domingo, 20 de junho de 2010

Poesia em nível máximo




Outro grande mestre é LEONARD COHEN. Esse eu ainda posso ter a oportunidade de ver e ouvir pessoalmente, eu espero.


Descobri Cohen há mais de um ano e me apaixonei de tal forma que suas músicas me servem como calmante antes de dormir e como faíscas de inspiração. Há 40 anos ele vem compondo músicas de sentimento, numa poética inigualável. Com frases de impacto, figuras de linguagem maravilhosas e a habilidade de te fazer pensar e se encantar com cada verso, tudo embalado pela minha voz preferida: intensa, macia, rasgada, sábia.


Entre as músicas preferidas estão:
Avalanche
Diamonds in the mine
Bird on the wire
Famous Blue Raincoat
Sing Anothe Song, Boys




Mas a da última semana é Dress Rehearsal Rag.... vale a pena analisar e ouvir:


"Dress Rehearsal Rag"

Four o'clock in the afternoon 
and I didn't feel like very much. 
I said to myself, "Where are you golden boy, 
where is your famous golden touch?" 
I thought you knew where 
all of the elephants lie down, 
I thought you were the crown prince 
of all the wheels in Ivory Town. 
Just take a look at your body now, 
there's nothing much to save 
and a bitter voice in the mirror cries, 
"Hey, Prince, you need a shave." 
Now if you can manage to get 
your trembling fingers to behave, 
why don't you try unwrapping 
a stainless steel razor blade? 
That's right, it's come to this, 
yes it's come to this, 
and wasn't it a long way down, 
wasn't it a strange way down? 
There's no hot water 
and the cold is running thin. 
Well, what do you expect from 
the kind of places you've been living in? 
Don't drink from that cup, 
it's all caked and cracked along the rim. 
That's not the electric light, my friend, 
that is your vision growing dim. 
Cover up your face with soap, there, 
now you're Santa Claus. 
And you've got a gift for anyone 
who will give you his applause. 
I thought you were a racing man, 
ah, but you couldn't take the pace. 
That's a funeral in the mirror 
and it's stopping at your face. 
That's right, it's come to this, 
yes it's come to this, 
and wasn't it a long way down, 
ah wasn't it a strange way down? 

Once there was a path 
and a girl with chestnut hair, 
and you passed the summers 
picking all of the berries that grew there; 
there were times she was a woman, 
oh, there were times she was just a child, 
and you held her in the shadows 
where the raspberries grow wild. 
And you climbed the twilight mountains 
and you sang about the view, 
and everywhere that you wandered 
love seemed to go along with you. 
That's a hard one to remember, 
yes it makes you clench your fist. 
And then the veins stand out like highways, 
all along your wrist. 
And yes it's come to this, 
it's come to this, 
and wasn't it a long way down, 
wasn't it a strange way down? 

You can still find a job, 
go out and talk to a friend. 
On the back of every magazine 
there are those coupons you can send. 
Why don't you join the Rosicrucians, 
they can give you back your hope, 
you can find your love with diagrams 
on a plain brown envelope. 
But you've used up all your coupons 
except the one that seems 
to be written on your wrist 
along with several thousand dreams. 
Now Santa Claus comes forward, 
that's a razor in his mit; 
and he puts on his dark glasses 
and he shows you where to hit; 
and then the cameras pan, 
the stand in stunt man, 
dress rehearsal rag, 
it's just the dress rehearsal rag, 
you know this dress rehearsal rag, 
it's just a dress rehearsal rag. 






Não estou inspirada o suficiente... preciso ouvir Leonard...

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