segunda-feira, 18 de agosto de 2014
sexta-feira, 8 de agosto de 2014
Bobos, burros e enganadores!
Gente, olha só o que significa a consciência do autor, transferida para o seu personagem. A literatura é mesmo crucial para o desenvolvimento do pensamento humano e sua relação com a sociedade. Aqui, nesta frase, de seu "Pergunte ao Pó", John Fante mostra como ele é mesmo um grande pensador de nosso tempo:
(...)
Acredito na transposição de valores, cavalheiro. A Igreja precisa
acabar, é o
refúgio da “burroguesia”, de bobos e brutos e de todos os baratos
charlatães.
(...) – Arturo Bandini
(Pergunte ao pó – John Fante)
domingo, 3 de agosto de 2014
Malvadeza Durão e Onde o Diabo Perdeu as Botas são 200!
Eba! Malvadeza Durão e Onde o Diabo Perdeu as Botas atingiram 200 leituras no Widbook.com! Muito bom, muito bom! Até as 300ª!
sexta-feira, 1 de agosto de 2014
Fé versus conhecimento
Pessoal, acabei de ler um conto maravilhoso, chamado A Mother’s Tale, escrito por James Agge e que me foi indicado pelo meu caro amigo, Enzo Potel, também escritor.
De fato, o conto é uma maravilha, como advertiu- me Potel.
Mesmo em inglês, a leitura é fácil, direta e sem muito “eruditismo” literário.
O relato é de quem está falando para crianças. Agee escreve a história de uma
mãe, que diante de seu filho e demais jovens, narra, após os questionamentos de
seu filho “What are they doing? Where are they going?”, o que acontece com um
agrupamento que se dirige para um trem, carregado de vagões. O entusiasmo e a ânsia
estão presentes nesses questionamentos, próprias dos jovens sedentos de
conhecimentos. Há uma notória presença da representação do que seja ter fé e
acreditar através dela e acreditar através do conhecimento. Ambos estão embutidos na
história contada pela mãe e que lhe foi contada pela sua avó e bisavó através
dos tempos.
Ah, o melhor é que mãe em questão é uma vaca e o seu filho, um
bezerro. Os outros jovens são bezerrinhos também curiosos como ele.
Eis aqui duas páginas do conto:
A Mother's
Tale
By James Agee
The calf ran up the hill as fast as he could and stopped sharp. "Mama!"
he cried, all out of breath. "What is
it! What are they doing
'! Where are they going!"
Other spring calves came galloping too.
They all were looking up at her and awaiting her explanation, but she looked out over their excited eyes. As she watched the mysterious
and majestic thing they had never seen before, her own eyes became even more
than ordinarily still, and during the considerable moment before she answered, she scarcely heard their urgent
questioning.
Far out along the autumn plain, beneath the sloping light, an immense drove of cattle moved eastward.
They went at a walk, not very fast, but faster than they could imaginably enjoy. Those in front were compelled by those behind; those at the rear, with few exceptions, did their best to keep up; those who were locked within the herd could no more help moving than the particles inside a falling rock. Men on
horses rode ahead,
and alongside, and behind, or spurred their horses intensely back and forth, keeping the pace steady, an d the herd in shape; and from man to man a dog sped back and forth-, incessantly as a shuttle, barking, incessantly,
in
a hysterical voice. Now and then one of the men shouted fiercely, and this like the shrieking of the dog was tinily audible above a low and awesome sound which seemed to come not from
the multitude of hooves but from the center of the world, and above the sporadic bawlings and bellowings of the herd.
From the hillside this tumult was so distant that it only made more delicate the prodigious silence in which
the earth
and sky were held; and, from the hill, the sight was as modest as its sound. The herd was virtually hidden in the dust it raised and could be known) in general, only by the horns which pricked this flat sunlit dust like little briar. In one place a twist of the air revealed the trembling fabric of many backs; but it was only
along the near edge of the mass that individual animals
were discernible, small in a driven frieze, walking fast, stumbling and recovering, tossing their armed heads, or opening their skulls heavenward in one of those cries which reached the hillside long after the jaws were shut.
From where she watched, the mother could not be sure whether there were any she recognized. She knew that among them there must be a son of hers; she had not seen him since some previous spring, and she would
not be seeing him again. Then the cries of the young ones impinged on her bemusement: "Where are they going?"
She looked into their ignorant eyes. "Away,"
she said.
"Where?" they cried. "Where? Where?" her own son cried again.
She wondered what to say.
"On a long journey."
"But where to?" they shouted. "Yes, where to?" her son exclaimed; -and she could see that he was losing his
patience with her, as
he
always did when he felt she was
evasive.
"I'm not sure," she said.
Their silence was so cold that she was unable to avoid their eyes for long.
'Well, not really sure. Because, you see," she said in her most reasonable tone, I've never seen it with my
own
eyes, and that’s
the only way to be sure; isn’t it?”
They just kept looking at her. She could see no way out.
"But I've heard about it," she said with shallow cheerfulness, "from
those who have seen it, and I don't suppose there's
any
good reason to doubt them."
She looked away
over them again, and for all their interest in what she was about to tell them, her eyes so
changed that they turned and looked too.
The herd, which had been moving broadside to them, was being turned away, so slowly that like the turning
of stars it could not quite be seen from
one moment to the next; yet soon it was moving directly away from
them, and even during the little while she spoke and they
all watched after it, it steadily and very noticeably
diminished, and the sounds
of
it as well
"It happens always about this time of year," she said quietly while they watched. "Nearly all
the
men and horses leave, and go into the North and the West."
"Out on the range," her son said, and by his voice she knew what enchantment the idea already held for
him.
"Yes," she said, "out on the range." And trying, impossibly, to imagine the range, they were touched by the breath of grandeur.
"And then before long," she continued, "everyone has been found, and brought into one
place; and then . . . what you see, happens. All of them.
"Sometimes when the wind is right,"
she said more quietly, "you can hear them coming long before you can
see them It isn't even like a sound, at first. It's more as if something were moving far under the ground. It makes you uneasy. You wonder, why what in the world can that be! Then you remember what it is and then you can really hear it. And then finally, there they all are.
She could see this did not interest them at all. "But where are they going?" one asked, a little impatiently. "I'm coming to that,"
she said; and she let them wait. Then she spoke slowly but casually. .
"They are on their way to a railroad."
There, she thought; that's for that look you all gave me,"-hen I said I wasn't sure. She waited for them to ask:
they waited for her to ex- plain.
"A railroad,"
she
told them, "is great hard bars
of
metal lying side by side, or so they tell me, and they go on
and on over the ground as far as the eye can see. And great wagons run on the metal bars on wheels like
wagon wheels but smaller, and these wheels
are made of solid metal too. The wagons
are much bigger than any
wagon you've ever seen, as big as, big as sheds, they say, and they are pulled along on the iron bars by a
terrible huge dark machine, with a loud scream."
"Big as
sheds?" one of the calves said skeptically.
"Big enough, anyway," the mother said. "I told you I've never seen it myself. But those wagons are so big that several of us
can get inside at once. And that's exactly what happens."
Suddenly she became very quiet, for she felt that somehow, she could not imagine just how, she had said
altogether too much.
"Well, what happens?" her son wanted to know. "'What do you mean, happens?"
She always tried hard to be a reasonably modern mother. It was probably better, she felt, to go on, than to
leave them
all full
of imaginings and mystification. Besides, there was really nothing at all awful about what happened . . . if only one could know why.
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