6 August 2008

Crónica de uma Morte Anunciada, de Gabriel Garcia Márquez

Nessa manhã continuavam vestidos com os fatos escuros do casamento, demasiado grossos e formais para o Caribe, e tinham o rosto devastado por tantas horas de estúrdia, mas haviam cumprido o dever de se barbearem.

[Maria Alejandrina Cervantes] Ensinou-nos muito mais do que devíamos aprender, mas ensinou-nos acima de tudo que nenhum lugar da vida é mais triste do que uma cama vazia.

The Night Watch, de Sarah Waters

The baby was asleep, but must have been dreaming: he was moving his face – now frowning, now amazed – as if he were trying out all the expressions he would need, Viv thought, when he was grown up.

They had taken off their shirts, their shoes and socks, rolled up their trousers, and were running to the water. […] They were young – much younger than Duncan and Fraser, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Their hands and feet were too big for their bodies, which were all very slender and slight. They looked as though they had too much life in them, that the life was rushing about inside them, giving them awkward angels and tilts.

And a month in prison was an age. A month in prison was like a street with a fog in it: you could see the things that were near you clearly enough, but the rest was grey, blank, depthless.

It was liking things you weren’t supposed to like; and feeling things you weren’t supposed to feel. Never being able to say the thing that people expected. And Alec felt like I did.

Reflexos comentados

Mais um poema da Ana Filipa Oliveira em comentário aos "Reflexos". Enjoy!

there are things i want to say.
i am beneath that water.

the drops cover my senses.
i am guilty.
there are things i’ve done to you.
things that i hid beneath the water.

i am glad i’m here
because the water
covers our lips
with promises
of closure.

(© Ana Filipa Oliveira)