Tuesday 27 September 2016

Poetic Voices

I listened to Dylan Thomas speaking his poetry
His voice rich and Welsh yet posh at the same time
Though educated he kept his ethnicity
Authentic sophistication in rhyme

Sylvia Plath read a poem about 'Daddy'
Harsh, bitter and extremely unpleasant
Shoved her head in the oven when she threw a paddy
Indulgent, rootless, cooked as a pheasant

And Gentleman Jim Reeves reading Robert Service
Far too smooth, too fireside to paddle a canoe
Forests and mountains and bears would make him nervous
Dan McGrew would make him boo-hoo

Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing a trick
There's something in it that just doesn't click
Maybe I'm too fond of taking the mick
Or maybe, just maybe, I'm just a bit thick.



Monday 26 September 2016

I Saw The Pity In Your Eye

You feel sympathy, say 'Poor Thing'
Looking down at me like some deity
You who condemns with your pity
Won't you ever face the Reckoning?

All I ask is that you let me
Die without your display of charity
Finish my days with dignity
Not as some clip-board category

The wind is blowing through the trees
The rocks are now covered by the sea
The idol of the self falls to its knees

Don't pity me, my friend, see me!
Don't pity me, friend, envy me!
For the face of God soon I will see!

Sunday 25 September 2016

Censorship - The Taming Of The Fado

The Military Dictatorship put an end to freedom of expression. The decree of 6th May 1927 regulated where public performances could be held. There were obligatory licences for performers  and control over the contents of the songs. The first 'Fado Houses' were created.
It was no longer possible to sing subversive lyrics, whether political or moral, and in the new establishments the general public was excluded and the audience was selected quite strictly. The Fado was sanitized and professionalized.
From 1927 the Fado could only be performed by a singer with a professional licence issued by the General Inspectorate of Theatres and which could be withdrawn at any moment. It was no longer possible to sing without express permission.
It was not a case of being able to sing what was not prohibited, but a case of only being able to sing what was authorized. The artist had to submit to the Inspectors a folder which contained the lyrics that he was going to sing, the name of  the author of these lyrics, indeed, the entire repertory of the songwriter and the singer. Then the folder was stamped 'Approved' or 'Prohibited'.
From 1927 onwards, any policeman or Inspector could enter a Fado House and ask to see the folder to check that the lyrics had been properly authorized. With a network of informers and spies and strong political control, few artists risked ignoring the new rules. It was a massive change.  Any text with a satirical slant or with incisive political or social comment was totally out of bounds, and in the formal atmosphere of the new Houses an end was put to the traditional social homogeneity of singer and audience.
In the new Houses the only common people were the waiters and the singers. The singers originated in the common people. Now those who sang well would turn professional. They would sing for people from a different social class, not from their own community.
 Out of the organized professional circuit existing control became even tighter. Gatherings of the common people continued, but were always at risk of being visited by the police, or of being denounced by an informer.

Saturday 24 September 2016

So Many People, Mariana - Tanta Gente Mariana - Maria Judite de Carvalho - Part 14



Then life went on.  Can I call it ‘life’?
“Why not go out for a little walk? Go to another doctor, Dona Mariana. They all speak well of Cardónio Santos. My sister who God has with her in heaven…….. Everyone has a cross to bear…..But there are people, people…………..a little roasted rabbit, Dona Mariana? How about a little roasted rabbit?”
“I love roast rabbit, Dona Gloria. I’d die for a little roasted rabbit.”

In the end I went to see Dr. Cardónio, one of those individuals who never ever err in their diagnosis. I wanted to know. And now I’m waiting. I don’t do any more tests and I don’t go and see any more doctors. What for if I’m going to die in a month or two from now? I know that I can’t expect anything more from life, and so I want to feel calm. I want…..It is my end, my only death. I can’t chose any other, there is none other for me. For the first time someone has come to look for me, someone is searching me out. Why should I not be happy, me the chosen one?
I cannot feel happy. I feel violated and virgin. There are many things inside of me, yet I’m completely empty. Empty because even hope has gone. Hope, but not my desire to live. Even in this room  which has a bad smell that I no longer even notice, even with António far away from me and Fernandinho kissing a mother who is not me, even so I want to live.
Yet life is ebbing away ever more every day, ebbing away without my ever having lived it.

No longer do I get up. I haven’t the strength to do it. Dona Gloria came today to sit in the old chair and spoke for half an hour. I don’t know what she said because all her words slid away without entering my head.
“Don’t you think, Dona Mariana, don’t you think that it would be much better?”
I didn’t know what she was talking about but I nodded affirmatively. It made her very happy.
“It’s for the best Dona Mariana, for the best. There, you’ll have everything. And do not worry, I’ve already spoken to a nurse from Santa Marta Hospital. She is a wonderful lady, a jewel, very reliable. She immediately spoke to them about you, to do what is required.
I could say no, but what for?  Dona Gloria was in her house, her castle, after all. Luísa was right. How could I……? Without opening my eyes I simply said to her:
“Santa Teresinha will not be cross with you, Dona Gloria? Do you remember that you asked her that I might stay?”
“It’s for your own good, Dona Mariana, for your own good…….”
“Well, in that case……..”

Today I’m going to the hospital. I thought that I could die in this room, but I can’t. I put the picture in the suitcase. Maybe they’ll let me look at it, I don’t know. Dona Gloria dressed me as if I were already dead. She put my feather hat on my head, wrapped me up in my coat, made me put on some stockings of hers, because mine all had holes in them. We’re both of us waiting for the taxi that Augusta has gone to fetch. It’s as if both of us are at my burial.
  
 

Friday 23 September 2016

So Many People, Mariana - Tanta Gente Mariana - Maria Judite de Carvalho - Part 13



Mrs. Harper survived, I found out later. One day I telephoned their hotel just to find out. They told me that she was recovering. So, I hadn’t gone anywhere and I was still stuck in my old room, the prisoner of its four walls.
“It’s for the best, Dona Mariana,” the landlady said, “It would have been a bother to have to get to know someone new, yes, a real bother. I even prayed to Santa Teresinha that you wouldn’t go.”
The Englishwoman survived and Dona Gloria was happy. Santa Teresinha had arranged everything for the best. I was feeling more and more tired. Tired of living and unable to die. Tired of being. Tired of the ghosts that hovered around me and continued to haunt me at any time of the day or night, tired of my surroundings, and everything far away from me too. I was so thin and looked so bad that Dona Gloria made me go to see the doctor.
“Have you considered that it might be tuberculosis, Dona Mariana? It’s very serious you know. It’s a contagious disease. I’m not saying that for my sake. I’ve never been afraid of illness, but, well, Augusta is a young girl…..”
I went to see the doctor. He took a good look at me and then sent me for a series of blood tests. “It’s probably not anything, but just in case…..” I asked him if what he suspected was contagious.
“No, not at all….”
He started to laugh. I didn’t understand what was so funny. He neither.

One evening I went to the cinema. I don’t know why I went. How long was it since I had gone to the pictures? I went to the Tivoli. There were only a few people at the door and I felt enticed into going in. well, why not? This was living. At one time I used to enjoy going to the cinema, just being there when the lights went off and there was a dream right there in front of my eyes. Yes, I always enjoyed going to the pictures. Maybe I would still enjoy it, who knows? That’s why I went in, I remember now, just to see if I was still capable of enjoying something.
It was an early show and the theatre was almost empty. Behind me, two women, sorry, two ladies, were talking. Both of them had the sort of piercing contralto voices that belonged to well to do ladies.
“She really is so nice, you’re right. She’s so natural.”
“Then it’s not true?”
“Not at all. They were charming. They seemed to me to be very united as a couple. Nowadays it is so rare. And in a way there’s nothing worse. Quite rich? No, not with a house like that……..How long have they been married?”
“Four years I think. They met in Paris. He had to get divorced. Luckily it had only been a civil wedding……….a real masterstroke.”
“How strange! Estrela indeed struck me as special. Not as a sculptor, may I say. That ‘Sitting Bather’ which she exhibited in the salon…………goodness me! No, she is a special person……attractive, pretty, the complete woman.”
“She’s a fine girl, a fantastic girl. She always sticks up for António’s first wife. That tells you a lot, no?  A crazy woman who only a few months after the divorce was walking about the Baixa with a swollen belly, if you know what I mean.”
“I had no idea. She had a lover, did she, when she was still married? Who was she?”
“Nobody knew her. A lot was said about Estrela’s husband’s ex-wife but Estrela defended her, always. Of course she agreed that it was the wrong time to do something so stupid   -   it couldn’t have been worse, but taking into account the circumstances…..yes, Estrela is a fantastic girl, a good wife, a good mother. When the eldest had swollen lymph glands when he was two……..”
“I didn’t know they had children.”
“They have two. The eldest, Fernando………….”
The lights had gone out. I got up and trod on the feet of several people who complained. The usher also said something, but I didn’t catch what he said, but I remember hearing him. I only caught my breath when I was in the street, walking mechanically down the Avenue. I remember that at one point I found myself by the riverbank. At the same moment I saw people looking at me and some were laughing. Two small boys stopped in front of me and then fled. I raised my hands to my face and wiped away the tears.

That day, yes, I thought about killing myself. I was still thinking about it the following morning when Dona Gloria and the maid left the market. I was alone in the house and I couldn’t allow the opportunity to escape. I shut the window tight, and the kitchen door. Then I turned on the gas and sat down and waited. All without thinking, without even wanting to think. The air was getting heavy, when someone rang the doorbell. I turned off the gas, slowly opened the kitchen door, then the front door. It was the postman with a postcard from Luís Gonzaga.



Wednesday 21 September 2016

So Many People, Mariana - Tanta Gente Mariana - Maria Judite de Carvalho Part 12



I got another job, this time with a semi-established writer who dedicated all his time to his art (the poor man intended to leave his writings to posterity, typed up by me with single spacing). This job lasted as long as it took me to write up all the varying fortunes of a family who lived in a country house near Viseu. Then once again I was without a job, with very little money and without any prospects. Yet I was almost happy.
Sometimes I lie down and for hours I stare at the ceiling or the wall on the left side of the bed. The wallpaper has a background that must have been white at one time, but has been yellowed by time, and has damp patches where I can make out the shapes of laughing faces, faces that perturb me, with diabolical features, strange and silent in their laughter, clearer and clearer the longer I stare at them without blinking, my stare completing the shapes, sharpening their outline, bringing them to life. Sometimes I see horrible faces etched in the plaster of the ceiling or formed by the shadows of the furniture when I turn on the light. Sometimes one of these profiles is transformed bit by bit into Estrela’s face, its laugh her own. I shut my eyes but I find her there inside me. I take one pill, take another, but often it’s only after the fourth pill that her face and her laugh dissolve in a deep and heavy sleep.

One day I was reading the advertisements in the newspaper and I found one that interested me. An English couple with two children were looking for a Portuguese lady to accompany them on their travels abroad. I regarded my knowledge of English to be good enough for the job so I replied. They arranged that we meet in a hotel in the Baixa. I met a small thin woman, no longer young, rosy cheeked and very freckly. Her husband was fat and powerfully built, his brushed hair almost white. The boys, fair-haired and charmless, staring precociously like young men, shook my hand earnestly.
The terms that they proposed were more than acceptable. The Harpers wanted their sons to learn Portuguese. They were going to spend some months, maybe a year, in London, and only then would they settle in Porto where Mr. Harper had business interests. On the return journey they were hoping to spend a few days in Paris. Ah, I already knew Paris? Then no doubt I would like to see it again. Everyone who has been there, even for a few hours, dreamed of returning, no? Mrs. Harper was smiling. Why bother telling her about Paris? Why say anything to that woman who didn’t matter to me at all. She continued talking. If at some time, for some reason, I fell ill, or was even simply bored, or if I felt homesick, the Harpers would be happy to let me go, which did not mean, of course, she added, that they would not be shocked by such a decision. It was also agreed that I would enjoy a certain liberty. The husband sat a little apart, contenting himself with smiles and nodding himself in agreement with his wife. The house and the children were her domain while he occupied himself with business. When I got up to leave after giving them the name of the prolific writer and two or three other people as referees the two boys came up and accompanied me to the door of the hotel.

There it was, a job that pleased me which had never occurred to me before. Often I thought that maybe I would like to be a nurse or a primary school teacher, but I was never really suited to either of these.
My experiences at the shipping company and in the novelist’s office had been genuine nightmares. In the cold light of day I just couldn’t face up to the possibility of weeks, months, years on end, until the end of my days, sat in front of a desk, a typewriter beneath my fingers, writing letters of no interest to me, or typing out immensely boring and empty novels. Getting old, getting fat (because I believe that boredom makes you fat), forever wallowing in other people’s mire. When I had finished the costume drama novel the novelist had offered to speak about me to some sub-secretary or other, who at the time was in the newspapers a lot.
“I’ll see if he can arrange something…….He is a great friend of mine, he’ll be glad to do me a favour. He is an excellent person. He is admirable as a private citizen and also a public servant…..Why are you laughing?”
That terrible habit of mine of laughing at things that were not at all funny to other people! A public servant! A public man or even a public woman perhaps! There must be some connection there. I stifled my laugh and he continued to sing the praises of his friend.
“Here take this letter of recommendation.”
I rejected his kind offer of help. In my bag I had a twenty escudo note. I had already asked for most of my wages in advance.
Now I was going to do a job that I was interested in. Once again there was hope in my life…………, not a lot, but a bit of hope, conscious hope. Who knows if the change of atmosphere, a job that pleased me, the presence of those children, would bring with them healthier thoughts, would sweep away those obsessive thoughts that wouldn’t let me sleep. I sorted out the passport and two visas almost enthusiastically. So great was my desire to return to normal life that I even rang up two or three people that I vaguely knew, including Alice Mendes, to say my goodbyes. I think I needed to convince myself that things were going to go well and the most efficient and certain way of ensuring it was to hear it proclaimed by my own voice.
Then, a couple of days before departure Mr. Harper rang me. He was very upset, jumbling his words. His wife had just gone into hospital for an urgent operation. The doctors had said that her case was quite serious, and Mr. Harper feared the worst. He had cancelled all of his appointments and clearly the idea of a journey was now out of the question. Even if everything went well Mrs. Harper would be weak for quite some time and he had just telephoned her sister, who lived in London, to ask her to take care of the children. He was expecting her on the first plane the next day. Naturally he asked me to tell him the amount of my expenses.