:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::23.3.04:: LÁ E CÁ Insensatez Antônio Carlos Jobim/ Vinícius de Moraes A insensatez que você fez, Coração mais sem cuidado, Fez chorar de dor o seu amor, Um amor tão delicado. Ah! Porque você Foi fraco assim, Assim tão desalmado. Ah! Meu coração Quem nunca amou, Não merece ser amado. Vai meu coração, ouve a razão, Usa só sinceridade. Quem semeia vento, diz a razão, Colhe sempre tempestade. Vai meu coração, Pede perdão, perdão apaixonado. Vai, porque quem não Pede perdão Não é nunca perdoado. How Insensitive Music by Antonio Carlos Jobim, words by Vinicius De Moraes, translated by Norman Gimbel How insensitive I must have seemed When she told me that she loved me How unmoved and cold I must have seemed When she told me so sincerely Why she must have asked Did I just turn and stare in icy silence What was I to say? What can you say When a love affair is over? Why she must have asked Did I just turn and stare in icy silence What was I to say? What can you say When a love affair is over? So now she's gone away And I'm alone With a memory of her last look Vague and drawn and sad I see it still All the heartbreak in her last look How she must have asked, Could I just turn and stare in icy silence What was I to do? What can one do When a love affair is over? Não vou dizer a que prefiro, pois nem saberia dizer ao certo. Gosto é questão de juízo. Eu gosto mesmo é do VINICIUS DE MORAES. E ponto. E ando ultra-romântica. Culpa do mar azul. :: Marcia Furriel 1:26 a.m. [+] :: ... Comments: Enviar um comentário

[::..perfil..::] "...[R]eturning to the Red Drum for sets, to hear Bird, whom I saw distinctly digging Mardou several times also myself directly into my eye looking to search if I was really the great writer I thought myself to be as if he knew my thoughts and ambitions or remembered me from other night clubs and other coasts, other Chicagos--not a challenging look but the king and founder of the bop generation at least the sound of it in digging his audience digging his eyes, the secret eyes him-watching, as he just pursed his lips and let great lungs and immortal fingers work, his eyes separate and interested and humane, the kindest jazz musician there could be while being and therefore naturally the greatest--watching Mardou and me in the infancy of our love and probably wondering why, or knowing it wouldn't last, or seeing who it was would be hurt, as now, obviously, but not quite yet, it was Mardou whose eyes were shining in my direction, though I could not have known and now do not definitely know--except the one fact, on the way home, the session over the beer in the Mask drunk we went home on the Third Street bus sadly through night and throb knock neons and when I suddenly leaned over her to shout something further (in her secret self as later confessed) her heart leapt to smell the "sweetness of my breath" (quote) and suddenly she almost loved me--" DO LIVRO The Subterraneans [::.. perfil sarcástico..::]