Armando Taborda's photos

www.ipernity.com/blog/armando.taborda/4707790 (photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)

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I open the window see electricity bleach the sky in far off codes of silence. The air is static pent with heat. I lie watching the curtains light up in morse as if a lighthouse dashes out rays of warning. I listen for sound but it keeps its distance and a weight of water holds the night. /// TEMPESTADE Abro a janela e vejo a brancura eléctrica do céu ao longe em silêncio. O ar está imóvel reprimido pelo calor. Deitada observo sinais de morse na luz das cortinas como se fossem raios de aviso dum farol. Tento escutar o som mas ele mantem-se distante e um peso de água abraça a noite. by Jennie CARR, in "POETRY NEWS" (The Newspaper of The Poetry Society), Autumn 2016 (Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2016) (photography taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA) (1st edition, 2016; 2nd edition, 2018)

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by Antonieta ROQUE GAMEIRO, bronze sculpture

by Miguel BARBOSA, oil on canvas

www.ipernity.com/blog/armando.taborda/4707512

The dancers are stretching, loosening in their dressing rooms, half-dressed in a mess of costume rails, water glasses topped with a dusting of rouge. Although it's still soon to dance, look at the rush of guttered rain through grids to join the surge towards an open sea. See how the dry leaves catch in corners, petals of a burnt manifesto caught in a breeze between tenements. And after curfew watch our flags lift in unison like unbowed heads to mock us, because the dance, though fugitive, is here, and not be held back. Already it breaks on the roofs of our mouths and we barely contain the taste. It is there in the off-key buskers, dog-howls, click of the heels of those uniformed men who think they hold this city captive still, and soon must think again. /// ENSAIO PARA O DIA DA ALEGRIA Os dançarinos descontraem-se, libertos em seus camarins, semi-vestidos numa confusão de trajes circundantes, copos de água cobertos com uma camada de rouge. Embora cedo demais para dançar, olham através das grades a chuva que cai e se junta à corrente em direcção ao mar aberto. Vêm como as folhas secas se juntam nos cantos, pétalas dum manifesto inútil capturadas por uma brisa entre prédios. E depois do recolher obrigatório observam nossas bandeiras içadas em uníssono como cabeças levantadas a troçar de nós porque a dança, embora fugidia, está aqui, e não voltará atrás. Já se escapa pelo céu de nossas bocas e mal podemos conter-lhe o gosto. É lá na desafinação das ruas, uivo de cães, bater de calcanhares daqueles homens fardados que pensam manter esta cidade ainda cativa e de novo voltarão a pensar. by MIchael Symmons ROBERTS, in "LONDON REVIEW OF BOOKS", Volume 38, Number 1, 7 January 2016 (Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2016) (photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA) (1st edition, 2016; 2nd edition, 2018)

HFF to all my friends and foes

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