Continuam a chegar muitas letras de músicas, que, a seu tempo, entrarão para a nossa manhã. Hoje, para que, na simplicidade, brilhem mais as palavras, apenas duas entradas. Uma de Bob Dylan, enviada por Miguel Castro Caldas “cantada (…) em 1970, no album "selfportrait", em plena fase Country. Mas foi escrita por G. Lightfoot. Como não encontrei a transcrição da letra, transcrevo eu apenas a primeira estrofe (a mais bonita) “:

"in the early mornin' rain
with a dollar in my hand
and an aching in my heart
and my pocket full of sand
I'm a long way from home
and I miss my love one so
in the early mornin' raiiin
with nowhere to go

Outra, a primeira entrada em prosa, de V.S. Naipul, enviada por João Gundersen, “uma achega a essas horas para mim tão difíceis. "A house for Mr Biswas", a sua primeira casa em Port of Spain, já jornalista do "sentinel", mas ainda ligada aos Tulsis..."

"The house faced east, and the memories that remained of these first four years in Port of Spain were above all memories of morning. The newspaper, delivered free, still warm, the ink still wet, sprawled on the concrete, down which the sun was moving. Dew lay on trees and roofs; the empty street, freshly swept and washed, was in cool shadow, and water ran clear in the gutters whose green bases had been scratched and striped by the sweeper’s harsh broom’s. Memories of taking the Royal Enfield out from under the house and cycling in a sun still cool along the streets of the awakening city. Stillness at noon: stripping for a short nap: the window of his room open: a square of blue above the unmoving curtain. In the afternoon, the steps in the shadow; tea in the back verandah. Then an interview at a hotel, perhaps, and the urgent machinery of the Sentinel. The promise of the evening; the expectation of the morning."

Bom dia!


© José Pacheco Pereira
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