First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.
There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.
I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.
And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
you breathe differently down here.
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed
the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.
This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he
whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass
We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
our names do not appear.
- Adrienne Rich
Se dizes que sim, vou ja buscar-te.
O objectivismo. Já me esquecia.
* Pelo menos segundo a visão de Isabel Paterson, em The God of the Machine, que identificou três marcos fundamentais no caminho da barbárie para a sociedade moderna (leia-se democracia liberal e capitalismo): A descoberta da ciência pelos gregos, que possibilita a análise do conhecimento e, por extensão, da acção política; a descoberta do direito pelos romanos, que permite criar um sistema abstracto que pode defender o indivíduo da arbitrariedade do "poder"; e, por fim, e talvez mais significativo, a descoberta cristã da alma individual, cuja salvação depende de si própria e do seu livre-arbítrio.
A protagonista de «Doidos por Mary», famosa pela sua delicada silhueta, quer ser uma mulher com curvas, noticia o El Mundo.
«Tenho um estilo de vida muito activo, adoro surf, snowboard, golf e caminhadas. Também gosto de ler, que é exercício para a mente. Mas preferia ganhar algum peso que perdê-lo. Gosto das mulheres com curvas. Quero ter um rabo grande», revelou.
A actriz tem muita confiança em si mesma, fruto da sua educação quando era mais nova. «Era sempre eu a filha problemática. Os meus pais deixavam-me fazer coisas que à minha pobre irmã mais velha sempre proibiram», confessou Díaz.
Com COFIDIS Valor Top, você tem a possibilidade de ter um crédito entre €11.000 a €20.000 criado a pensar em si, que não tem tempo a perder com processos burocráticos. Pode escolher o montante entre €11.000 a €20.000, e a modalidade de pagamento que mais lhe convém para realizar todos os seus projectos.
Opte pela mensalidade que preferir com a garantia de que o valor das prestações é igual todos os meses, sem aumentos. O pagamento será feito por débito directo na sua conta bancária, sempre no dia 1 de cada mês.
Se pretender reembolsar mais depressa poderá fazer pagamentos extra sem custos adicionais.
Cá para mim amanhã temos marcação de eleições para PR, o Governo cai, tornar-se-à pela primeira vez em 37 anos interessante saber o que se passa em Portugal, e a Federação Atlântica dos Açores & Madeira liberta-se do jugo continental.
A ministra da Saúde apelou esta terça-feira a todos os doentes em listas de espera para cirurgias há mais de dois anos que entrem em contacto com os serviços, porque no sistema não há nenhum utente naquelas condições, escreve a Lusa.
«Nós temos informação que há doentes que dizem que estão há mais de dois anos em lista de espera e o que temos no sistema é que não há nenhum doente que esteja há mais de dois anos em lista de espera. Portanto, ou não estão inscritos ou algo se passa», afirmou Ana Jorge, durante uma visita ao Hospital de Faro.
Sublinhando que se tratava de um apelo, dirigiu-se «a quem sinta que está há mais de dois anos à espera» para que se dirija ao seu médico de família, ao médico assistente ou ao centro de saúde.
Se ainda estiver vivo, telefone... Agora só preciso de um "técnico". Não precisa de saber fazer nada, basta ser "técnico". Ou melhor ainda, de um licenciado. Pode ser em rendas de bilros. É que queria apurar o share dos meus canais.
"Vamos comparar a abertura de dois exames nacionais de matemática do 12º:
É dada a representação de duas funções de componente logarítmica.
Pede-se para definir o seu domínio, fazer uma integração por partes e deduzir a área representada.
Sistema português orientado para o "sucesso":
O João e a Maria convidaram três amigos para irem, com eles, ao cinema. Compraram cinco bilhetes com numeração seguida, numa determinada fila, e distribuíram-nos ao acaso. Qual é a probabilidade de o João e a Maria ficarem sentados um ao lado do outro?
Segue-se escolha múltipla para facilitar o aluno e não o confundir."
"Human beings do not live in the objective world alone, nor alone in the world of social activity as ordinarily understood, but are very much at the mercy of the particular language which has become the medium of expression for their society. It is quite an illusion to imagine that one adjusts to reality essentially without the use of language and that language is merely an incidental means of solving specific problems of communication or reflection. The fact of the matter is that the "real world" is to a large extent unconsciously built upon the language habits of the group. No two languages are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social reality. The worlds in which different societies live are distinct worlds, not merely the same world with different labels attached ... We see and hear and otherwise experience very largely as we do because the language habits of our community predispose certain choices of interpretation."
(Sapir, 1958 , p. 69)
"We dissect nature along lines laid down by our native languages. The categories and types that we isolate from the world of phenomena we do not find there because they stare every observer in the face; on the contrary, the world is presented in a kaleidoscopic flux of impressions which has to be organized by our minds—and this means largely by the linguistic systems in our minds. We cut nature up, organize it into concepts, and ascribe significances as we do, largely because we are parties to an agreement to organize it in this way—an agreement that holds throughout our speech community and is codified in the patterns of our language. The agreement is, of course, an implicit and unstated one, but its terms are absolutely obligatory; we cannot talk at all except by subscribing to the organization and classification of data which the agreement decrees."
(Whorf, 1940, pp. 213–14)
George Orwell's classic novel Nineteen Eighty-Four is a striking example of linguistic determinism and linguistic relativity in fiction, in which a language known as Newspeak has trimmed and supplanted Modern English. In this case, Orwell says that if humans cannot form the words to express the ideas underlying a revolution, then they cannot revolt. All of the theory of Newspeak is aimed at eliminating such words. For example, bad has been replaced by ungood, and the concept of freedom has been eliminated over time. According to Nineteen Eighty-Four's appendix on Newspeak, the result of the adoption of the language would be that "a heretical thought ... should be literally unthinkable, at least so far as thought is dependent on words.
In Frank Herbert's science fiction novel Dune and its sequels, the Principle of Linguistic Relativity first appears when Lady Jessica (who has extensive linguistic training) encounters the Fremen, the native people of Dune. She is shocked by the "violence" of their language, as she believes their word choices and language structure reflect a culture of enormous violence. Similarly, earlier in the novel, her late husband, Duke Leto, muses on how the nature of Imperial society is betrayed by "the precise delineations for treacherous death" in its language, the use of highly specific terms to describe different methods for delivering poison.
Samuel R. Delany's novel Babel-17 is centered on a fictional language that denies its speakers independent thought, forcing them to think purely logical thoughts. This language is used as a weapon of war, because it is supposed to convert everyone who learns it to a traitor. In the novel, the language Babel-17 is likened to computer programming languages that do not allow errors or imprecise statements.
Neal Stephenson's novel Snow Crash revolves around the notion that the Sumerian language was a programming language for the human brain. According to characters in the book, the goddess Asherah is the personification of a linguistic virus similar to a computer virus. The god Enki created a counter program which he calls a nam-shub that caused all of humanity to speak different tongues as a protection against Asherah.
Ursula K. Le Guin's novel The Dispossessed takes place partly on a world with an anarcho-communist society whose constructed language contains little means for expressing possessive relationships, among other features.
Ayn Rand's novel Anthem presents a collectivist dystopia where the word "I" is banned, and any that use it are put to death.
Robert Silverberg's novel A Time of Changes describes a society where the first person singular is considered an obscenity.
In Robert A. Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land, Valentine Michael Smith is able to do things that most other humans can't do, and is unable to explain any of this in English. However, once others learn Martian, they start to be able to do these things; those concepts could only be explained in Martian.
In Jorge Luis Borges's Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius the author discovers references in books to a universe of idealistic individuals whose language lacks the concept of nouns and has other peculiarities that shapes their idealism. As the story progresses the books become more and better known to the world at large, their philosophy starts influencing the real world, and Earth becomes the ideal world described in the books.
In Ted Chiang's "The Story of Your Life," language directly determines thought, Learning the written language used by alien visitors to the Earth allows the person who learns the language to think in a different way, in which the past and future are illusions of conventional thought. This allows people who understand the language to see their entire life as a single unchangeable action, from past to future.
O homem, jovem, movimentava-se num desespero agitado entre um grupo de mulheres vestidas de negro que ululavam lamentos. "Perdi tudo!" "O que é que perdeu?" perguntou-lhe um repórter.
He climbed toward the blinding light
and when his eyes adjusted
he looked down and could see
his fellow prisoners captivated
by shadows; everything he had believed
was false. And he was suddenly
in the 20th century, in the sunlight
and violence of history, encumbered
by knowledge. Only a hero
would dare return with the truth.
So from the cave's upper reaches,
removed from harm, he called out
the disturbing news.
What lovely echoes, the prisoners said,
what a fine musical place to live.
He spelled it out, then, in clear prose
on paper scraps, which he floated down.
But in the semi-dark they read his words
with the indulgence of those who seldom read:
It's about my father's death, one of them said.
No, said the others, it's a joke.
By this time he no longer was sure
of what he'd seen. Wasn't sunlight a shadow too?
Wasn't there always a source
behind a source? He just stood there,
confused, a man who had moved
to larger errors, without a prayer.
- Stephen Dunn
Against All Things Ending - 2010
The Last Dark - 2013
Another major theme, closely related to the one just mentioned, is the psychological symbolism of the Land. It very clearly parallels Covenant's own psyche: he is filled with self-hatred, manifested in the Land as the Despiser; he is ravaged by a corrupting disease that eats away at him, similarly to the Illearth Stone, and so forth. Covenant is forced to decide whether the fundamental health and beauty of the Land is worth struggling to preserve, whether it's "real" or not, mirroring the choice he must make in his own life. In this way the fantasy genre allows the author to explore Covenant's inner workings in a very effective way.
After his return to our world, Covenant resumes his writing, publishing seven novels in ten years. Although he will never be able to return to the life he had before contracting leprosy, he seems to have come to terms with his condition and the events that transpired in The Land.
The resolution of the crisis and the defeat of the Despiser reveal another theme. Covenant discovers despite in himself, and thus that the Despiser is part of him, in a sense (figuratively, or, perhaps, even literally). Thus he does not need to combat him directly - indeed, direct conflict failed to defeat the Despiser more than once. Hence he surrenders his ring to the Despiser, and allows him to fail in his attempt to destroy the Arch of Time.
Donaldson repeats this application of Sanskrit terms to seemingly unrelated aspects of the Land to other terms, including: dukkha, dharmakshetra, ahamkara, and yajna.
The Chronicles also contain names of Semitic origin. For instance, samadhi/Satansfist is also called "Sheol", (Hebrew for the grave, the abode of the dead), moksha/Fleshharrower is also known as "Jehannum" (similar to the Hebrew "Gehinnom" and the Arabic "Jahannum", for Hell or Purgatory), and turiya/Kinslayer is also "Herem" (Hebrew for banned, excluded, excommunicated). The name of the fairy race of Elohim is the Hebrew for God or gods.
The name Bhrathair (for one of the peoples encountered by Covenant in his sea voyage) is Irish for "brothers".
I kissed my mind goodbye
At eight-oh-five this evening
I almost wondered why
At eight eighteen this evening
I drifted out to sea
And never even noticed that
I'd lost the best of me
I'd do without it gladly
I'd face my loss with calm
If I could just remember
What keeps me warm
At ten PM this evening
I kissed my soul goodbye
At ten fifteen this evening
I sat and watched it fly
At ten nineteen this evening
I saw it dim the skies
And never even recognized
My own forgotten cries
I'd do without it gladly
I'd face my grief with peace
If I could recall tasting
Just one release
Upon the stroke of midnight
I kissed my heart goodbye
Upon the stroke of midnight
I watched my passions die
Upon the stroke of midnight
I saw them burn like trash
And never even felt the change
As I slumped down to ash
I'd do without them gladly
I'd fall and be content
If I'd ever understood
What living meant
--Stephen R. Donaldson
to love he said
was that of a farmer
most love like
hunters and like
hunters most kill
what they desire
soil through toes
nose in the wet
earth he waits
prays to the gods
and slowly harvests
- Suheir Ammad
The factory siren tells workers time to go home
tells them the evening has begun.
When living with the tall man
whom I didn't love, I would wander
the streets, dreaming of Italy.
Trekking the handful of avenues
with him, he would say look there
between pink cobblestones,
there's manure like mortar.
The sweet smell of it Wednesday nights,
the night before auction,
when the misery of cows greets me
heading home through town.
Lake quiets, tired of my lies.
When will I tell truths again?
The siren. My love is home.
Nights, we stay in and X the days.
- Deborah Ager
I sent you one of each possibility.
the letter didn't arrive from a stranger,
who staggered as if drunk, dropped it
without a thought. I saw a friend
on his way to you, watched him walk it
away, two sheets of folded white paper,
waving, white flag at the end of his arm.
the electronic mail arrived, sudden and
harmless as a garter snake, appearing
in the garden I picture behind your house.
I left my voice for you, bottled as it said
a few thoughts: wondering how you are
(my letter talked about people complaining
into the cold spaces we leave our voices,
I told you my suggestion, if your voice melts
like new snow, add another layer)
waiting to hear from you, I finally imagine
the messages alive, sending a report
back from where the three of them gathered.
there was no house - they kicked at the dirt
where a campfire had burned, one turned
to another, said something was right here.
- Alex Boyd
In a cafe, once more I heard
Your voice - those sparse and frugal notes.
Do they not say that you spoke your native Greek
With an English accent?
Briefest of visions: eyes meet across the cafe;
A man of about my age - eyelids heavy,
Perhaps from recent pleasures.
I begin the most innocent of conversations.
Again I see that image;
Ancient delight of flesh
Against guiltless flesh.
Sweeter still, in its remembering.
Most innocent of conversations: once more, I am mistaken.
He leaves; the moment lost - and to forego
The squalor of this place, I read again your lines; those sparse and frugal notes.
In a taverna, you found beauty, long ago.
And when you draw, with your slim, swift pen
The image of that memory - time's patient hostage;
Then how can I forget him, that boy whom you could not forget,
Or that music, in a foreign language?
- Andrew Crumey
Oh, she was sad, oh, she was sad.
She didn't mean to do it.
Certain thrills stay tucked in your limbs,
go no further than your fingers, move your legs through their paces,
but no more. Certain thrills knock you flat
on your sheets on your bed in your room and you fade
and they fade. You falter and they're gone, gone, gone.
Certain thrills puff off you like smoke rings,
some like bell rings growing out, out, turning
brass, steel, gold, till the whole world's filled
with the gonging of your thrills.
But oh, she was sad, she was just sad, sad,
and she didn't mean to do it.
- Daisy Fried
I could not decipher the living riddle of my body
put it to sleep when it hungered, and overfed it
when time came to dream
I nearly choked on the forked tongue of my spirit
between the real and the ideal, rejecting the one
and rejected by the other
I still have not mastered that art of storm-riding
without ears to apprehend howling winds
or eyes for rolling waves
Always the weather catches me unawares, baffled
by maps, compass, stars and the entire apparatus
of bearings or warning signals
Clutching at driftwood, eyes screwed shut, I tremble
hoping the unhinged night will pass and I remember
how once I shielded my flame.
- Yahia Lababidi