Articles by Armando Taborda

Since fifty years now my night is flooded by Frédéric Chopin music I think there was little change in my condition my pores become thick of emotion this damned absolute beauty so close to be met as before I feel life is better than spilled anguish in cascade of sounds petrified but unintentionally I am tempted to forget my dream of crystal. Como há cinquenta anos atrás inundo minha noite com música de Frédéric Chopin e penso que minha condição pouco mudo…

EVERYTHING WE LOVE FADES AWAY AS SMOKE OVER THE HORIZON BECAUSE BEAUTY IS MADE OF WORDING FUGACITY WITH WHICH LIFE IS DESCRIBED /// TUDO O QUE AMAMOS SE ESCAPA EM FUMAÇA SOBRE O HORIZONTE PORQUE A BELEZA DA VIDA É FEITA DA FUGACIDADE DAS PALAVRAS QUE A DESCREVEM by Armando TABORDA, 2014 (post 1st edition, 2014; 2nd edition, 2018; 3rd edition, 2021; 4th edition, 2024)

I have long known Manuel De DIEGO's simple, profound, and synthetic poetry. A poet without a shadow of models, he follows his path with total freedom of expression, sometimes the haiku, the epigram and the sonnet seem conditioning him, but they are mere exercises of his poetic mastery. It's interesting to sprinkle his Spanish work with some poems directly written in English. His themes are the life, love, proudly assumed Hispanicity, the mystery of the soul, alias, the motto of this admirable…

This book, "All Tears Are In The Gorge Of The Sea", isn´t easy to read. It requires concentration, cultural imagination to unveil the poetic meaning of the metaphorical text/context, and time to reread and enjoy. However, it's one of the most fascinating, sharp, beautiful, and mysyerious books I have read in my life of many readings. To Isabel Maria Mendes Ferreira SIBYL your oracles are fascinatingly indefinite and diaphanous as if we woke in the morning fog looking for our figure…

My friends not all motionless is silence nor the night solitude while we watch the shooting stars and hear the most crystalline waters. Meus amigos nem toda a quietude é silêncio nem a noite solidão enquanto vemos estrelas cadentes e ouvimos as mais cristalinas águas. by Armando TABORDA, 2015 (…

The structure could be straight stable death as aim but no nothing will be blood flows in the veins dream at dawn chance with the wind blood dream chance neither God nor Devil maybe love nothing else will be . A estrutura podia ser contínua estável a morte um fim mas não nada será porque o sangue corre nas veias o sonho na madrugada…

I run cause you run but I depart cause you stay full of hopes at the schism stop. We were riding on the social dynamics from the reverse of your right interior to the right of my left exterior and all and everything aferwards. Right now I remember the slow political magnetism theory degenerating into an obelisk of stone monumental of incapability in the city and time when the soul was too small. Right now…

With a glass of red wine I greet the travel by the intermediate stop of life's heartburn. The soul just becomes happy with a place inside the body. The hidden of my compass turns 360º looking for which North? How long this ardour will burn the soul's painless? Com um copo de vinho tinto saúdo a viagem com escala na azia da vida. A alma contenta-se com um lugar no corpo. O recôndito de minha bússola gira 360º à procura de que Norte? Por quanto t…

I feel the sun in the wrinkles of my hands empty of light the shadows are on the fingers rings sparkling the morning. Sinto o sol nas rugas de minhas mãos vazias de luz as sombras são nos dedos anéis que refulgem manhã. by Armado TABORDA, in "PALAVRAS, MÚSICAS E BLASFÉMIA…

Around me there is too much green but also red orange yellow blue indigo and violet colours wrap me as a rainbow sweat drops refract my body with feet in a pond the head undulates the chest distends as an arch without hunger nor sleep or thirst or dream. À minha volta há muito verde mas também vermelho laranja amarelo azul indigo e violeta as cores embrulham-me em arco-iris gotas de suor refractam-me o corpo com os pés no charco a cabeça ondula o peito distende…

I love to write without thinking about what I write if I think what I write I tear up my thought and throw it away. Naturally I want the truth. I want it clean as a dawn without clouds neither horizon only dawn wishing to be morning. I like to write in pure silence what I wish feel and it's enough in the silent dawn. Gosto de escrever sem pensar o que escrevo se penso…

From my hermetic and decadent flight from my bird of prey glide I know the parachutist technique to land in a moment. Do meu hermético e decadente voo do meu planar de ave de rapina sei a técnica do pára-quedista para chegar ao solo num instante. by Armando TABORDA, in "MANUAL DO DESPERDÍCIO ", Ceres Editora, 1994 (post 1st edition, 2011; 2nd edition, 2017; 3rd edition, 2020, 4th edition, 2024)

The sea is an ocean's arm and the ocean an earth's body spacecraft without astrolabe nor sextant neither science of sails winds and currents drifted in the infinity's tides looking for what seaport or yacht club for an intermediate stop in the space where everything happens as it was nothing? (to read the original Portuguese version please click on the figure) by…

BECAUSE LIFE CAUGHT US BY SURPRISE WE HAVE TO LOOK INTO IT WITH SOME IRONY PORQUE A VIDA NOS APANHOU DE SURPRESA HÁ QUE ENCARÁ-LA COM ALGUMA IRONIA by Armando TABORDA, 2015 (post 1st edition, 2015; 2nd edition, 2018; 3rd edition, 2024)

The night corrupts my inner light surrounds it asphyxiates it puts it to sleep comet in orbit of bed. A noite corrompe minha luz interior cerca-a asfixia-a adormece-a cometa em órbita da cama. by Armando Taborda, In "Sinfonia em Dor Menor", Edição Escola de Mar, 2007 (post 2nd edition, 2024)

my body is my home where my steps drive me out of myself o meu corpo é a minha casa onde os meus passos me levam para fora de mim by Armando TABORDA, 2012 (post 1st edition, 2012; 2nd edition, 2022; 3rd edition, 2024)

The dawn throbs into my veins sclerosis of dreams sex still at the pace of an engine close to the limits to drive me away without grief from the night that dies in the foreseen chance of a day followed by another A madrugada lateja-me nas veias esclerose de sonhos sexo ainda ao ritmo de motor perto dos limites para que me afaste sem mágoa da noite que morre no acaso prev…