Search among Armando Taborda's articles

Maybe you don't know that from rain we can compose a symphony and from wind a violin solo that cars speeding up on the avenue are the disconnected noise of the orchestra rehearsal everyone is the maestro with a baton of silence leading

Over the metallic brightnes of my new car there is no moonlight nor any other unexpected scintillation. /// Sur l'éclat metallique de ma nouvelle voiture nul clair de lune ni quelqu'autre scintillement inattendu. Sobre o metálico brilho do meu

I'm bored by the obsequies the notable's soul still seeks to understand that is dead and fell down the perfect abyss for the ruthless and hungry vultures in unbroken laudation preying on the body and his unfulfilled dreams at the funeral carriage to

BLANK PIECE OF PAPER I look at you blank piece of paper I foresee a spreading blood tear being absorbed by the sheet pores blotting paper of a not yet coming pain idea ballerina pilgrim deciduous non-existent the pain

........................................ ........................................ ........................................ ................. I depart later that day bearing signed copies, carrying unpublished poems, happy to have met such a remarkable man

(dedicated to the RTP1 program, saturday's aftenoon) the improvised stage under the shed and pimba* music the pregnant or not TV female speakers and pimba music the routine of failed TV male speakers and pimba music the craftwork and pimba music the

They seem birds without tweet in a cage under sun they don't disturb us cause they sleep most time old men are too many now and then a death rattle shakes them a permanent dribble flows off their mouths astonished they open the eyes and say you

José Neto, artist and philosopher. His work is based on deep thinking and a very reasonable experience of life, both allowing him to express without any limitations and to renounce to the will to be understood. As he say, "I know this attitude of mine is

My pen writes in a choreography of fingers turning round on tiptoe. I hear the music alone and the pen's dance continues on tiptoe pirouettes and other tricks very nice on the stage of the Foundation Gulbenkian. (to read

I Sink Into The Couch With an enormous effort I rise from my seat only to find that I still seem to be carrying it around with me, only now it's even heavier because it's become the seat of my own subjectivity. Bernardo Soares I sink into the couch

The Lightness of Dying The burden of feeling! The burden of to have to feel!. Bernardo Soares The lightness of dying! The lightness of to have to die for the soul liberty at last! (to read the original Portuguese version click on the

RENEWED TIDE Night' sour is diluted by morning's heat anguish dives into an ocean of every fish - mammal - shell fish - jellyfish - sticky alga of thought. At night a renewed tide casts ashore solitude becomes endangered by moonlight

I suffer from goiter of silent things in the throat as a fire ball under clouds opacity I wish to cry out decibels that engrave Vergílio Ferreira in the explanation of invented emotions in generous narcissism that nothing adds to the nothing we have

Nothing justifies our destiny of shadows neither fire nor flame or ember we just burn sparks jumping out the fire crackle for instants and scintillate in the smoke that extinguishes them. (to read the original

WITH MY FEET FIRMLY ON THE GROUND I SEARCH FOR THE BALANCE OF THE WORDS THAT CONSTANTLY UNBALANCE MY THINKING DE PÉS BEM ASSENTES NO CHÃO PROCURO O EQUILÍBRIO DAS PALAVRAS QUE A TODO O MOMENTO DESEQUILIBRAM O MEU PENSAMENTO by Armando TABORDA, 2017

At her own private space, the ARThaus-Atelier, we are given by Manuela Horta with intermittent but diversified creative paintings, mixed techniques and installations, the last two focused on the sculptor she claims to be the first condition of her

Blue is the broader colour on Earth with the sea and sky within its reach but not the cleanest because storms crafts spoils and pitfalls impose other shades and colours that the sun with its bright light fades away and the night hides into the spectrum to

The kids from the poor quarter stoke up by dogs get away through the rich quarter's back. Os meninos do bairro pobre atiçados por cães fugiram pelas traseiras do bairro rico. by Armando TABORDA, 2012 (1st edition, 2012; 2nd edition, 2017)

While my laptop upgrades I can't use it and the opeation takes some time so on the National Day of Portugal I pick up the pen to which I'm increasingly unfamiliarized and I write probably with some mistakes that the computer can't automatically ammend

"Figures of Stone", or the ever-lasting archetypes of Cristina Brito. Women of stone, intuited millinery milestones along her via / life. The familiar personages or simply figures passing by the West Region where she lived part of her youth, and through a

I remember more than half a century's life I am conformed to the gray and humid city light living without changes in my adrenalin's level suddenly through Lisbon's dim winter light an immoderate diamond bursts like a sun bite in the monotony

1 If one of these days you see me crying be sure I celebrate all I didn't suffer. 2 Burnt cigarette dying melody certainty all is good quickly dissolves. In daily paper "Diário Popular", literary supplement

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

I'm insomniac of thinking a poem full of significant metaphors for exemple fireflies on the loose in my backyard flashing as stars and crazy stars orbiting the planets revolted against the Universe and planets prodigal sons without knowing how to return

Your castle as a dream of secular walls collapsed in seconds. As your king master and defender against absent enemies I follow from battlement to battlement the way of the old round. From the control tower I watch the river that

From home I see a bit of sky sometimes there are too many grey clouds so the blue changes into the colour of my deadlock light chains me against the wall sequins fall down the sky illuminating my night cocaine I hope till morning with a bit of blue sky