Carmín Marmore

19/03/2021

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… nonetheless, I would end the book by citing another old song: Let us now make love!

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Ana Luísa Delgado A. M. André Garcia Aquele Gajo Maluco Bárbara Guedes Capelas Bernardo Guerra Machado Carmín Marmore Eufemia Bonino G.T. Iulia Costache Joana Peres João Pedro Azul Lourenço Providência Luca Di Eusanio

(contra-capa)

Natacha Martins Roberta Ferraiuolo Sara Brandão Vítor Hugo Moreira Y. @UAIAPI

2020-2021

among other anonymous contributions

Μαργαρίτα Γεωργίαδου