Armando Taborda's most appreciated articles

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.…

MY CITY From my building's top I blink Lisboa's roofs reticent and washed red colour warns me on coming clouds saturated of rain that falls down and carries my eyes sailing liquid tiles till the tears' swirl spills over the obstructed gutter. (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) (text illustrated by FernandoGrade) www.ipernity.com/blog/armando.taborda/…

MY BODY In the body the soul dances and in the soul the body falls asleep tired of so much movement without meaning. (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) MY ROOM Time goes by. I desire a new impulse in the writing'…

We are dream's engineers forever forgotten throughout life as they were a mist of smiles on the lips. Somos engenheiros de sonhos esquecidos ao longo da vida para sempre assim mesmo em bruma de sorrisos nos lábios. by Armanfdo TABORDA, in "SONHOGRAFIAS", Universitária Editora, 2000 (1st edition, 2009; 2nd edition, 2017)

There isn't light enough to clearly see the insects insidious flight under the trees and birds shadow the batrachian's libidinous shine at the puddle of females sticking in the mud the cloud's cornucopia suggesting winged gods the precise and clean landscape at the far away contemplation. Não há luz que chegue para ver clarament…

No sleep's particle orbits in my sky. The stars twinkle so far and intensely that the Universe appears to be expanding but remains trapped in my brain. All desired light will get away through my eyeballs' darkness and the vaporous thrill of the thought's nuclear explosion through by mouth. Nenhuma partícula de sono orbita no meu firmamento. Os astros cintilam tão longe e intensamente que o Universo parece estar em expansão mas continua aprisionado no meu cérebro. Pela es…

Here is a poetry book with a modern and original structure, as if it were a two-dimensional graph of intervals, autobiographical, where the author, with mastery and great beauty, X-rays the remarkable moments of her life. The abcissa of the graph distributes the poem into four chapters/quadrants (endless, unfading, ceaseless, undying), which are divided into twelve months of the year, from Spring to Winter, as if the entire life were nothing more than a tellurian cyclical repetition of the fo…

NIGHT I ask to the gloomy night where are the remains of the day? Clearly by day shades are darker than at night. (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) Illustration by Fernando Grade In "VIOLA DELTA", Volume XXIII, April, 1997 (post 1 st edition, 2009; 2nd edition, 2017; 3rd edition, 2020)

Art is the unfinished form colour word sound. It's monument painting poem text music in the absolute time of its creation and a simple picture after done or immortalized. (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) Illustration by Fernando Grade by Armando TABORDA, in "VIOLA DELTA", Volu…

The soul of my dog went to the sky all dead' s kennel. Suddenly at full gallop perplexed spots black and white wag the solitary tail of my grief. A alma do meu cão foi para o céu canil de todos os mortos. Subitamente a galope perplexas manchas branco-negras agitam a cauda…

MENU OF THE DAY The news in the morning paper are the whole day repeated on TV. War famine genocide and pollution economical crimes drugs pedophilia and prostitution disasters accidents and namely corruption are eaten at lunch during the afternoon news…

An ashes halo around my eyes crowns the insomnia I get up from bed. Alone. I hesitate on the matter I am and I ask what is left for the explanation of my night's astonishment. Until when I look for the first smile at the day after and other smiles engraved on a stone's grimace frieze. From me to the posterity I bequeath a portrait of thin li ps rough at the perimeter of my mouth and one another ten…

God gangrenes my memory of words and facts for the being's liturgy. Dream's beauty the music and perfume illusion of the rejuvenated island by rain the eternal within us doubtful it lengthens the life we are dying love must be recorded on anger texts for God's memory. Deus gangrena-me a memória das palavras e dos actos para a liturgia do ser. A beleza dos sonhos a música o perfume a…

António Lobo Antunes frequently says the words happen to him as a torrent he can't control at will level, neither he wants, as he was the medium of his alive texts. He isn't upset with timely relations between characters and situations; the plot is made from each one reading. I see in the poetic writing of Alice Fergo the same creative pattern but now the word's river is framed by a cautious slowness till paroxysm as eternity might be badly measured, or the sensation lost right in the mom…

LET IT BE Idiot let it be! Don't think intellectually on life that runs away from you sterile misunderstood. Laugh like them from culture. Disdain from art and poetry. Fill you up with the futile life they live and you will be happy.…

Bloody slow fugitive hiding stars under its light unrealistic sun speedy cloud absent in a few time sadness you bring and don't take away daybreak breeze what strange things you say almost forgotten but always flying swallows in my grass roof bloody slow fugitive sun hides what night brings. (to read the original Portuguese version click on the figure) In the eyes I look f…

PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS PALAVRAS WORDS MOTS Gradually I am tired from the senses flow the empty heart fills my memory written more and more words are mere…

Under cardiac throb the seconds' pointer sums the minutes of the hours at the life's screen measured by the watch even if time doesn't exist and cheats us covering the space escape in expansion. O ponteiro dos segundos em seu pulsar cardíaco soma os minutos das horas no mostrador da vida que o relógio de pulso mede mesmo que o tempo não exista e seja um embus…

What I do is the question of doing nothing because there is nothing to do then I disguise seated before a typewriter AZT keyboard which I spell with fingers and the sheet of paper letter by letter teach me the morning emptiness. I still breathe with one of the first morning cigarettes the esophagus' taste of breakfast imported from UK «milk and coconut biscuits». So to speak the subject now comes up from solitude and the words' space is a hiss into my…

From the to be or not to be discussion the liberty was still feasible. Obscurantist spikes germinated on the fields among tired arms of the classes struggle machines reaped everything. In the factory production graphs expressed the boss' exploitation soon after there were no graphs neither production nor boss. Cybernetics was ignored in the impasse either for budget deficit or by any growing excess of ignorance in the city.…