sQuid S1-51: Como se chama este pintor?

Anúncios
Categories: Delírios, sQuids S1 | 5 comentários

Navegação de artigos

5 thoughts on “sQuid S1-51: Como se chama este pintor?

  1. Momus

    Hopper, meu amigo, Edward Hopper 😉

  2. momus! eu sabia que você… sabia!

  3. Nito

    não sei…pistas talvez…

  4. The Far Field
    Theodore Roethke

    I
    I dream of journeys repeatedly:
    Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
    Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
    The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
    A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
    Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
    And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
    The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
    Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
    Where the car stalls,
    Churning in a snowdrift
    Until the headlights darken.

    II
    At the field’s end, in the corner missed by the mower,
    Where the turf drops off into a grass-hidden culvert,
    Haunt of the cat-bird, nesting-place of the field-mouse,
    Not too far away from the ever-changing flower-dump,
    Among the tin cans, tires, rusted pipes, broken machinery, —
    One learned of the eternal;
    And in the shrunken face of a dead rat, eaten by rain and ground-beetles
    (I found in lying among the rubble of an old coal bin)
    And the tom-cat, caught near the pheasant-run,
    Its entrails strewn over the half-grown flowers,
    Blasted to death by the night watchman.

    I suffered for young birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower,
    My grief was not excessive.
    For to come upon warblers in early May
    Was to forget time and death:
    How they filled the oriole’s elm, a twittering restless cloud, all one morning,
    And I watched and watched till my eyes blurred from the bird shapes, —
    Cape May, Blackburnian, Cerulean, —
    Moving, elusive as fish, fearless,
    Hanging, bunched like young fruit, bending the end branches,
    Still for a moment,
    Then pitching away in half-flight,
    Lighter than finches,
    While the wrens bickered and sang in the half-green hedgerows,
    And the flicker drummed from his dead tree in the chicken-yard.

    — Or to lie naked in sand,
    In the silted shallows of a slow river,
    Fingering a shell,
    Thinking:
    Once I was something like this, mindless,
    Or perhaps with another mind, less peculiar;
    Or to sink down to the hips in a mossy quagmire;
    Or, with skinny knees, to sit astride a wet log,
    Believing:
    I’ll return again,
    As a snake or a raucous bird,
    Or, with luck, as a lion.

    I learned not to fear infinity,
    The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
    The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,
    The wheel turning away from itself,
    The sprawl of the wave,
    The on-coming water.

    III
    The river turns on itself,
    The tree retreats into its own shadow.
    I feel a weightless change, a moving forward
    As of water quickening before a narrowing channel
    When banks converge, and the wide river whitens;
    Or when two rivers combine, the blue glacial torrent
    And the yellowish-green from the mountainy upland, —
    At first a swift rippling between rocks,
    Then a long running over flat stones
    Before descending to the alluvial plane,
    To the clay banks, and the wild grapes hanging from the elmtrees.
    The slightly trembling water
    Dropping a fine yellow silt where the sun stays;
    And the crabs bask near the edge,
    The weedy edge, alive with small snakes and bloodsuckers, —
    I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
    A point outside the glittering current;
    My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
    At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
    My mind moves in more than one place,
    In a country half-land, half-water.

    I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
    The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
    The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
    What I love is near at hand,
    Always, in earth and air.

    IV
    The lost self changes,
    Turning toward the sea,
    A sea-shape turning around, —
    An old man with his feet before the fire,
    In robes of green, in garments of adieu.
    A man faced with his own immensity
    Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire.
    The murmur of the absolute, the why
    Of being born falls on his naked ears.
    His spirit moves like monumental wind
    That gentles on a sunny blue plateau.
    He is the end of things, the final man.

    All finite things reveal infinitude:
    The mountain with its singular bright shade
    Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow,
    The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
    Odor of basswood on a mountain-slope,
    A scent beloved of bees;
    Silence of water above a sunken tree :
    The pure serene of memory in one man, —
    A ripple widening from a single stone
    Winding around the waters of the world.

  5. sim senhor!

Deixe uma Resposta

Preencha os seus detalhes abaixo ou clique num ícone para iniciar sessão:

Logótipo da WordPress.com

Está a comentar usando a sua conta WordPress.com Terminar Sessão /  Alterar )

Google photo

Está a comentar usando a sua conta Google Terminar Sessão /  Alterar )

Imagem do Twitter

Está a comentar usando a sua conta Twitter Terminar Sessão /  Alterar )

Facebook photo

Está a comentar usando a sua conta Facebook Terminar Sessão /  Alterar )

Connecting to %s

Site no WordPress.com.

Eleitores de Portugal (Associação Cívica)

Associação dedicada à divulgação e promoção da participação eleitoral e política dos cidadãos

Vizinhos em Lisboa

A Vizinhos em Lisboa tem em vista a representação e defesa dos interesses dos moradores residentes nas áreas, freguesias, bairros do concelho de Lisboa nas áreas de planeamento, urbanismo, valorização do património edificado, mobilidade, equipamentos, bem-estar, educação, defesa do património, ambiente e qualidade de vida.

Vizinhos do Areeiro

Núcleo do Areeiro da associação Vizinhos em Lisboa: Movimento de Vizinhos de causas locais e cidadania activa

Vizinhos do Bairro de São Miguel

Movimento informal, inorgânico e não-partidário (nem autárquico independente) de Vizinhos

TRAVÃO ao Alojamento Local

O Alojamento Local, o Uniplaces e a Gentrificação de Lisboa e Porto estão a destruir as cidades

Não aos Serviços de Valor Acrescentado nas Facturas de Comunicações !

Movimento informal de cidadãos contra os abusos dos SVA em facturas de operadores de comunicações

Vizinhos de Alvalade

Movimento informal, inorgânico e não-partidário (nem autárquico independente) de Vizinhos de Alvalade

anExplica

aprender e aprendendo

Subscrição Pública

Plataforma independente de participação cívica

Rede Vida

Just another WordPress.com weblog

Vizinhos do Areeiro

Movimento informal, inorgânico e não-partidário (nem autárquico independente) de Vizinhos do Areeiro

MDP: Movimento pela Democratização dos Partidos Políticos

Movimento apartidário e transpartidário de reforma da democracia interna nos partidos políticos portugueses

Operadores Marítimo-Turísticos de Cascais

Actividade dos Operadores Marítimo Turísticos de Cascais

MaisLisboa

Núcleo MaisDemocracia.org na Área Metropolitana de Lisboa

THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE UNITES AND CREATES EQUALITY

A new world with universal laws to own and to govern all with a universal language, a common civilsation and e-democratic culture.

looking beyond borders

foreign policy and global economy

O Futuro é a Liberdade

Discussões sobre Software Livre e Sociedade

%d bloggers like this: