Armando Taborda's articles

Je t'aime beaucoup mon ami Armando , toi et ta Poésie. J'ai souvent le sentiment de bien te comprendre (malgré la langue!!) et ta propre poésie fait beaucoup de bien à la mienne. Tu sais, je ne crois pas que nos poèmes racontent nos vies mais...la vie, les questions des hommes devant l'amour, la nature et devant Dieu bien sur...l'infini et le fini. C'est pour cela qu'on nous aime parfois et nous deteste aussi parfois!: comme tu dis, "l'inquiètude". C'est encore plus fort que l'angoisse car l'an…

Monday Monday is a nice day to start again to describe anything that hides the sun a tree a house a polluted river a son of a bitch a foolish a piece of pain at full gallop on the road so the sun disintegrates in light not to hurt the eyes sarcasm of clouds enough heat to life heroin in the blood of addicts Monday or Tuesday…

In fact I tell you the truth an intense light from nuclear explosion still guides the Magic Kings of the night in the way to the crib of dreams that often dye in the manger cradle. (to read the Portuguese version click on the picture) En vérité je vous dis vraiment qu'une lumière intense d'explosion nucléaire oriente encore les Rois Mages de la nuit au chemin de la crèche de rêves qui meurent fréquemment dans la mangeoire berceau. by Armando TABORDA,…

Two in morning it's time to face my night´s remains shadows combine with the light coming up from the avenue into the room where I am seated sometimes one or another noise passes through double-glasses windows this is my sound-proofing solitude there is no background music and consequently there will stay the melody of silence rocking my night's remains.…

The navigation starts by nightfall and slows down at night magnificent of solitude global nothing at the empty sockets even from blue eyes the sky also uncoloured once the optical illusion sees blue everywhere or maybe green upon my word this is certainly the sea's colour navigation's abyss and from salvages one can only hear the surf's whisper.…

I wait the mildness of a quite night for my pain fall asleep in the space's cradle I may yawn before an opera of stars the music is always the same celestial chorus dumb virtual the space immense fits light-years of distance and my pain strident real so small that fits inside me waits the mildness of a quite night to fall asleep in the space's cradle. Espero a brandura de uma noite c…

Eyes of wet rain face of frozen wind body of lost soul at the price o rain in the wind's taste. Olhos de chuva molhados rosto de vento gelado corpo de alma perdido ao preço da chuva ao sabor do vento. by Armando TABORDA, in "MANUAL DO DESPERDÍCIO", Ceres Editora, 1994 (post 1st edition, 2012; 2nd edition, 2019)

Light leaves weak shadows badly drawn on the walls rain falls poorly but there will be a heavy shower by mid-afternoon workers on the scaffolding of the opposite building gather at the works dockyard cars slow down the avenue windshield wipers oscillating no pedestrians on sidewalks just open umbrellas that hurry in my living room comfort I'm electrocuted by a mettalic gray sky that doesn't kill but blinds stunned I blink the melancholy of the day and record in this petty t…

I concentrate myself in love with the flat and dry Arizona's land of far away mountains beautifully dignified by the generous American sun illuminating my endless landscape my circumstantial mistress. Here I save and dissolve the all-nothing that boils me and irradiates a strange energy maybe generator of the same silence that lead God to create the world. Ostentatiously I confront the God that will annul me gratuitously by a serene evening…

He came at last from insomnia and stomach heartburn wasn't foreseen he was a dream to dream forget and fall asleep. Por último veio era de insónia e azia no estômago nada faria prever que fosse um sonho para sonhar esquecer e adormecer. by Armando TABORDA, i n "PALAVRAS, MÚSICAS E BLASFÉMIAS QUE ENVELHEÇO NA CIDADE", Ulmeiro Editores, 1996 (post 1st edition, 2011; 2nd edition, 2017; 3rd edition, 2019)

Since fifty years now my night is flooded by Frédéric Chopin music I think there was little change in my condition my pores become thick of emotion this damned absolute beauty so close to be met as before I feel life is better than spilled anguish in cascade of sounds petrified but unintentionally I am tempted to forget my dream of crystal. Como há cinquenta anos atrás inundo minha noite com música de Frédéric Chopin e penso que minha condição pouco mudou…

SEA I feel the sea weight in every hidden crying algae roll round legs of all paths my eyes blink iodine's rumours promise of beach so that all sea can be seen in the distance weightless on its bed. (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) (text illustrated by Fernando Grade) www.ipernity.com/…

I stay here for a short time may it be so time is pressing my will to be lost here there over there infinitely anywhere. (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) www.ipernity.com/blog/armando.taborda/98691 by Armando TABORDA, in "SINFONIA EM DOR MENOR", Edição Escola de Mar, 2007 (post 1st edition, 2009; 2nd edition, 2017;…

Avenida da República, II The noises repeat themselves in the avenue and also the light as yesterday the traffic's death rattle in the lane the steps' drag on the sidewalk the talks' murmur at the outdoor coffee shop the exposed navels over slipped trousers of fat girls the works on the underground the blind persons with offensive moneyboxes the empty offices before the lunch…

Smoke of fogs at the island steaming on the grey ocean now green under a sun of fire smoking on waters I think seated on the island that wakes up far away murmurs. Fumo de névoas na ilha que fumega no oceano cinzento verde agora sob o sol…

Fresh air cleans my toxins and conscience at run rhythm under the puff of each expiration the weight of all banquets and whiskeys is inexorable in the Park of Monsanto sweat glides from my face to the shadows' path where the body wriggles by the souls' gallop. O ar puro limpa-me as toxinas e a consciência ao ritmo da corrida no b…

by João Silva (represented at Art Gallery / Espaço AmArte), oil on canvas Time of evolution is not yet coming Man continues to exhaust the cosmos till Himself becomes a dead spaceship endlessly traveling towards God. /// Não é chegado o tempo da evolução o Homem fica a exaurir o cosmos até que se transforme em aeronave morta em viagem infinita para Deus. by Armando TABORDA, in "Palavras, Músicas e Blasfémias que Envelheço…

I love the stones on the brook bed they are clean sins shining in the stream they are dived liquid stars sun-shinning water projects them right now against our look and there they are washed exactly in the same position making fun of us. Gosto das pedras no leito da ribeira são pecados limpos brilham na corrente…