Me muero por abrazarte,
Y que me abraces tan fuerte.
Me muero por divertirte,
Y que me beses cuando despierte,
Acomodado en tu pecho hasta que el sol aparezca.
Me voy perdiendo en tu aroma,
Me voy perdiendo en tus labios que se acercan
Susurrando palabras que llegan
A este pobre corazón.
Voy sintiendo el fuego en mi interior.
Me muero por conocerte saber qué es lo que piensas,
Abrir todas tus puertas y vencer esas tormentas
Que nos quieran abatir.
Centrar en tus ojos mi mirada.
Cantar contigo al alba,
Besarnos hasta desgastarnos nuestros labios.
Y ver en tu rostro cada día crecer esa semilla.
Crear, soñar, dejar todo surgir
Aparcando el miedo a sufrir.
- Álex Ubago, Sin Miedo A Nada
samedi 28 juin 2008
dimanche 22 juin 2008
O que tenho em mim...
Não sou nada.
Nunca serei nada.
Não posso querer ser nada.
À parte isso, tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mondo.
- Álvaro de Campos (heterónimo de Fernando Pessoa), Tabacaria
Nunca serei nada.
Não posso querer ser nada.
À parte isso, tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mondo.
- Álvaro de Campos (heterónimo de Fernando Pessoa), Tabacaria
samedi 21 juin 2008
Y los sueños, sueños son!
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño;
que toda la vida es sueño.
y los sueños, sueños son.
- Pedro Calderón de la Barca, La Vida es Sueño
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño;
que toda la vida es sueño.
y los sueños, sueños son.
- Pedro Calderón de la Barca, La Vida es Sueño
Ήρθα να σου πω αντίο...
- Ήρθα να σου πω αντίο, γιατί το πρωί θα φύω
γιατί το πρωί θα φύω, ήρθα να σου πω αντίο
- Φεύγεις και ως την Κυριακή θα 'σαι ντυμένος στο χακί
θα'σαι ντυμένος στο χακί, φεύγεις και ως την Κυριακή
- Γράμματα σου να μου στέλνεις και δικά μου θα λαβαίνεις
και δικά μου θα λαβαίνεις, γράμματα σου να μου στέλνεις
- Που θα φύγεις και τα βράδια θα'ναι η καρδιά μου άδεια
θα'ναι η καρδιά μου άδεια, Που θα φύγεις και τα βράδια
- Αφού υποχρεωτικό είναι το στρατιωτικό
είναι το στρατιωτικό, αφού υποχρεωτικό
- Στην καρδιά μου έχω μεράκι που θα φύγεις φανταράκι
που θα φύγεις φανταράκι, στην καρδιά μου έχω μεράκι
- Περίμενε μ'ώσπου ν'απολυθώ, μα'γω θα σ'αγαπώ
λυθώ μα'γω θα σ'αγαπώ, περίμενε μ'ώσπου ν'από
- Σ’ αγαπώ και θα σε περιμένω να γενούμε ταίρι
μένω να γενούμε ταίρι, σ'αγαπώ και θα σε περι
- Φεύγω και σ'αποχαιρετώ αλλά τσι μέρες θα μετρώ
αλλά τσι μέρες θα μετρώ, φεύγω και σ'αποχαιρετώ...
- Ελληνικό νησιωτικό τραγούδι
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57I5x59JoNY
γιατί το πρωί θα φύω, ήρθα να σου πω αντίο
- Φεύγεις και ως την Κυριακή θα 'σαι ντυμένος στο χακί
θα'σαι ντυμένος στο χακί, φεύγεις και ως την Κυριακή
- Γράμματα σου να μου στέλνεις και δικά μου θα λαβαίνεις
και δικά μου θα λαβαίνεις, γράμματα σου να μου στέλνεις
- Που θα φύγεις και τα βράδια θα'ναι η καρδιά μου άδεια
θα'ναι η καρδιά μου άδεια, Που θα φύγεις και τα βράδια
- Αφού υποχρεωτικό είναι το στρατιωτικό
είναι το στρατιωτικό, αφού υποχρεωτικό
- Στην καρδιά μου έχω μεράκι που θα φύγεις φανταράκι
που θα φύγεις φανταράκι, στην καρδιά μου έχω μεράκι
- Περίμενε μ'ώσπου ν'απολυθώ, μα'γω θα σ'αγαπώ
λυθώ μα'γω θα σ'αγαπώ, περίμενε μ'ώσπου ν'από
- Σ’ αγαπώ και θα σε περιμένω να γενούμε ταίρι
μένω να γενούμε ταίρι, σ'αγαπώ και θα σε περι
- Φεύγω και σ'αποχαιρετώ αλλά τσι μέρες θα μετρώ
αλλά τσι μέρες θα μετρώ, φεύγω και σ'αποχαιρετώ...
- Ελληνικό νησιωτικό τραγούδι
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57I5x59JoNY
vendredi 20 juin 2008
O Tejo é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia...
O Tejo é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia,
Mas o Tejo não é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia
Porque o Tejo não é o rio que corre pela minha aldeia.
O Tejo tem grandes navios
E navega nele ainda.
Para aqueles que vêem em tudo o que lá não esta,
A memória das naus.
O Tejo desce de Espanha
E o Tejo entra no mar em Portugal.
Toda a gente sabe isso.
Mas poucos sabem qual é o rio da minha aldeia
E para onde ele vai
E donde ele vem.
E por isso, porque pertence a menos gente,
É mais livre e maior o rio da minha aldeia.
Pelo Tejo vai-se para o mundo.
Para além do Tejo há América
E a fortuna daqueles que a encontram.
Ninguém nunca pensou no que há para além
Do rio da minha aldeia.
O rio da minha aldeia não faz pensar em nada.
Quem está ao pé dele está só ao pé dele.
- Alberto Caeiro (heterónimo de Fernando Pessoa), O Guardador de Rebanhos
Mas o Tejo não é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia
Porque o Tejo não é o rio que corre pela minha aldeia.
O Tejo tem grandes navios
E navega nele ainda.
Para aqueles que vêem em tudo o que lá não esta,
A memória das naus.
O Tejo desce de Espanha
E o Tejo entra no mar em Portugal.
Toda a gente sabe isso.
Mas poucos sabem qual é o rio da minha aldeia
E para onde ele vai
E donde ele vem.
E por isso, porque pertence a menos gente,
É mais livre e maior o rio da minha aldeia.
Pelo Tejo vai-se para o mundo.
Para além do Tejo há América
E a fortuna daqueles que a encontram.
Ninguém nunca pensou no que há para além
Do rio da minha aldeia.
O rio da minha aldeia não faz pensar em nada.
Quem está ao pé dele está só ao pé dele.
- Alberto Caeiro (heterónimo de Fernando Pessoa), O Guardador de Rebanhos
Do vale à montanha (Cavaleiro monge)
Do vale à montanha,
Da montanha ao monte,
Cavalo de sombra,
Cavaleiro monge,
Por casas, por prados.
Por quinta e por fonte,
Caminhais aliados.
Da montanha ao monte,
Cavalo de sombra,
Cavaleiro monge,
Por casas, por prados.
Por quinta e por fonte,
Caminhais aliados.
Do vale à montanha,
Da montanha ao monte,
Cavalo de sombra,
Cavaleiro monge,
Por penhascos pretos,
Atrás e defronte,
Caminhais secretos.
Do vale à montanha,
Da montanha ao monte,
Cavalo de sombra,
Cavaleiro monge,
Por plainos desertos
Sem ter horizontes,
Caminhais libertos.
Do vale à montanha,
Da montanha ao monte,
Cavalo de sombra,
Cavaleiro monge,
Por ínvios caminhos,
Por rios sem ponte,
Caminhais sozinhos.
Do vale à montanha,
Da montanha ao monte,
Cavalo de sombra,
Cavaleiro monge,
Por quanto é sem fim,
Sem ninguém que o conte,
Caminhais em mim.
- Fernando Pessoa
ΠΡΟΛΟΓΟΣ
This lovely corner of the cyber space, dedicated to my reading and studies in literature, is a sister blog of my Réfléxions linguistiques, which was set up for the fibres of literature - language, and of Melihis & Athrämä, which I collaborate with Aleco, showing our constructed languages.
The Canadian essayist Stan Persky's words, 'for readers, there must be a million autobiographies' are quoted by Alberto Manguel, the erudite author of A History of Reading, who explains the quote by confirming, 'we seem to find, in book after book, the traces of our lives'. Convinced that the compilation of my personal anthology is thus a curious way of writing my autobiography, I started this blog and gave it a name in Italian - a language that, after French which I call l'incarnation de la littérature, is the most suitable for literary creation, especially poetry. Given that poetry used to be acclaimed as the most noble form of literature, and prose the vile; Italian, the 'language of poetry' as acknowledged by many a language enthusiast including me, rightfully deserves to name my blog of literary anthology.
As for the name of the blog, I was hesitating between Florilegium and Anthologia, following the notorious (yet well justified) tradition of the literati of worshipping Latin and Greek, until finally I found delight in knowing that both the names had been patented by others, deciding therefore to turn to the merry Italian staccato for a name that has since infused the blog with the allegria of its sound. Fioretti letterari has inherited the original sense of the Latin and Greek words for 'anthology', and at the same time emphasises the essence and the purpose of a collection of works of les belles lettres. It gives this personal collection a melody that will dwell in every page.
The content of this blog, as usual, is indiscriminately multilingual. Translation will not be given unless for purposes such as clarification, for it is assumed that the readers of this blog have a good knowledge in languages and linguistics. Extracts that I cherish, from literature of all genres and song lyrics, are posted, sometimes annotated by me. I hope the flowers of literature picked and collected by me serve as an alternative personal journal that tells of me and my life.
The Canadian essayist Stan Persky's words, 'for readers, there must be a million autobiographies' are quoted by Alberto Manguel, the erudite author of A History of Reading, who explains the quote by confirming, 'we seem to find, in book after book, the traces of our lives'. Convinced that the compilation of my personal anthology is thus a curious way of writing my autobiography, I started this blog and gave it a name in Italian - a language that, after French which I call l'incarnation de la littérature, is the most suitable for literary creation, especially poetry. Given that poetry used to be acclaimed as the most noble form of literature, and prose the vile; Italian, the 'language of poetry' as acknowledged by many a language enthusiast including me, rightfully deserves to name my blog of literary anthology.
As for the name of the blog, I was hesitating between Florilegium and Anthologia, following the notorious (yet well justified) tradition of the literati of worshipping Latin and Greek, until finally I found delight in knowing that both the names had been patented by others, deciding therefore to turn to the merry Italian staccato for a name that has since infused the blog with the allegria of its sound. Fioretti letterari has inherited the original sense of the Latin and Greek words for 'anthology', and at the same time emphasises the essence and the purpose of a collection of works of les belles lettres. It gives this personal collection a melody that will dwell in every page.
The content of this blog, as usual, is indiscriminately multilingual. Translation will not be given unless for purposes such as clarification, for it is assumed that the readers of this blog have a good knowledge in languages and linguistics. Extracts that I cherish, from literature of all genres and song lyrics, are posted, sometimes annotated by me. I hope the flowers of literature picked and collected by me serve as an alternative personal journal that tells of me and my life.
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