Crooked John [20.06.2011 Viseu]

Crooked John
(a Jigsaw)

I heard my wings whispering so low

Where did you hide last night?

It was the wind my dears

It was its darkness that kept me away

Oh my, oh crooked John

Come the sunset, we will be gone

I poured my madness and desire

Into thy perfect wretched mold

I gave you my voice, my love, my fear

If it must be, then I’ll crawl beneath these wings

Oh my, oh crooked John

Oh my, oh crooked John

Come the sunset and we’ll be gone

Was my death not enough to scare those little birds that flew with me?

Was my death not enough to scare those little birds that flew with me?

Then ravens, ravens they must be

Oh my, oh crooked John

Oh my, oh crooked John

Was my death not enough?

Oh my, oh crooked John

Oh my, oh crooked John

Come the sunset and you will be gone

Ilustração: Luis Belo

A convulsão do mar [17.06.2011 Figueira da Foz]

Aqui, bem à beira de ti esqueci-me de te visitar. Terá sido a súbita mudança das nuvens? Haverá realmente algo que me impeça de precipitar na primeira das vagas, mesmo que ela não conheça o retorno? O pior que não imagino seria regressar a terra firme sem saber o que isso é.

João Rui

Photo: João P. Miranda

The seizure of the sea [17.06.2011 Figueira da Foz] Here, right by your side, I forgot to visit you. Was it the sudden change of clouds? Is there really anything that prevents me from falling into the first wave, even if she does not know the return? The worst that I can not imagine would be returning to firm land without knowing what that is. João Rui

Quando os dedos se quebrarem [10.06.2011 Braga]

O suor da tarde entranha-se nas cordas para à noite as quebrar; como se numa harmonia perfeita houvesse apenas uma nota em discordância com todas as outras, que decidisse sussurrar a ausência ao seu coração momentos antes do seu estertor: em breve seremos uno. Até quando os dedos irão ignorar essa possibilidade? Talvez se esqueçam enquanto o bom Deus mantiver as suas mãos pousadas nas minhas que repousam sobre as cordas – mas e se o que me resta é apenas a sua ausência e confundo palácios com ruínas? Então, é como se o que nos pode matar já houvesse por nós passado e nos restasse apenas o gládio com a esperança, na antecâmara da desilusão.

Subimos ao palco pelas escadas de metal que nos aguardavam no silêncio de Braga e num instante tudo se tornou incêndio numa voz ainda mais negra que esta.

João Rui

When the fingers break [10.06.2011 Braga] The sweat of the afternoon wraps itself around the strings in the afternoon so it can break them in the night; as if in perfect harmony there was only one note in dissonance with every other, and decided to whisper its absence to the heart moments before its death throe: we will soon be one. Until when will the fingers ignore this possibility? Maybe they will forget while the good Lord keeps his hands resting on my my hands that are resting on the strings - but what if what I have left is just his absence and am merely confusing palaces with ruins? So, it's as though as if what could kill us had already passed through us and we only had left this fight with hope, in the anteroom of disillusionment.

We climbed the metal stairs to the stage where the silence of Braga awaited us and everything became fire in an even darker voice than this. João Rui

Lisboa e o Plano [04.06.2011 Lisboa]

É de novo a hora de encostar os dedos nas cordas do êxtase e arrancar o coração do peito. E ainda que assim não fosse, ele saberia como e por onde haveria de planear a sua fuga.

É nessa ausência que nos apercebemos do silêncio negro que se esconde por detrás de cada palavra.

João Rui

Photo: Ana Pereira

Lisboa and the Plan [04.06.2011 Lisboa] It is time again to rest the fingers upon the strings of bliss and tear the heart from the chest. And still, even if it was otherwise, he would know how and where to plan his escape. It is in that absence that we realize the black silence that hides behind each word. João Rui