Barco salva-vidas / Lifeboat

Rokia Traoré –Kélé Mandi

Era hora de lançar o salva-vidas à água.

Tinha forças para remar, mas a falta de bússola deixou-me sem saber para onde ir.

Já tinha esquecido o conhecimento ancestral das estrelas-guia, julgo que todos o transportamos connosco, na nossa memória herdada. Mas as luzes do Mundo fizeram-nos esquecê-lo.

E ali estava eu, iluminada pelas estrelas, sem entender o que me diziam. Era, pelo menos, reconfortante tê-las ali comigo.

Tive sede, mas não podia beber, a água estava cheia de medos, não se devem beber, especialmente quando a incerteza nos abraça.

Decidi que devia parar, fechar os olhos, para melhor ouvir as estrelas, o som das ondas.

E então percebi que não havia remos, nem sequer bote, flutuava nas águas, agora calmamente.

A minha cápsula salva-vidas não era mais que o meu corpo. E então a minha alma aquietou-se. Ouvia as estrelas, o mar, a terra ao longe. E soube que ia entendê-los e que a terra me esperava.

Para todos há, algures, a Terra Prometida.

----

It was time to launch the lifeboats into the water.

I had the strength to paddle, but the lack of  a compass left me not knowing where to go.

I had forgotten about the ancestral knowledge of the stars-guide, I believe that we all transport it with us in our inherited memory. But the lights of the world have made us forget it.

And there I was, under the light of the stars, without understanding what they told me. It was at least comforting to have them there with me.

I was thirsty, but could not drink the water, it was full of fears, we should not drink it, especially when uncertainty embraces us.

I decided I should stop, close my eyes, the better to hear the stars, the sound of waves.

And then I realized that there were no waves or even boat, I floated in the waters, now calmly.

My capsule lifeboat was nothing more than my body. And then my mind quieted. He could hear the stars, the sea, the land in the distance. And I knew I would understand them and that the land was waiting.

For all there is, somewhere, the Promised Land. 

Quimeras (ou histórias de um faroleiro) / Chimeras (Or stories of a lighthouse keeper) - III

(Parte II)

Ao chegar a esta parte da historia, fez uma pausa e fitou-o: “Conheces esse faroleiro? Era aquele o farol?”

“Julgo que sim.”, disse ele, “Foi ele que me contou que as sereias existem. Mas diz-me, a tua avó, chegou a descobrir o que havia para lá do horizonte?”

“Sim, um dia partiu num barco, da cidade. Percorreu o país, muitos países, só parou quando as pernas já não respondiam ao seu apelo.”

“Antes de ir na sua viagem última, pediu-me que viesse aqui, aonde viu o início do horizonte. Pediu-me que deitasse ao mar este pendente.”

Nas mãos segurava um fio de couro, com uma concha perfeita.

“Acho que era a sua forma de voltar a casa.”

“Sim”, disse ele, “acho que devias atirá-lo do alto do farol; se quiseres, levo-te lá.”

Ela sorriu e levantou-se.

“Vamos!”

Entendeu então porque é que o faroleiro dizia que o apelo do mar tinha levado a sua sereia. Mas, para ele, o do farol tinha ganho. O amor não fora suficiente para soltar as amarras de um e para prender outro.

Mas ele procurava uma sereia há anos. Agora que a encontrara, se o mar a chamar… aprenderá a nadar!

...Fim? ...

Sagres, by Isa Lisboa

(Part II)

On this part of the story, she stopped and looked at him: “Do you know that lighthouse keeper?” Was that the lighthouse?”

“I believe so”, he said, “He’s the one who told me mermaids exist. But tell me, your grandmother, did she ever find out what was there beyond the horizon?”

“Yes, one day she left on a boat, from the city. She went across the country, many coutries, only stopped when her legs didn’t respond to their call any more.”

“Before going in her last trip, she asked me to came here, where she saw the beginning of the horizon. She asked me to throw this necklace into the sea.”

In her hands, she was holding a leather string, with a perfect shell.

“I think this was her way to came home.”

“Yes”, he said, “I think you should throw it from the top of the lighthouse; ifyou want to, I will take you there.”

She smilled and she got up.

“Came on!”

Then he understood why the lighthouse keeper would say the calling of the sea had taken away his mermaid. But, to him, the calling of the lighthouse, had won. Love had not been enough to loosen one’s ties and to bind the other.

But he was looking for a mermaid for years. Now that he had found her, if the sea calls her… he will learn how to swim!

...The end? ...

Quimeras (ou histórias de um faroleiro) / Chimeras (Or stories of a lighthouse keeper) -- II

(Veja aqui o início)

E foi numa tarde de fim de Verão, quando os dias ainda são quentes, mas a lua chega mais cedo; foi numa tarde de Verão que a viu.

Estava sentada na praia, a olhar o mar, o cabelo não era nem longo nem azul, como o da sereia que lhe povoava a imaginação. Mas, ainda assim, sabia que era ela.

Lembrou-se do velho faroleiro, e pediu-lhe emprestada um pouco da sua coragem. E assim se aproximou dela e disse-lhe olhos nos olhos – sei que és uma sereia, os teus cabelos não são azuis, mas ondeiam como o mar.

E ela sorriu.

“Eu não sou sereia, mas tenho em mim as memórias de uma que percorreu este mar.”

“Conta-me”, pediu ele.

A minha avó. Foi sereia, em tempos. Quando era da minha idade. Ao entrar na água, o cabelo ficava azul. Toda a gente achava estranho, todos a evitavam, não entendiam metamorfoses. Por isso costumava nadar sozinha, flutuava nas ondas, enquanto imaginava os mundos que se achariam para lá do horizonte. Todos lhe diziam que para lá do horizonte não havia nada, mas ela ouvia o chamamento do mar.

Houve um faroleiro que acreditou nela, porque sabia que os navios que orientava vinham do horizonte. Era ele que a chamava de sereia, dizia que era por isso que o seu cabelo se fundia com  o mar.”

(Continua)

Pegadas, by Isa Lisboa

(see the begining here)

And it was on an afternoon in late summer, when the days are still warm but the moon comes early. It was on a summer afternoon that he saw her.

She was sitting on the beach looking at the sea, her hair was neither long nor blue, like the mermaid who lived in his imagination. But still, he knew it was her.

He remembered the old lighthouse keeper, and borrowed a bit of his courage. And so he approached her and told her in the eye - I know you're a mermaid, your hair is not blue, but it has waves like the ones in the sea.

And she smiled.

"I'm not a mermaid, but I have in me the memories of one that swam in this sea."

"Tell me," he asked.

My grandmother. She was a mermaid, once. When she was my age. When entering the water, her hair turned blue. Everyone felt weird, all avoided her, didn’t understand metamorphoses. So she used to swim alone, floating on the waves, while imagining what worlds could be found beyond the horizon. Everyone told her that there was nothing on the horizon, but she heard the calling of the sea.

There was a lighthouse keeper who believed her, because he knew that the ships he guided came from the horizon. It was he who said she was a mermaid, he would say that was why her hair blended with the sea. "

(To be continued)

Quimeras (ou histórias de um faroleiro) / Chimeras (Or stories of a lighthouse keeper) -- # 1

Todos os dias ia à praia. Havia dias que percorria o areal de um extremo ao outro, seguindo o trilho molhado que a maré deixava. Outros dias subia à escarpa mais alta, aquela de onde se avistava toda a praia, todo o mar em frente.

À água não se aventurava, não sabia nadar.

Todos os dias ia visitar o mar.

Todos julgavam que cismava por não saber nadar, que por isso olhava a água, que os seus olhos eram de aventureiro com medo.

Mas ele saía todos os dias porque ouvia um canto que já ninguém ouvia. O canto da sereia… Saía todos os dias à procura dela, sabia que um dia a havia de encontrar ali, a dançar com as ondas do mar, ou a caminhar nas areias da praia, fundida com os humanos.

Foi já há muitos anos que ouviu a história. Foi o velho faroleiro que lha contou. Um dia estava a vigiar as águas em frente, e ouviu um canto de mulher, a voz mais linda que já havia ouvido. Das águas surgiu um rosto inimaginável, com olhos que até ao longe lhe penetravam na alma. Cabelos que dir-se-iam a extensão do mar, azuis, ondeantes.

Ainda antes de ela mergulhar, já o velho faroleiro sabia que era uma sereia, daquelas sobre quem avisavam aos marinheiros.

Todos chamavam o velho faroleiro de louco, mas ele sempre viu muita sabedoria nos seus olhos, por isso não tinha razões para considerar menos nas suas palavras.

E, assim, todos os dias ia até à praia. Um dia havia de encontrar ali a sua sereia.

(Continua)

(Setembro 2012)

Sagres, by Isa Lisboa

Everyday we went to the beach. Some days he was on the beach from one end to the other, following the trail left by the tide. Other days he would climb to the highest cliff, the one where he could see the whole beach, the all sea in front.

He didn’t venture himself to the water, he didn’t know how to swim.

Every day he would visit the sea.

Everyone thought he brooded for not knowing how to swim, that was why he watched the water, that his eyes were the ones of a scared adventurer.

But he went out every day because I heard a song that no one listened to any more. The siren song ... He went out every day looking for her, he knew that one day he would find  her there, dancing with the waves, or walking in the sand, fused with humans.

It was many years ago that he had heard the story. It was the old lighthouse keeper who told it to him. One day he was watching the waters in front, and he heard a woman singing, she had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. From the waters appeared an unimaginable face, with eyes that even by far penetrated the soul. With hair that seemed the extent of the sea, blue, undulating.

Even before she dived, the old lighthouse keeper already knew it was a mermaid, those about who the sailors were warned about.

Everyone would call old lighthouse keeper crazy, but he always saw a lot of wisdom in his eyes, so he had no reason to believe less in his words.

And so every day he was going to the beach. One day he would find his mermaid.

(To be continued)

(Setember 2012)

Sê a minha concha / Be my shell

(O mare e tu - Andrea Bocelli e Dulce Pontes)

Sê a minha concha

como se eu fosse pérola (preciosa)

assim como me vejo nos teus olhos

(generosos).

Envolvida por ti,

venham fortes marés

venham criaturas marinhas

até das profundezas.

Nada me levará

de onde quero estar.

Sê a minha concha,

envolve-me.

Poisemos no fundo do mar

onde tudo é água e sal

apenas.

****

Be my shell

as if I was (precious) pearl

the way I see my self in your eyes

(generous)

Wraped by you

strong ties came

sea creatures came

even from the depth.

Nothing will take me away

from were I wan’t to be.

Be my shell

involve me

Let’s land at the bottom of the sea

were everything is water and salt

only.

Mar / Sea

Sentada na praia, 

com os pés enterrados na areia,

 fico a imaginar-me a entrar no mar, 

deixar as ondas envolverem-me, 

cantarem-me uma canção de embalar, 

até o meu corpo esquecer, 

até o sal se colar à minha pele, 

cristal a cristal, 

deixar-me esconder.

"Tentar descrever o mar, e falhar, é a única forma de o compreender". Madredeus 

Madredeus, Ao longe o mar

"To try to describe the sea, and fail, is the only way to understand it." Madredeus

Seating on the beach, 

with my feet buried in the sand,

I imagine myself going in, 

feeling the waves around me, 

singing me a lullaby, 

until my body forgets, 

until the salt sticks to my skin, 

crystal by crystal, 

to let myself be hidden.

Conversas com o mar / Talkink with the sea

Olá, velho amigo. Hoje vim ver-te. Ouvi-te chamar-me e cá estou. Vestiste-te com aquela mistura de azul que não consigo descrever. Não consigo nunca pôr em palavras nenhuma das tuas roupas…

Estás agitado hoje! Talvez só me chames quando estamos contrários…

Os dias estão já mais longos, posso ficar aqui um pouco mais, sentada contigo.

Com os pés enterrados na areia, deixando que o vento me desalinhe o cabelo.

Oiço-te. Até a tua fúria é bela. As ondas que desenhas, a forma como se aproximam vorazmente da costa, a força com que enfrentam as rochas, num combate de paciência contra ansiedade. Ou como descansam na praia apagando os passos de quem acabou de passar. Hoje queres o areal para ti.

Mesmo assim aproximo-me, beijas-me os pés, sinto os salpicos de sal no rosto.

Fecho os olhos, assim ouço-te melhor. Escuto a sinfonia que me compuseste, és imenso!

Já vejo a minha sombra reflectida na areia. É hora de te deixar.

Volto.

Quando me chamares.

Hello, old friend. I came to see you today. I heard you call for me and here I am. You’re dressed with that mix of blue I can’t describe. I can never put in words any of your clothes…

You are restless today! Maybe you call me only when we are opposite…

The days are longer, I can stay a bit more, seated with you.

With my  feet buried in the sand, allowing the wind to tangle my hair.

I can hear you. Even your fury is beautifull. The waves you draw, the way they came to the shore, fiercely, the streght they have facing the rocks, in a fight of patience against anxiety. Or how they rest on the beach, erasing the footprints of those who just went by. Today you want the sand for yourself.

Still, I come close, you kiss my feet, I feel the bits of salt in my face.

My eyes are closed, I can hear you better, that way. I’m listening to the symphony you wrote me, you are vast.

I can see my shadow reflected in the sand. It is time to leave you.

I will came back.

When you call me.

o céu está sozinho / the sky is alone

Parece-me que o céu está sozinho, penso, sentido-me enorme para aquele banco de pedra.

Estou frente ao mar, a culpa é dele. Sempre me fez pensar tolices.

Imagem da web, by world around us

It seems that the sky is alone, I think, feeling huge for that rock bench. 

I'm in front of the sea, it's his fault. Allways made me think foolish things.