sábado, 31 de março de 2012

All I want

When Joni Mitchell played (what I believe to be) the first version of the song "All I Want" on September 3rd 1970 in London, she probably did not expect it would change so much in its final version. Or maybe she did not believe it did.

For starters, it was well shorter and filled with humming. In its content, the song was – in my opinion – darker, although most of it remained in the final version. There were only three exceptions: she took out the verse ‘Do you think you're fooling me with your phony camaraderie?’, the revelation that the jealousy and greed she talk about were hers and about what she is looking for in her travels.

On the other hand, what contrasts the two versions the most – at first glance – are the additions. Indeed, they lighten the song and make it somewhat contradictive, what is it noted in one of its first verses ‘I hate you some, I love you some’. In the early version, there is no such contradiction: the relationship was troubled and failed.

The trouble however still remained. So maybe it is ok to have a change of heart, or to see things in a slighter less harsh way. Still, somehow – although I do appreciate it – I find the later version silly - or at least childish - or the rhymes make it less truthful. So maybe she’s playing a trick: and the phony version is the one fooling us.



Early Version:





Album Version:

sexta-feira, 23 de março de 2012

Tempo

Hoje olhei sua foto e lembrei de momentos que nunca vivemos,
lembrei de uma vida cheia de amor e desprovida de medo,
chorei ao pensar o quanto sou seu, e o quanto o resto de mim
ainda terá de esperar.

Planejei então o dia que mudarei os planos,
que baterei em sua porta e você dirá:
"finalmente você chegou".

Não saberia, pois, dizer
onde afinal habitam os sonhos:
se em um passado longíquo,
em um futuro certeiro,
ou na mera especulação.

Ao dormir espero finalmente compreender,
e estar onde meu coração (se) encontra...
ter a vida que a vida me negou;

Ao dormir espero finalmente perceber,
que o tempo é uma arma,
assim como uma dádiva,
e que seu retrato traga lembranças
seja o tempo quando for.




domingo, 18 de março de 2012

Pascal, o amor e Buranelli

É engraçado (?) quando se tenta entender os próprios sentimentos. Até estabelecer essa dicotomia: o coração e a razão. Como se houvesse dois oponentes em eterna batalha, ou dois debatedores que buscam, com incessantes argumentos, mostrar qual está certo.

Talvez essa ideia tenha iniciado ou, ao menos, propagado-se, quando Blaise Pascal escreveu, no século 17, a frase que seria posteriormente por tantos citadas: "Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point: on le sait en mille choses".¹ Desentrenhada de seu contexto, a máxima viraria quase uma desculpa dos apaixonados, que a repetiriam sempre que uma atitude inusitada - positiva ou negativamente - devesse ser justificada.

Basta continuar a ler o texto do matemático, contudo, para perceber a apropriação imprópria. Ao tentar separar coração e razão, Pascal nada mais fazia do que explicar sua recém renovada fé, que talvez parecesse contradizer com todo seu legado nas ciências exatas. Sua religião e sua ciência poderiam então conviver, pois habitariam em campos diferentes: "C'est le cœur qui sent Dieu, et non la raison. Voilà ce que c'est que la foi : Dieu sensible au cœur, non à la raison".¹

Ao falar do amor romântico, contudo, seu discurso inverte-se por completo: "L'on a ôté mal à propos le nom de raison à l'amour, et on les a opposés sans un bon fondement, car l'amour et la raison n'est qu'une même chose".² A separação entre amor e razão não traria que prejuízos, pois o verdadeiro amor seria aquele pensado, refletido. Que desserviço assim fariam os poetas ao cegá-lo: "Les poètes n'ont donc pas eu raison de nous dépeindre l'amour comme un aveugle; il faut lui ôter son bandeau et lui rendre désormais la jouissance de ses yeux".²

Justa ou não tal dicotomia, amor e razão permaneceriam em insistente litigância. Foi o que aconteceu, pelo menos, quando Luigi Buranelli foi sentenciado e enforcado em Londres em 1855.³ A nova onda humanista, que passaria a absolver acusados cujas razões não mais lhe serviam, falhou quando a defesa de Buranelli tentou justificar o assassinato que cometera contra o homem que denunciara as relações "impróprias" que Buranelli mantinha com uma albergueira. Não bastava pois que o coração mandasse e a razão não impedisse.

Quase duzentos anos depois, e a pergunta permanecesse a mesma: basta que o coração mande e a razão não impeça? Ou tal colocação não passa de um jogo de palavras de quem não sabe explicar as atitudes que (não) toma?








¹ Pensées de Blaise Pascal. Paris: E. Lagny, 1870, p. 26.
² Pensées, fragments et lettres de Blaise Pascal. Paris: Andrieux, 1844, p.117
³ Medical critic and psychological journal, Volume 2. London: J.W. Davies, 1862. p.83

sábado, 10 de março de 2012

The fall

At times have I experienced this very strange feeling. Though mostly, I('d) feel rather blue, every now and then I'd get the overwhelming sensation... this burning desire... a will not to die. Which is somewhat unusual, since my attitude towards death was always a friendly one. I wouldn't describe it as being exactly suicidal, but more accepting, or even acknowledging of its assets.

I guess the first time I got this unusual feeling was at the age of 17. I had just kissed my first boyfriend, which coincided with the first time I ever kissed a boy. Maybe was the curiosity to find out what so many people talked about all the time... this so called happiness. Perhaps that was first time I was ever happy and, because of it ,I did actually care whether I'd die or not.

That feeling did not last very long. As I would find out soon enough, I was not cut out for romance, even though romance was always in my head, or in my heart. For the many years to come, I'd always be in love, but receiving love would always be something very rare. So I would not feel that will not to die very often.

Four years ago, I had a chance to have that feeling. After collecting two great loves who'd broken my heart, I met the person I'd love the most. We'd be together for some time, it's true. But I can't really say that our being together meant feeling loved. It's hard to spot a single moment when I actually felt he loved me - as I did mentioned it in a past post.

But there actually was one moment when I felt that I could be loved. It was soon after we first met. We walked for a a few blocks - we'd planned to spend some time together in an apartment my family owned in the city he lived. I was so nervous to be next to someone so beautiful and who I wanted to be with so badly. And I wasn't sure if he felt anything as such. But then, as we took the elevator, he did something very close to love: he kissed me, out of the blue. That was my chance to have the feeling again.

It's true nothing would work out between us after that. Even at the end of that very day, as I expected we'd spend the night together, he told me he had to go home. The fact the I traveled for hours to be with him, and mainly the fact that I was already in love with him - which I would accidentally tell him the following week -, did not seem to matter at all.

But now, some many years later, I find myself wondering. How perfect would life be if it had ended right after that first kiss. If I'd ceased to exist having received a kiss from the person I'd love the most, and not witness his following ripping of my heart. How perfect would be to die when I wanted to live the most.