Em vão desenhas corações na janela
O barão do silêncio recruta soldados no pátio do castelo
Ele ergue a sua folha na árvore
Uma folha que se torna azul
Quando Outona
Os colmos da melancolia
Distribui no regimento
E as flores do tempo;
Com aves no cabelo
Vai enterrar as espadas.
Em vão desenhas corações na janela:
Um Deus está entre a multidão
Embalado pelo manto
Que outrora te caira dos ombros
Nas escadas,
À hora nocturna.
Outrora, quando o castelo estava em chamas
E tu falavas como os Homens: "amada"...
Ele não conhece o manto
E não chamou a estrela
E segue a folha que o antevoa.
"Ó colmo" crê ouvir "ó flor do tempo".
Paul Celan, sorry for the awful translation.
Saturday, 30 June 2007
..."the pursuit of self-esteem is a basic human motive (...) people may be motivated to convince themselves that they are respectable, good people, and doing so may at times entail misconstrual of facts. ...such self-deception can be so automatic that people may not be aware of it at all."
In Krosnick, Judd and Wittenbrink, 2005.
In Krosnick, Judd and Wittenbrink, 2005.
Friday, 29 June 2007
O Princípio da Evodeviação
Uma consequência extremamente importante do desenvolvimento de uma cultura afastada da Natureza corresponde à criação de um habitat que diverge cada vez mais e com velocidade crescente, do habitat ao qual a evolução genética adaptou o Homem. Consequentemente sinais de maladaptação filogenética são evidentes, tanto em termos fisiológicos como comportamentais.
Em Boyden, 1987
Thursday, 28 June 2007
Mercado de Miranda
The market of Miranda do Corvo is not famous, but still a place where people like to go, and they come from quite far, even from bigger towns, to shop. There is a hall where fresh produce is sold, and outside the hall all sorts of stuff is sold: shoes and plastic vessels, gold and cheap cloth. The market is every Wednesday morning and the little town bursts of activity. Currently Tilia cordata is flowering on the street margins and the fragrance fills every corner. As I lived almost one year in this town I went many times to this market and have many acquaintances there.
In the market hall there are mainly small farmers who sell their seasonal overproduction. Freshly picked fruits and vegetables abound and "Tesco value" vegetables appear as grey, old, lousy, almost unrelated, carbon sources.
Here I want to present you my favourite farmer...
And the worst...
Yes, the worst farmer. Of course, most farmer's want to make the most of their work, and as prices are so low, several have some less honest strategies to sell more or get more money out of few clients. "The worst" farmer says her stuff is cheap but keeps a part of the change for herself. And it's not that she wouldn't be able to do the maths to give the right change. My "favourite" farmer gives a huge price to her produce and then she feels guilty and offers 2 cabbages if you in fact take her price.
Tuesday, 26 June 2007
Lilly Kolisko
Kolisko's book "Agriculture of tomorrow" can be ordered as pdf, free of charge at:http://www.soilandhealth.org/01aglibrary/01aglibwelcome.html |
Lilly Kolisko developed the Capillary Dynamolisis method (Steigbildmethode), testing the idea that not only the moon, but the other planets as well, have an influence over earthly fluids. To test this, she dissolved metals classically associated to each planet and observed the pictures left by their absorption over a filter paper. She noticed consistent differences of the patterns according to the position of the planets in relation to sun and earth. Lilly Kolisko also worked on the development of a remedy for foot and mouth disease.Thursday, 14 June 2007
"Crisis and change in rural Europe"
Agricultural marginalization has often been described as a result of lack of capacity to innovate, attachment to inefficient traditional practices and overall: backwardness. Agricultural policies are founded on a set of assumptions about why certain regions have not undergone the same modernization of agriculture that others have. Black (1992) analyzed rural and agricultural marginalization from a “regional political ecology” perspective and assessed the validity of several assumptions on which agricultural policies are based, conducting a case-study in the Serra do Alvão.
1 - Small farm size and fragmentation of landholdings - frequently seen as a core cause of delayed agricultural development. Central to this view is that increased farm size allows for economies of scale to be achieved, through more rational use of machinery and lower management costs.
However, fragmentation may not be that important reducing productivity and advantages can even be derived from fragmented landholdings. Geographically spread plots allow ecological risks of production loss to be spread and increased adaptation of crops to ecological conditions in relation to farmers with single plots. Different ecological conditions in different plots also allow for the production of a higher diversity of crops. On different plots farm work may be due at different times, reducing the labour bottleneck.
Small farms in itself are not a barrier to high productivity and development. Regarding innovation, small farms only lag behind innovation in expensive machinery, but they readily adopt new seeds, fertilizers and other techniques.
Inheritance of land may not be the sole cause of fragmentation, as much land is traded (about 50% on the Alvão case study). It is not appropriate to blame landholding structure as the main cause of the agricultural crisis.
2 – Too large agricultural population - it was frequently assumed that reducing the agricultural population would allow the remaining farmers to have higher incomes (strangely, at the same time, the depopulation of rural areas was seen as problematic). However, depopulation can have devastating effects as "extraction of labour from rural areas can compromise land management practices and lead to land degradation".
3 – Small-farms are isolated from the market economy - instead farmers decide to participate in the market or not to do so when the conditions are unfavorable; farms in the Alvão region do not operate according to the logic of profit maximization. Northern Portuguese agriculture is basically non viable and operates primarily to meet subsistence needs. Whitllesey (1936) says commercial farmers produce to sell - capitalist mode - whereas subsistence farmers produce to meet their food requirements and sell what remains after the household requirements are met, therefore they are better off to resist fluctuations of the market. The viability of the minifundio system has often been analyzed in terms of either transformation along capitalist lines or oblivion.
However it is suggested (Cabral, 1986) that small farmers can withdraw from the market when the conditions are unfavorable and benefit from it when the terms of trade favor them. Thus they can protect themselves from higher market prices through self-supply. The commercialization of agriculture is a priority for the Portuguese government (in 1989). However, "integration of a rural economy into wider capitalist markets leads to marginalization of smaller producers, either through the effect of competition on their viability or as a result of the extraction of surplus value." (p.129).
4 - Poor farmers degrade natural resources and use them inefficiently - instead Black suggests "Poorer farmers may put in more work to stave off environmental marginalization, even if this involves their own self-exploitation, and increasing economic marginality. In contrast, the politically and economically powerful, in seeking market based solutions, may act in ways that are detrimental to environmental quality" (p. 167). Specialization in cash-crops undermines the continuation of the complex farming systems, where multiple benefits are derived from the association of products and production practices.
"If external, European wide factors, have contributed to a process which, however loosely, we might describe as marginalization of small farmers, there must be a role for European policy in seeking to address the crisis that is a consequence of that process." (p.181). The increased welfare of farmers, as an important agricultural policy aim, should focus on more equitable distribution of resources. Rather than subsidizing rich farmers on productive land, it should help the farmers living below the EC poverty line.
Black suggests that it is not the victims of agricultural marginalization to be blamed for low agricultural productivity and farm income. Rather, externally driven political and economic issues are at the core of marginalization and need to be addressed, but these causes have not been "seen" in Portugal at scientific or policy level (at least in 1992). However it should not be forgotten that the power relations between the local and the national are bi-directional; not only national policies influence the local, but also local power relationships can influence outcomes at higher levels, and their impacts on the local area (e.g. Lamas d'Olo managed to avoid the forestation of their common land in the 1940's).
Black, R (1992). Crisis and Change in Rural Europe. Athenaeum Press, Avebury
Obrigada, Mirjam, for directing my attention to this book!
1 - Small farm size and fragmentation of landholdings - frequently seen as a core cause of delayed agricultural development. Central to this view is that increased farm size allows for economies of scale to be achieved, through more rational use of machinery and lower management costs.
However, fragmentation may not be that important reducing productivity and advantages can even be derived from fragmented landholdings. Geographically spread plots allow ecological risks of production loss to be spread and increased adaptation of crops to ecological conditions in relation to farmers with single plots. Different ecological conditions in different plots also allow for the production of a higher diversity of crops. On different plots farm work may be due at different times, reducing the labour bottleneck.
Small farms in itself are not a barrier to high productivity and development. Regarding innovation, small farms only lag behind innovation in expensive machinery, but they readily adopt new seeds, fertilizers and other techniques.
Inheritance of land may not be the sole cause of fragmentation, as much land is traded (about 50% on the Alvão case study). It is not appropriate to blame landholding structure as the main cause of the agricultural crisis.
2 – Too large agricultural population - it was frequently assumed that reducing the agricultural population would allow the remaining farmers to have higher incomes (strangely, at the same time, the depopulation of rural areas was seen as problematic). However, depopulation can have devastating effects as "extraction of labour from rural areas can compromise land management practices and lead to land degradation".
3 – Small-farms are isolated from the market economy - instead farmers decide to participate in the market or not to do so when the conditions are unfavorable; farms in the Alvão region do not operate according to the logic of profit maximization. Northern Portuguese agriculture is basically non viable and operates primarily to meet subsistence needs. Whitllesey (1936) says commercial farmers produce to sell - capitalist mode - whereas subsistence farmers produce to meet their food requirements and sell what remains after the household requirements are met, therefore they are better off to resist fluctuations of the market. The viability of the minifundio system has often been analyzed in terms of either transformation along capitalist lines or oblivion.
However it is suggested (Cabral, 1986) that small farmers can withdraw from the market when the conditions are unfavorable and benefit from it when the terms of trade favor them. Thus they can protect themselves from higher market prices through self-supply. The commercialization of agriculture is a priority for the Portuguese government (in 1989). However, "integration of a rural economy into wider capitalist markets leads to marginalization of smaller producers, either through the effect of competition on their viability or as a result of the extraction of surplus value." (p.129).
4 - Poor farmers degrade natural resources and use them inefficiently - instead Black suggests "Poorer farmers may put in more work to stave off environmental marginalization, even if this involves their own self-exploitation, and increasing economic marginality. In contrast, the politically and economically powerful, in seeking market based solutions, may act in ways that are detrimental to environmental quality" (p. 167). Specialization in cash-crops undermines the continuation of the complex farming systems, where multiple benefits are derived from the association of products and production practices.
"If external, European wide factors, have contributed to a process which, however loosely, we might describe as marginalization of small farmers, there must be a role for European policy in seeking to address the crisis that is a consequence of that process." (p.181). The increased welfare of farmers, as an important agricultural policy aim, should focus on more equitable distribution of resources. Rather than subsidizing rich farmers on productive land, it should help the farmers living below the EC poverty line.
Black suggests that it is not the victims of agricultural marginalization to be blamed for low agricultural productivity and farm income. Rather, externally driven political and economic issues are at the core of marginalization and need to be addressed, but these causes have not been "seen" in Portugal at scientific or policy level (at least in 1992). However it should not be forgotten that the power relations between the local and the national are bi-directional; not only national policies influence the local, but also local power relationships can influence outcomes at higher levels, and their impacts on the local area (e.g. Lamas d'Olo managed to avoid the forestation of their common land in the 1940's).
Black, R (1992). Crisis and Change in Rural Europe. Athenaeum Press, Avebury
Obrigada, Mirjam, for directing my attention to this book!
Wednesday, 13 June 2007
Calf path of the mind
One day through the primeval wood
A calf walked home as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And I infer the calf is dead;
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale
The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bell-whether sheep
Pursued the trail o'er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made.
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because 'twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed - do not laugh -
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane
That bent and turned and turned again;
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.
The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;
And this before men were aware,
A city's crowded thoroughfare.
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed this zigzag calf about
And o'er crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way,
And lost one hundred years a day;
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the Calf-path of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do,
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf.
Ah, many things this tale might teach
- But I am not ordained to preach.
Sam Walter Foss
A calf walked home as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And I infer the calf is dead;
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale
The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bell-whether sheep
Pursued the trail o'er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made.
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because 'twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed - do not laugh -
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane
That bent and turned and turned again;
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.
The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;
And this before men were aware,
A city's crowded thoroughfare.
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed this zigzag calf about
And o'er crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way,
And lost one hundred years a day;
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the Calf-path of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do,
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf.
Ah, many things this tale might teach
- But I am not ordained to preach.
Sam Walter Foss
Sunday, 10 June 2007
These flowers are for my sister. For years, on every 10th of June I woke up in the morning before the others woke up, and run through the dew to the other side of the river, straight to the hill belonging to D. Mercedes, where Rosa canina shrubs were flowering, to collect some for my sister.
Then I usually joined forces with my other sister to copy the poem "7 Tanten" from Eugen Roth, that should not be missed on the birthday table for my sister. Original we were and foolish we still are.
Saturday, 9 June 2007
Friday, 8 June 2007
Structural Forces and The System
Easy enough to blame something else, but ourselves. Is there really something outside, part of the social organization, which urges us to adapt certain behaviours we would not normally have if there weren’t those “structural forces”?
I think yes, there are structural forces, and they come down to individuals’ Selbsterhaltungstrieb, i.e. the instinct of individuals to keep alive. What an individual needs to do in order to keep alive is in fact determined in a large part by the social organization. In a de-territorialized capitalist society, to keep livelihood security you need to do quite different things than you needed in an agrarian society. What do you need to do to keep your job? Don’t you need to bow to (or at least follow) a load of unwritten rules? All small and big ills of society provide livelihood security to someone and therefore they are maintained. What puts oneself or ones livelihood into question is tabu.
Not only the feedback loop between human activities and ecological impacts is weakened in a de-territorialized society, but isn’t also the impact of our actions on other humans completely out of reach, and the feedback between moral deeds and own satisfaction is weakened as well? In a localized society, if we dump our wastes in the neighbours’ backyard it is very likely that we will have to face the neighbour’s feedback. In a de-territorialized society, when I dump my wastes in the garbage bin and that goes to a landfill, it is the enterprise running the landfill that has to cope with resistance from the local population, not me. Therefore I don’t care to produce as much waste as I manage. I won’t be exposed more to direct consequences if I produce 1 Kg of waste a day or 10 Kg. So what’s my point in reducing waste production? This is a moral disconnect. How can we become “better” if this connection, that allows for the feedback that promotes learning and adaptation, is non existent or very weak? Will we become even more evil over time? Homo oeconomicus is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
E ainda para mais, Helena Norberg-Hodge is right when she says that human relations are becoming weaker as well. Formerly we were dependent upon each other and therefore we had to find ways to deal with each other. However tuff this is, it stimulates personal development and gives one the feeling of being needed on the planet, I believe. Nowadays money substitutes for human relations. If formerly some relative had to care for another when he was sick, nowadays the sick pays for someone to look after him. With an increased commoditization of goods and services, more and more things become interchangeable with money, and, as a result, human care and direct interaction become obsolete.
Peace is war. 1984.
I think yes, there are structural forces, and they come down to individuals’ Selbsterhaltungstrieb, i.e. the instinct of individuals to keep alive. What an individual needs to do in order to keep alive is in fact determined in a large part by the social organization. In a de-territorialized capitalist society, to keep livelihood security you need to do quite different things than you needed in an agrarian society. What do you need to do to keep your job? Don’t you need to bow to (or at least follow) a load of unwritten rules? All small and big ills of society provide livelihood security to someone and therefore they are maintained. What puts oneself or ones livelihood into question is tabu.
Not only the feedback loop between human activities and ecological impacts is weakened in a de-territorialized society, but isn’t also the impact of our actions on other humans completely out of reach, and the feedback between moral deeds and own satisfaction is weakened as well? In a localized society, if we dump our wastes in the neighbours’ backyard it is very likely that we will have to face the neighbour’s feedback. In a de-territorialized society, when I dump my wastes in the garbage bin and that goes to a landfill, it is the enterprise running the landfill that has to cope with resistance from the local population, not me. Therefore I don’t care to produce as much waste as I manage. I won’t be exposed more to direct consequences if I produce 1 Kg of waste a day or 10 Kg. So what’s my point in reducing waste production? This is a moral disconnect. How can we become “better” if this connection, that allows for the feedback that promotes learning and adaptation, is non existent or very weak? Will we become even more evil over time? Homo oeconomicus is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
E ainda para mais, Helena Norberg-Hodge is right when she says that human relations are becoming weaker as well. Formerly we were dependent upon each other and therefore we had to find ways to deal with each other. However tuff this is, it stimulates personal development and gives one the feeling of being needed on the planet, I believe. Nowadays money substitutes for human relations. If formerly some relative had to care for another when he was sick, nowadays the sick pays for someone to look after him. With an increased commoditization of goods and services, more and more things become interchangeable with money, and, as a result, human care and direct interaction become obsolete.
Peace is war. 1984.
Tuesday, 5 June 2007
When the wolves howl
“Quando os lobos uivam” is a novel by Aquilino Ribeiro, published in 1958. It gives a very accurate description of the peasants/Serranos of the central and northern mountain ranges of Portugal (my study area). This book is certainly untranslatable, because its essence is the expressions and the worldview of the Serranos…
“Qual o quê?!” is extremely expressive and I can’t imagine any equiparable wording in English; similarly, “That’s lovely!” has no reasonable translation into Portuguese.
The book starts with Manuel Louvadeus coming back from Brazil after 10 years. His family thought he was dead, but one evening he nocks at the door of their little granite hut in the village where nothing at all has changed. He is talking with his wife when the whole population of the village comes to his doorstep to see him. They hang around and Manuel Louvadeus is told about the expropriation of the commons that the government is planning.
The villagers wonder if Manuel Louvadeus brought much money from Brazil or not. He sometimes pretends to be a rich man. Once he sits with his father, Teotonio Louvadeus, on his land Rochambana and says he wants to build a house there. His father teases him and says that this is quite an expensive business and asks if he brought any money at all from Brazil. Manuel lays on the floor, broken down, and then starts to tell his father about his adventures in Brazil.
He and another Portuguese, Serôdio, travelled together and found employment in the diamante and amethyst mines and started to illegally put precious stones aside. When they had quite a stock of stones they wanted to run away and to sell the stones. But, one day Serôdio and the woman he was with, Maturina, run away with the stones and Manuel was left with nothing. He planned vengeance and searched them all over with the help of another mine worker. Finally he found them and harassed his former friend with his knife in order for him to tell Manuel where the stones were. In the intent to return to the mining camp and recover the stones left there, they travelled together, Serôdio as a prisoner. But, one day, the other man who helped Manuel to find Serôdio and Maturina, killed Serôdio and run away with Maturina. Manuel returned to Portugal with nothing, but he started to imagine that the precious stones were still hidden in a particular hole in the forest close to the mining site.
Meanwhile Manuel gets accustomed again to the village life and he is present in the meeting where representatives from the Forest Service explain the villagers their forestation program. The villagers will not be allowed to use the mountain anymore, from which they had derived fodder, wood, “manure” and pasture for their livestock for time immemorial.
However, one of the richest villagers, Lêndeas, makes a deal with the forester Lisuarte Streit, and he employs his 2 sons, Bruno and Modesto as forest wards. Therefore people in the village start to be split about the benefits of the forestation program.
However, the villagers in general are very angry and on the day when the machines come to start the forestation, the population from all villages surrounding and dependent on the resources of the mountain move up to where the people of the forestry service want to start work. The villagers are armed with their hoes, knifes and some weapons. The forestry service, however, was expecting resistance and was accompanied by the police. A little battle starts in which 4 people die and several are injured. The forestation program is put in place anyway, and many wards are needed to allow it to proceed, because many sabotage acts are carried out by the villagers.
Many villagers are imprisoned and are judged, however little they have contributed to the battle at the beginning of the forestation work. They are suspected to be “Criptocommunists” even though they have no clue about political doctrines. A nice dialogue in the tribunal goes like this:
“And you have been reading Karl Marx, haven’t you?!”
“Carlos Marques?...”
Bruno, the son of Lêndeas, is a witness and he says that Manuel Louvadeus was somehow a key figure coordinating the resistance against the state. As a consequence, Manuel is imprisoned for 3 years. Teotonio Louvadeus is heard to say “You will pay for this - dog!”
Bruno who is now a forest ward starts to courtship Jorgina, Manuel’s daughter, much to the disapproval of Teotonio Louvadeus, who knows that he had been together with Manuel’s wife when she thought Manuel died in Brazil. Teotonio trains his dog to hate Bruno, and to keep him away from the window where he uses to come to talk to Jorgina. One day the dog is found dead.
Teotonio Louvadeus prepares everything to kill Bruno and succeeds, one night when Bruno is returning from the forest to his village, Urrô do Anjo. In the same night Teotonio and his grandson burry Bruno in the river bed, diverting the water to the fields while they shovel the grave. Despite the corps not being found Teotonio is the main suspect of having killed Bruno. But after a while people start to think Bruno run away because he had too many enemies in the village and then they forget about him.
When Manuel comes out of prison he returns to his village only for a short while. Then he tells his father that he will go to Brazil to bring the precious stones home, because he is sure now where they are hidden. He wants to come back rich and to improve village life, bringing sanitation, electricity and health services to the mountain. However…time passes and Manuel never returns from Brazil.
At the day of the village’s saint, in summer, Teotonio Louvadeus borrows a mule and starts fires everywhere in the newly grown state forest. The fire burns for several days and most of the forest is destroyed.
In winter there is a big storm and a huge flood. And the story ends with the wolves, who are roaming around, very hungry, after the storm and find some bones swept at the riverside. Some people come; the wolves move away and observe from some distance how a group of people finds the bones.
2 excerpts that describe the role of the state now and then...
“Faça o senhor doutor engenheiro boa viagem e não nos lançe às feras!” exclamou João Rebordão.
“Vossoria lá fará” - exprimiu Manuel do Rosário, de Azenha da Moura. “Mas vá com a certeza de que não damos o braço a torcer!”
“Se quiserem guerra têm-na! Acrescentou o delgado da Ponte do Junco, as mandíbulas projectadas num ameaço façanhudo.
“Nós também não vamos a Lisboa cobiçar os relvados, que lá há, para pastagem das nossas vacas” gracejou Ribelas. “Pois podia-se lhe chamar aproveitar terra!”
Governo para o aldeão é sinónimo de Estado e de tudo o que dá leis, uma quadrilha de olho vivo. Já lhes levaram coiro e camisa em contribuições, tributos, posturas, alcavalas de vária ordem, e vinham ainda esbulhá-los da serra! Hoje a serra amanhã, por uma razão análoga, corriam-nos de casa para fora. Ah, cachaporra dum santo! O que todos queriam era viver à custa da barba longa, mãos brancas com bons anéis, bom automóvel, amigas para o gozo e criadas para todo o serviço que vinham buscar aos viveiros da plebe, cabritos gordos que se criavam nos ferregiais, e trutas que eles serranos estavam proibidos de pescar nos seus rios. Que maiores carrascões e ladrões!?
“Qual o quê?!” is extremely expressive and I can’t imagine any equiparable wording in English; similarly, “That’s lovely!” has no reasonable translation into Portuguese.
The book starts with Manuel Louvadeus coming back from Brazil after 10 years. His family thought he was dead, but one evening he nocks at the door of their little granite hut in the village where nothing at all has changed. He is talking with his wife when the whole population of the village comes to his doorstep to see him. They hang around and Manuel Louvadeus is told about the expropriation of the commons that the government is planning.
The villagers wonder if Manuel Louvadeus brought much money from Brazil or not. He sometimes pretends to be a rich man. Once he sits with his father, Teotonio Louvadeus, on his land Rochambana and says he wants to build a house there. His father teases him and says that this is quite an expensive business and asks if he brought any money at all from Brazil. Manuel lays on the floor, broken down, and then starts to tell his father about his adventures in Brazil.
He and another Portuguese, Serôdio, travelled together and found employment in the diamante and amethyst mines and started to illegally put precious stones aside. When they had quite a stock of stones they wanted to run away and to sell the stones. But, one day Serôdio and the woman he was with, Maturina, run away with the stones and Manuel was left with nothing. He planned vengeance and searched them all over with the help of another mine worker. Finally he found them and harassed his former friend with his knife in order for him to tell Manuel where the stones were. In the intent to return to the mining camp and recover the stones left there, they travelled together, Serôdio as a prisoner. But, one day, the other man who helped Manuel to find Serôdio and Maturina, killed Serôdio and run away with Maturina. Manuel returned to Portugal with nothing, but he started to imagine that the precious stones were still hidden in a particular hole in the forest close to the mining site.
Meanwhile Manuel gets accustomed again to the village life and he is present in the meeting where representatives from the Forest Service explain the villagers their forestation program. The villagers will not be allowed to use the mountain anymore, from which they had derived fodder, wood, “manure” and pasture for their livestock for time immemorial.
However, one of the richest villagers, Lêndeas, makes a deal with the forester Lisuarte Streit, and he employs his 2 sons, Bruno and Modesto as forest wards. Therefore people in the village start to be split about the benefits of the forestation program.
However, the villagers in general are very angry and on the day when the machines come to start the forestation, the population from all villages surrounding and dependent on the resources of the mountain move up to where the people of the forestry service want to start work. The villagers are armed with their hoes, knifes and some weapons. The forestry service, however, was expecting resistance and was accompanied by the police. A little battle starts in which 4 people die and several are injured. The forestation program is put in place anyway, and many wards are needed to allow it to proceed, because many sabotage acts are carried out by the villagers.
Many villagers are imprisoned and are judged, however little they have contributed to the battle at the beginning of the forestation work. They are suspected to be “Criptocommunists” even though they have no clue about political doctrines. A nice dialogue in the tribunal goes like this:
“And you have been reading Karl Marx, haven’t you?!”
“Carlos Marques?...”
Bruno, the son of Lêndeas, is a witness and he says that Manuel Louvadeus was somehow a key figure coordinating the resistance against the state. As a consequence, Manuel is imprisoned for 3 years. Teotonio Louvadeus is heard to say “You will pay for this - dog!”
Bruno who is now a forest ward starts to courtship Jorgina, Manuel’s daughter, much to the disapproval of Teotonio Louvadeus, who knows that he had been together with Manuel’s wife when she thought Manuel died in Brazil. Teotonio trains his dog to hate Bruno, and to keep him away from the window where he uses to come to talk to Jorgina. One day the dog is found dead.
Teotonio Louvadeus prepares everything to kill Bruno and succeeds, one night when Bruno is returning from the forest to his village, Urrô do Anjo. In the same night Teotonio and his grandson burry Bruno in the river bed, diverting the water to the fields while they shovel the grave. Despite the corps not being found Teotonio is the main suspect of having killed Bruno. But after a while people start to think Bruno run away because he had too many enemies in the village and then they forget about him.
When Manuel comes out of prison he returns to his village only for a short while. Then he tells his father that he will go to Brazil to bring the precious stones home, because he is sure now where they are hidden. He wants to come back rich and to improve village life, bringing sanitation, electricity and health services to the mountain. However…time passes and Manuel never returns from Brazil.
At the day of the village’s saint, in summer, Teotonio Louvadeus borrows a mule and starts fires everywhere in the newly grown state forest. The fire burns for several days and most of the forest is destroyed.
In winter there is a big storm and a huge flood. And the story ends with the wolves, who are roaming around, very hungry, after the storm and find some bones swept at the riverside. Some people come; the wolves move away and observe from some distance how a group of people finds the bones.
2 excerpts that describe the role of the state now and then...
“Faça o senhor doutor engenheiro boa viagem e não nos lançe às feras!” exclamou João Rebordão.
“Vossoria lá fará” - exprimiu Manuel do Rosário, de Azenha da Moura. “Mas vá com a certeza de que não damos o braço a torcer!”
“Se quiserem guerra têm-na! Acrescentou o delgado da Ponte do Junco, as mandíbulas projectadas num ameaço façanhudo.
“Nós também não vamos a Lisboa cobiçar os relvados, que lá há, para pastagem das nossas vacas” gracejou Ribelas. “Pois podia-se lhe chamar aproveitar terra!”
Governo para o aldeão é sinónimo de Estado e de tudo o que dá leis, uma quadrilha de olho vivo. Já lhes levaram coiro e camisa em contribuições, tributos, posturas, alcavalas de vária ordem, e vinham ainda esbulhá-los da serra! Hoje a serra amanhã, por uma razão análoga, corriam-nos de casa para fora. Ah, cachaporra dum santo! O que todos queriam era viver à custa da barba longa, mãos brancas com bons anéis, bom automóvel, amigas para o gozo e criadas para todo o serviço que vinham buscar aos viveiros da plebe, cabritos gordos que se criavam nos ferregiais, e trutas que eles serranos estavam proibidos de pescar nos seus rios. Que maiores carrascões e ladrões!?
Wellcome, Timo!
I'm an aunt since 9h30! Isn't that great?! Since exactly 1h!
Freude, schöner Götterfunken,Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligthum.
Deine Zauber binden wieder, Was die Mode streng getheilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.
Chor.
Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt!
Brüder - überm Sternenzelt
Muß ein lieber Vater wohnen.
Wem der große Wurf gelungen, Eines Freundes Freund zu sein,
Wer ein holdes Weib errungen, Mische seinen Jubel ein!
Ja - wer auch nur eine Seele Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!
Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle Weinend sich aus diesem Bund.
Chor.
Was den großen Ring bewohnet,
Huldige der Sympathie!
Zu den Sternen leitet sie,
Wo der Unbekannte thronet.
Freude heißt die starke Feder In der ewigen Natur.
Freude, Freude treibt die Räder In der großen Weltenuhr.
Blumen lockt sie aus den Keimen, Sonnen aus dem Firmament,
Sphären rollt sie in den Räumen, Die des Sehers Rohr nicht kennt.
Chor.
Froh, wie seine Sonnen fliegen
Durch des Himmel prächt'gen Plan,
Wandelt, Brüder, eure Bahn,
Freudig, wie ein Held zu Siegen.
Göttern kann man nicht vergelten; Schön ist's, ihnen gleich zu sein.
Gram und Armuth soll sich melden, Mit den Frohen sich erfreun.
Groll und Rache sei vergessen, Unserm Todfeind sei verziehn.
Keine Thräne soll ihn pressen, Keine Reue nage ihn.
Chor.
Unser Schuldbuch sei vernichtet!
Ausgesöhnt die ganze Welt!
Brüder - überm Sternenzelt
Richtet Gott, wie wir gerichtet.
Freude, schöner Götterfunken,Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligthum.
Deine Zauber binden wieder, Was die Mode streng getheilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.
Chor.
Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt!
Brüder - überm Sternenzelt
Muß ein lieber Vater wohnen.
(F. Schiller)
Čechomor
Divinal! Ai que saudadinhas, sabe se la de que...
Como ainda nao consigo importar os videos, sigam o link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwO7ypcb6z4&mode=related&search
This is like Christmas.
Como ainda nao consigo importar os videos, sigam o link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwO7ypcb6z4&mode=related&search
This is like Christmas.
Monday, 4 June 2007
Damned development?
Vilarinho da Furna was a village in the northern Portuguese national Park Peneda-Geres. It was flooded when an hydroelectric dam was built in 1970. In summer, when the water level is low, the ruins can be seen. (Pictures from Antunes, 2001 - be so kind and click on them if you want to see them propperly).
This is an extract from an e-mail I received today (emphasis added):
"the fact that we have water from a damn that provides for the whole region all year round"
Lapso Freudiano?!
Lapso Freudiano?!
Sunday, 3 June 2007
Hora absurda
O teu silêncio é uma nau com todas as velas pandas...
Brandas, as brisas brincam nas flâmulas, teu sorriso...
E o teu sorriso no teu silêncio é as escadas e as andas
Com que me finjo mais alto e ao pé de qualquer paraíso...
Meu coração é uma ânfora que cai e que se parte...
O teu silêncio recolhe-o e guarda-o, partido, a um canto...
Minha ideia de ti é um cadáver que o mar traz à praia..., e entanto
Tu és a tela irreal em que erro em cor a minha arte...
Abre todas as portas e que o vento varra a ideia
Que temos de que um fumo perfuma de ócio os salões...
Minha alma é uma caverna enchida p’la maré cheia,
E a minha ideia de te sonhar uma caverna de histriões...
Chove ouro baço, mas não no lá-fora...É em mim... Sou a Hora,
E a Hora é de assombros e toda ela escombros dela...
Na minha atenção há uma viúva pobre que nunca chora...
No meu céu interior nunca houve uma única estrela...
Hoje o céu é pesado como a ideia de nunca chegar a um porto...
A chuva miúda é vazia... A Hora sabe a ter sido...
Não haver qualquer coisa como leitos para as naus!...Absorto
Em se alhear de sí, teu olhar é uma praga sem sentido...
Todas as minhas horas são feitas de jaspe negro,
Minha ânsias todas talhadas num mármore que não há,
Não é alegria nem dor esta dor com que me alegro,
E a minha bondade inversa não é boa nem má...
Os feixes dos lectores abriram-se à beira dos caminhos...
Os pendões das vitórias medievais nem chegaram às cruzadas...
Puseram in-fólios úteis entre as pedras das barricadas...
E a erva cresceu nas vias férreas com viços daninhos...
Ah, como esta hora é velha!...E todas as naus partiram!
Na praia só um cabo morto e uns restos de vela falam
Do Longe, das horas do Sul, de onde os nossos sonhos tiram
Aquela angústia de sonhar mais que até para si calam...
O palácio está em ruínas...Dói ver no parque o abandono
Da fonte sem repuxo...Ninguêm ergue o olhar da estrada
E sente saudades de si ante aquele lugar Outono...
Esta paisagem é um manuscrito com a frase mais bela cortada...
A doida partiu todos os candelabros glabros,
Sujou de humano o lago com cartas rasgadas, muitas...
E a minha alma é aquela luz que não mais haverá nos candelabros...
E que querem ao lado aziago minhas ânsias, brisas fortuitas?...
Porque me aflijo e me enfermo?...Deitam-se nuas ao luar
Todas as ninfas...Veio o sol e já tinham partido...
O teu silêncio que me embala é a ideia de naufragar,
E a ideia de a tua voz soar a lira dum Apolo fingido...
Já não há caudas de pavões todas olhos nos jardins de outrora...
As próprias sombras estão mais tristes...Ainda
Há rastos de vestes de aias (parece) no chão, e ainda chora
Um como que eco de passos pela alameda que eis finda...
Todos os ocasos fundiram-se na minha alma...
As relvas de todos os prados foram frescas sob meus pés frios...
Secou em teu olhar a ideia de te julgares calma,
E eu ver isso em ti é um porto sem navios...
...
Ergueram-se a um tempo todos os remos...Pelo ouro das searas
Passou uma saudade de não serem mar...Em frente
Ao meu trono de alheamento há gestos com pedras raras...
Minha alma é uma lâmpada que se apagou e ainda está quente...
Ah, e o teu silêncio é um perfil de píncaro ao sol!
Todas as princesas sentiram o seio oprimido...
Da última janela do castelo só um girassol
Se vê, e o sonhar que há outros põe brumas no noso sentido...
...
E eu deliro...De repente pauso no que penso...Fito-te
E o silêncio é uma cegueira minha...Fito-te e sonho...
Há coisas rubras e cobras no modo como medito-te,
E a tua ideia sabe à lembrança de um sabor medonho...
Para que não ter por ti desprezo? Porque não perdê-lo?...
Ah, deixa que eu te ignore... O teu silêncio é um leque –
Um leque fechado, um leque que aberto seria tão belo, tão belo,
Mas mais belo é não o abrir, para que a Hora não peque...
Gelaram todas as mãos cruzadas sobre todos os peitos...
Murcharam mais flores do que as que havia no jardim...
O meu amar-te é uma catedral de silêncios eleitos,
E os meus sonhos uma escada sem princípio mas com fim...
...
É preciso destruir o propósito de todas as pontes,
Vesitr de alheamento as paisagens de todas as terras,
Endireitas à força a curva dos horizontes,
E gemer por ter de viver, como um ruído brusco de serras...
Há tão pouca gente que ame as paisagens que não existem!...
Saber que continuará a haver o mesmo mundo amanhã – como nos desalegra!...
Que o meu ouvir o teu silêncio não seja nuvens que atristem
O teu sorriso, anjo exilado, eo teu tédio, auréola negra...
Suave, como ter mãe e irmãs, a tarde rica desce...
Não chove já, e o vasto céu é um grande sorriso imperfeito...
A minha consciência de ter consciência de ti é uma prece,
E o meu saber-te a sorrir é uma flor murcha a meu peito...
...
O que me tortura?...Se até a tua face calma
Só me enche de tédios e de ópios de ócios medonhos...
Não sei...Eu sou um doido que estanha a sua própria alma....
Eu fui amado em efígie num país para além dos sonhos...
Fernando Pessoa
Brandas, as brisas brincam nas flâmulas, teu sorriso...
E o teu sorriso no teu silêncio é as escadas e as andas
Com que me finjo mais alto e ao pé de qualquer paraíso...
Meu coração é uma ânfora que cai e que se parte...
O teu silêncio recolhe-o e guarda-o, partido, a um canto...
Minha ideia de ti é um cadáver que o mar traz à praia..., e entanto
Tu és a tela irreal em que erro em cor a minha arte...
Abre todas as portas e que o vento varra a ideia
Que temos de que um fumo perfuma de ócio os salões...
Minha alma é uma caverna enchida p’la maré cheia,
E a minha ideia de te sonhar uma caverna de histriões...
Chove ouro baço, mas não no lá-fora...É em mim... Sou a Hora,
E a Hora é de assombros e toda ela escombros dela...
Na minha atenção há uma viúva pobre que nunca chora...
No meu céu interior nunca houve uma única estrela...
Hoje o céu é pesado como a ideia de nunca chegar a um porto...
A chuva miúda é vazia... A Hora sabe a ter sido...
Não haver qualquer coisa como leitos para as naus!...Absorto
Em se alhear de sí, teu olhar é uma praga sem sentido...
Todas as minhas horas são feitas de jaspe negro,
Minha ânsias todas talhadas num mármore que não há,
Não é alegria nem dor esta dor com que me alegro,
E a minha bondade inversa não é boa nem má...
Os feixes dos lectores abriram-se à beira dos caminhos...
Os pendões das vitórias medievais nem chegaram às cruzadas...
Puseram in-fólios úteis entre as pedras das barricadas...
E a erva cresceu nas vias férreas com viços daninhos...
Ah, como esta hora é velha!...E todas as naus partiram!
Na praia só um cabo morto e uns restos de vela falam
Do Longe, das horas do Sul, de onde os nossos sonhos tiram
Aquela angústia de sonhar mais que até para si calam...
O palácio está em ruínas...Dói ver no parque o abandono
Da fonte sem repuxo...Ninguêm ergue o olhar da estrada
E sente saudades de si ante aquele lugar Outono...
Esta paisagem é um manuscrito com a frase mais bela cortada...
A doida partiu todos os candelabros glabros,
Sujou de humano o lago com cartas rasgadas, muitas...
E a minha alma é aquela luz que não mais haverá nos candelabros...
E que querem ao lado aziago minhas ânsias, brisas fortuitas?...
Porque me aflijo e me enfermo?...Deitam-se nuas ao luar
Todas as ninfas...Veio o sol e já tinham partido...
O teu silêncio que me embala é a ideia de naufragar,
E a ideia de a tua voz soar a lira dum Apolo fingido...
Já não há caudas de pavões todas olhos nos jardins de outrora...
As próprias sombras estão mais tristes...Ainda
Há rastos de vestes de aias (parece) no chão, e ainda chora
Um como que eco de passos pela alameda que eis finda...
Todos os ocasos fundiram-se na minha alma...
As relvas de todos os prados foram frescas sob meus pés frios...
Secou em teu olhar a ideia de te julgares calma,
E eu ver isso em ti é um porto sem navios...
...
Ergueram-se a um tempo todos os remos...Pelo ouro das searas
Passou uma saudade de não serem mar...Em frente
Ao meu trono de alheamento há gestos com pedras raras...
Minha alma é uma lâmpada que se apagou e ainda está quente...
Ah, e o teu silêncio é um perfil de píncaro ao sol!
Todas as princesas sentiram o seio oprimido...
Da última janela do castelo só um girassol
Se vê, e o sonhar que há outros põe brumas no noso sentido...
...
E eu deliro...De repente pauso no que penso...Fito-te
E o silêncio é uma cegueira minha...Fito-te e sonho...
Há coisas rubras e cobras no modo como medito-te,
E a tua ideia sabe à lembrança de um sabor medonho...
Para que não ter por ti desprezo? Porque não perdê-lo?...
Ah, deixa que eu te ignore... O teu silêncio é um leque –
Um leque fechado, um leque que aberto seria tão belo, tão belo,
Mas mais belo é não o abrir, para que a Hora não peque...
Gelaram todas as mãos cruzadas sobre todos os peitos...
Murcharam mais flores do que as que havia no jardim...
O meu amar-te é uma catedral de silêncios eleitos,
E os meus sonhos uma escada sem princípio mas com fim...
...
É preciso destruir o propósito de todas as pontes,
Vesitr de alheamento as paisagens de todas as terras,
Endireitas à força a curva dos horizontes,
E gemer por ter de viver, como um ruído brusco de serras...
Há tão pouca gente que ame as paisagens que não existem!...
Saber que continuará a haver o mesmo mundo amanhã – como nos desalegra!...
Que o meu ouvir o teu silêncio não seja nuvens que atristem
O teu sorriso, anjo exilado, eo teu tédio, auréola negra...
Suave, como ter mãe e irmãs, a tarde rica desce...
Não chove já, e o vasto céu é um grande sorriso imperfeito...
A minha consciência de ter consciência de ti é uma prece,
E o meu saber-te a sorrir é uma flor murcha a meu peito...
...
O que me tortura?...Se até a tua face calma
Só me enche de tédios e de ópios de ócios medonhos...
Não sei...Eu sou um doido que estanha a sua própria alma....
Eu fui amado em efígie num país para além dos sonhos...
Fernando Pessoa
Aid and corruption
I'm very proud of my sister who lives in Maputo/Moçambique. She adapted so quickly and finds her way around! She even got it quickly how to deal with bribery and corruption.
According to her, everything is possible there, if you only ask the right question in the right moment. The right question is "How can we solve this problem?"
The answer is invariably "1 million Meticais".
On the 25th of May the Ministry of Agriculture in Maputo burned down. Why?
International agencies were unhappy with the disproportional relation between aid money and (no) results in the development of agriculture. As a consequence, the financial section with all the documents burned. What a pitty!...Now there's no proof anymore how well spent the money was...
(The official news in Portuguese http://www.noticiaslusofonas.com/view.php?load=arcview&article=17789&catogory=Moçambique)
According to her, everything is possible there, if you only ask the right question in the right moment. The right question is "How can we solve this problem?"
The answer is invariably "1 million Meticais".
On the 25th of May the Ministry of Agriculture in Maputo burned down. Why?
International agencies were unhappy with the disproportional relation between aid money and (no) results in the development of agriculture. As a consequence, the financial section with all the documents burned. What a pitty!...Now there's no proof anymore how well spent the money was...
(The official news in Portuguese http://www.noticiaslusofonas.com/view.php?load=arcview&article=17789&catogory=Moçambique)
Friday, 1 June 2007
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