tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84798778391522306722024-03-14T00:26:30.597-07:00mulher comestível«O título do livro pensara nele enquanto olhava fixamente para a montra de uma pastelaria cheia de porquinhos de maçapão. Há já algum tempo que eu andava interessada na questão do canibalismo simbólico.Na altura, eram os bolos de casamento, encimados pelos seus noivos de açúcar, que muito em particular me fascinavam», Margaret AtwoodLiliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.comBlogger376125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-54391406473926033052013-04-10T13:46:00.000-07:002013-04-10T13:46:29.535-07:00Abeirem-se do meu novo bloguePara quem ainda não desistiu de visitar o Mulher Comestível, venho informar que criei um novo blogue. Trata-se do <a href="http://abeira-te.blogspot.pt/">«ABeira-te»</a>, um blogue associado a uma página do<a href="https://www.facebook.com/ABeiraTe"> Facebook</a> com o mesmo nome. Apropriando-me de uma expressão usada por Gonçalo M. Tavares num belo poema do «Livro da Dança», explico que o »Abeira-te» pretende olhar e contar as Beiras com «comprimento, altura, profundidade e milagre». Claro está que isto tem a ver com o facto de eu ser beirã, com muito gosto. No «ABeira-te» vão encontrar uma forma muito íntima de olhar as Beiras. Espero que se abeirem e gostem da minha nova ideia.Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-40464964282004190562013-03-10T08:12:00.000-07:002013-03-10T08:12:00.324-07:00Sou toda ouvidos<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GYBSMMURsVE" width="420"></iframe><br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-17324683926478111852013-02-24T13:16:00.001-08:002013-02-24T13:16:32.310-08:00Das mudanças<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_512a8183784826672131510" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="userContent">Gosto da mulher que em 2013 venho sendo. Gosto da serenidade com que encaro as mudanças. Gosto da confiança que tenho no futuro, apesar de todas as incertezas que sobressaltam este país. Gosto de perceber-me, com clareza, mais madura. Gosto de perceber que as muitas coisas duras e intensas que vivi nos últimos anos me fortaleceram mais que me fragilizaram. Gosto de me sentir uma casa sólida - e de<span class="text_exposed_show"> saber que mais importante que encontrar abrigo nos outros, é sermos o primeiro dos abrigos ( "o abrigo"). Gosto de me perceber mais parecida com a minha mãe que aquilo que julgava. E gosto de desprender um sorriso perante esta constatação. E amo mais ainda (se isso é possível) a mãe que tive e tenho, e amo mais a família que em torno da minha mãe cresceu. Gosto do afecto dos que me abraçam os dias. E das conversas que me dão certezas. E das conversas que me trazem a dúvida. Gosto de apreciar a vida que tenho, com as suas imperfeições. Contento-me com pouco? Não. Valorizo o que me é essencial. O que somos ninguém nos tira. Nem a troika.</span></span></div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-69656107065246966482013-02-06T14:23:00.000-08:002013-02-06T14:23:46.319-08:00Sombra de pedra<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A minha sombra é de pedra<br /> e o meu ser busca a veia de um poema.<br /> Aos meus pés, uma folha sangra luz.</div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-13963805301334803952013-01-10T11:56:00.000-08:002013-01-10T11:56:06.377-08:00Lisboa que entardece<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-48649494961295928662013-01-06T12:17:00.000-08:002013-01-06T12:17:12.891-08:00Imposição das cinzas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XkMm7iLPV5k/UOnZUV-tWPI/AAAAAAAABGc/SyqmjivZ3w4/s1600/petit-soldat-1963-04-g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XkMm7iLPV5k/UOnZUV-tWPI/AAAAAAAABGc/SyqmjivZ3w4/s640/petit-soldat-1963-04-g.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent">Fumar o dia<br /> entre dois dedos de conversa.<br /> Nos passos, a imposição das cinzas.</span></div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-54828975227894804142013-01-01T08:31:00.000-08:002013-01-01T08:31:17.405-08:00Da paisagem que somos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-2757827960107491722012-12-28T11:01:00.000-08:002012-12-28T11:01:01.799-08:00Dar telhado aos pombos. Dar asas às casas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-54769059925508305042012-12-25T13:06:00.004-08:002012-12-25T13:06:52.749-08:00E o Natal também é isto<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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O Natal pode ser um tronco a arder, junto a um pelourinho decorado com o alto patrocínio das cervejeiras. Em Santar, Viseu, pode.</div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-57999646221663037732012-12-20T15:36:00.001-08:002012-12-20T15:36:15.986-08:00Sangro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v1iBT0EMESk/UNOfwx1KRWI/AAAAAAAABFA/XSfxCNx5Z-E/s1600/tumblr_m6h4jgy4pB1r6tm0do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v1iBT0EMESk/UNOfwx1KRWI/AAAAAAAABFA/XSfxCNx5Z-E/s640/tumblr_m6h4jgy4pB1r6tm0do1_500.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Imagem do filme<i> Nothing Personal</i>, de Urszula Antoniak</span></div>
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<span class="userContent">Sangro de luz<br /> no instante em que disseco<br /> o húmus do teu gesto.</span></div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-46990943430510811522012-12-16T14:31:00.000-08:002012-12-16T14:31:47.167-08:00Sou toda ouvidos<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/d-xSxWX7_-4" width="560"></iframe><br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-80763888492337080132012-12-16T14:01:00.003-08:002012-12-16T14:01:42.743-08:00À margem<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0ATu8bFMDMk/UM5D2xcCZZI/AAAAAAAABEw/TcbsI-EoWfc/s1600/DSC04546%281%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0ATu8bFMDMk/UM5D2xcCZZI/AAAAAAAABEw/TcbsI-EoWfc/s640/DSC04546%281%29.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent">A corrente leva-nos os passos.<br /> São precisas margens,<br /> para ter dúvidas. E pasmos.</span><span class="userContentSecondary fcg"></span></div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-45668144086284904722012-11-21T14:42:00.002-08:002012-11-21T14:42:25.613-08:00Sou toda ouvidos<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G6QjLjBZcqs" width="420"></iframe><br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-83562479125141731292012-11-13T13:45:00.001-08:002012-11-13T13:45:33.129-08:00Sou toda ouvidos<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Y3k900Y_KeM" width="420"></iframe><br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-63840889640615606642012-10-08T15:08:00.000-07:002012-10-08T15:08:47.486-07:00Abraçar um sorriso<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8gRj-Ar8-NI/UHNNXznksTI/AAAAAAAABEU/avVY9zJ-W0k/s1600/TRESNINAS03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8gRj-Ar8-NI/UHNNXznksTI/AAAAAAAABEU/avVY9zJ-W0k/s640/TRESNINAS03.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ilustração de Gabriel Pacheco </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="userContent">Um poema de José Tolentino Mendonça. Porque hoje</span><span class="userContent"> uma amiga regressou. Porque ela nunca partiu. Porque os amigos nunca partem, por maior que seja a distância geográfica. Porque foi muito bom voltar a abraçar um sorriso que é uma mesa posta em redor de uma lareira. </span></span></div>
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<span class="userContent"><span style="font-size: small;">Uma canção debaixo do dilúvio<br /><br /> Ocupam-nos com a sua feroz solidão </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> e conhecemos o seu cheiro, o consumo difuso, <br /> o visível de ambos os lados<br /><br /> Diante deles não é </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">possível dissimular<br /> a ironia ou a piedade<br /><br /> Esperam por nós entre diversas combinações </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> à superfície e para além disso<br /><br /> Um amigo é uma <i>machine à habiter </i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> o vento pré-histórico das montanhas geladas<br /><br /> Talvez pertençam a outros mundos </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> pois nos abraçamos sempre como sobreviventes<br /><br /> Com eles podemos arrancar uma canção </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> debaixo do dilúvio</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">José Tolentino Mendonça, <i>in </i>Estação Central </span></div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-26871381390056130952012-09-11T15:39:00.000-07:002012-09-11T15:39:02.249-07:00Um ano<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="userContent">Um ano. <br /> 09/09/2011. Podia ser só mais uma
data daquelas que passam despercebidas no calendário. Um dia
insignificante, daqueles em que se faz a soma das rotinas quotidianas,
com mais sol ou chuva, com mais vento ou trovoada. Mas não. É a d</span></span>ata em que te foste desta vida; é a data em que passaste a estar somente viva dentro daqueles para quem eras significante. <br />
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Lembrar a tua morte é sublinhar a vida. E as vidas que tocaste.
Lembro-me de ti todos os dias, e é uma sementeira o que sinto dentro.
Deixaste em mim muitas, tantas, sementes porque eras mulher de semear,
de fazer acontecer. <br /> Lembro-me de ti, na tua partida, minha
Branquinha, e é nisto que penso: por mais sombra que tenha o dia, há
sempre traços descontínuos, para se conseguir ultrapassar a tristeza. E o
caminho segue, contigo.</span></div>
Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-13272195369430729292012-07-09T14:24:00.000-07:002012-07-09T14:24:04.703-07:00O meu bairro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-62535407333037792872012-07-09T12:51:00.001-07:002012-07-09T12:51:38.340-07:00Dez meses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-81943997559565215942012-07-05T13:45:00.000-07:002012-07-05T13:45:00.680-07:00Sou toda ouvidos<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/jlCgE-9RXDQ" width="560"></iframe>Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-66390107049789003632012-06-09T13:58:00.002-07:002012-06-09T13:58:41.733-07:00Azul com jacarandá<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zusiSQNitYU/T9O3w1Uq8cI/AAAAAAAABAw/qNRiRo-N9nU/s1600/DSC04953%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="531" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zusiSQNitYU/T9O3w1Uq8cI/AAAAAAAABAw/qNRiRo-N9nU/s640/DSC04953%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T0CLerZT8x4/T9O1kgZ8HRI/AAAAAAAABAo/ocGsIoDnQRs/s1600/DSC04954%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T0CLerZT8x4/T9O1kgZ8HRI/AAAAAAAABAo/ocGsIoDnQRs/s640/DSC04954%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a>Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-87800619448301923402012-04-19T14:19:00.000-07:002012-04-19T14:19:11.849-07:00Sou toda ouvidos<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wEjYqgkcTwg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-68489307347181010792012-04-17T14:39:00.000-07:002012-04-17T14:39:12.163-07:00Sou toda ouvidos<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_Omohy37u2I" width="420"></iframe>Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-56258181541664404692012-04-01T09:42:00.000-07:002012-04-01T09:42:36.808-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6c2_Eov903E/T3iEZywDE7I/AAAAAAAABAY/KTtK4G-MDY4/s1600/DOLLS-dl-2-628x415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6c2_Eov903E/T3iEZywDE7I/AAAAAAAABAY/KTtK4G-MDY4/s640/DOLLS-dl-2-628x415.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Imagem do filme "Dolls", de Takeshi Kitano</span></div>
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A melancolia das árvores em flor -
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o olhar em naufrágio.
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O melro traz-me um búzio no bico.
</div>Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-74236791035026847902012-03-10T14:01:00.002-08:002012-03-10T14:01:52.287-08:00Shame<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Zh2w0iym0Gk" width="560"></iframe> </span></span></h6>
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<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Hoje à tarde vi o filme «Shame», de Michael Fassbender. Fez-me lembrar a poesia de Luís Miguel Nava. </span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> O Abismo<br /> <br /> Com a sua pele de poço, pele comprometida com o <br /><span class="text_exposed_show"> medo que no fundo fede e a que, digamos, toda ela adere <br /> de uma forma resoluta, dir-se-ia que se engancha, se pen-<br /> dura, o branco da memória a alastrar pelo corpo, um bran-<br /> co tão branco como o das noites em branco e sobre o qual <br /> a idade, exorbitada, hiante, se insinua, pensos, ligaduras, <br /> impregnados de memória, uma memória onde fulgura a <br /> lava dos sentidos que entram em actividade e lhe dis-<br /> putam os dias idos, assim ergue a balança, onde sustém <br /> o abismo.<br /> <br /> Luís Miguel Nava, <i>in</i> Vulcão II -Poesia Completa</span></span></span></h6>Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479877839152230672.post-10091069390453058302012-03-01T15:54:00.000-08:002012-03-01T15:54:57.889-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jyPltG_Ncqo/T1ALUMrKZGI/AAAAAAAAA_8/RE_DwnsdC2A/s1600/tumblr_lwixbc2ofh1r6knq3o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jyPltG_Ncqo/T1ALUMrKZGI/AAAAAAAAA_8/RE_DwnsdC2A/s400/tumblr_lwixbc2ofh1r6knq3o1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Liliana Garciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10171991045898817497noreply@blogger.com1