Santo António, Moreiras - Tomar, 2004

Will there really be a "Morning"?
Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!
(Emily Dickinson)

Muito bom dia!

Salvou-se muita ciência?



Existe algum optimismo na equipa que analisa os materiais recolhidos pela sonda Genesis, o impacto da sonda no solo parece não ter feito os estragos que se temiam. Boas notícias.

A Prayer For My Son
Bid a strong ghost stand at the head
That my Michael may sleep sound,
Nor cry, nor turn in the bed
Till his morning meal come round;
And may departing twilight keep
All dread afar till morning's back.
That his mother may not lack
Her fill of sleep.

Bid the ghost have sword in fist:
Some there are, for I avow
Such devilish things exist,
Who have planned his murder, for they know
Of some most haughty deed or thought
That waits upon his future days,
And would through hatred of the bays
Bring that to nought.

Though You can fashion everything
From nothing every day, and teach
The morning stars to sing,
You have lacked articulate speech
To tell Your simplest want, and known,
Wailing upon a woman's knee,
All of that worst ignominy
Of flesh and bone;

And when through all the town there ran
The servants of Your enemy,
A woman and a man,
Unless the Holy Writings lie,
Hurried through the smooth and rough
And through the fertile and waste,
protecting, till the danger past,
With human love.
(William Butler Yeats )

NOVO MEMBRO DA FAMÍLIA



Momentos de ausência apesar do estio. Mas a chegada do filho varão obriga a dedicação exclusiva. Estamos em quarteto, por hora, que procura a desejada afinação. Não me lembrava como tinha sido da primeira vez, se dormia ou não, se comia, como e o quê? Porque será que temos uma memória tão selectiva no que respeita aos nossos filhos, fazemos tudo por eles e só ficam as coisas boas. Assim se passaram quase três semanas.

Songs of Innocence: Introduction
Piping down the valleys wild
Piping songs of pleasant glee
On a cloud I saw a child.
And he laughing said to me.

Pipe a song about a Lamb:
So I piped with merry chear,
Piper, pipe that song again--
So I piped, he wept to hear.

Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe
Sing thy songs of happy chear,
So I sung the same again
While he wept with joy to hear

Piper sit thee down and write
In a book that all may read--
So he vanished from my sight
And I pluck'd a hollow reed.

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.
(William Blake )