sexta-feira, 21 de Janeiro de 2011

Raven - Edgar Allan Poe

Este é um dos meus poemas favoritos.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
P.S. Sei que a imagem não tem nada a haver. Mas gostei dela.


I have a deal
You that can hurt
You that can feel
This is true
This is danger
I must to warn you

No other had courage
To tell me before
You have to see
What I will be
Side by side
You have to fight
With the dark
With the light

To a new beginning
To a new start

Dear stranger
Came Around
Dear Stranger
Feel now
What I care, What I like
Feel this way
like i die
 to tomorrow i can see
 what i really like to be

You have to hide
You have to fight
Side by side
With my on hearth
Whit my on mind
Before the light
Before the dark
Don’t let me apart
You have to see
Where is the love in me

Dear stranger
Came Around
Dear Stranger
Feel now
Feel the Way i can care
The Way i can get,
Its the live in my on hand,
It’s the live in my on head

How do I know
How do I feel
the music in the air
the air in my face
Its coming like ace
And not leave behind
The darkness in my on hearth
A little first start
How do I know
How do you show me….
How that can feels like…
How that can feels like…

P.S. É uma letrinha que compus numa aula. Era para ser musica, mas quando a tempo aperfeiçoar, fica mal. Só sei fazer canções quando estou ocupada : P

O que faz de nós alguém?

Muitos apenas vivem pensando naquilo que vêm, mas raramente pensam para se perguntarem o que fazem realmente. Apenas quando o tempo passa e o vêm acabar é que pensam na vida que deitaram fora, na vida que pssou. Nos momentos felizes que podiam ter vivido e aproveitado.
São poucas as pessoas que aproveitam vividamente o tempo. E que no final sabem que o fizeram como deve de ser.
Tudo isto transmite o que somos, a maneira como aproveitamos o que somos, nos diz quem somos.
E isso faz de nós alguem. A maneira como vivemos a vida, o tempo. As nossas acções, emoções e asneiras. Tudo isso faz de nós, alguém.

terça-feira, 11 de Janeiro de 2011

Patadas em Lisboa


Por muito séria que eu tente ser, não dá. As coisas acontecem.
Estava eu, e uma amiga minha a passar férias em Lisboa, e vai no metro, a minha querida, e graciosa amiga lembra-se do telemóvel.
Eu já cá fora, e ela meio a meio com a porta, vai dai, o MEU TELEMOVEL!!! prá qui O MEU TELEMOVEL!!! prá li, uma chinfrinada (desculpa querida, mas foi assim) e eu a ver que as portas do metro a fecharem-se. Não tive mais nada, agarreia pelo colarinho, e...Zás! Puxo-a cá para fora.
Agora a piada.
Onde estava o telemóvel?
HÁ POIS É!!! O telemóvel estava na mão dela e eu a vê-lo.
Estão a ver a minha vida né?!
Eu só sei que depois lhe disse onde estava o telemovel e ela, muito séria. - Ah, pois....
Claro, sendo eu desmanchei-me a rir. E ainda o faço.

As coisas que uma pessoa aguenta...