Um dos grandes desafios na escolha do trabalho de conclusão de curso ao finalizar o ciclo acadêmico - no meu caso exaustivo e complicado - foi o de realizar algum tipo de projeto onde eu pudesse finalmente ser eu mesma, ainda que com os entraves e obstáculos algumas vezes impostos pelo mundo das regrinhas acadêmicas.
Mas eu insisti, cutuquei, repeti e repeti como num disco riscado (apud RITA, Maria!) a ideia de fazer algo onde eu pudesse me expressar e provar para mim mesma e, porquê não, para quem quisesse, que eu poderia fazer algo prático, sobre algo fora do meu alcance de compreensão e que, com o desafio jornalístico, eu me sentisse tão a vontade, como se tivesse nascido naquele meio e vivenciado aquelas mesmas circunstâncias.
A história de Sérgio Luiz, um universitário que foi poeta marginal na época do regime militar, caiu-me no colo como se Deus (ou destino ou enfim) dissesse "vai, toma o desafio que você queria!". Pensei, considerei, abracei e por diversos momentos pensei que talvez fosse mais do que eu poderia narrar.
Mas hoje, já com minha nota no bolso, vi que tantos altos e baixos valeram à pena. Fiz um livro-reportagem e "Da ditadura à poesia: o sergipano Sérgio Luiz e a poesia marginal na luta contra a repressão" tirou 10. E muito merecido. Mas não por mim... quero ser encarada apenas como o instrumento que tentou levar a história de Sérgio - e de todos os outros jovens sergipanos que lutaram através de versos, atos, melodias - com pelo menos um pouco da intensidade que me foi proporcionada pela poesia marginal sergipana dos tempos da ditadura.
E, como eu faço questão de lembrar, perdoem meus maiores pecados literários. Se minha narrativa não for interessante, espero que ao menos admire os dotes poéticos de Sérgio Luiz e de seus companheiros.
Boa leitura!
Download em PDF abaixo:
http://www.4shared.com/office/uvpM3bNO/Da_ditadura__poesia_-_Maluh_Ba.html
*Este trabalho foi realizado para o trabalho de conclusão de curso do semestre 2012.2. Sujeito à atualizações.
segunda-feira, 29 de abril de 2013
quarta-feira, 24 de abril de 2013
Um conto, mais uma vez
She sat right around the corner.
The light was dim, so he didn't quite see her for a while.
She just expected him to see her face, her body shape, and finally recognize her in the middle of the dark. She was sure he would recognize her in any situation.
She was tapping her toes to the rhythm of the song in her head. It was joyful noise, something kinda funny to be playing in such misery. But the joyful noise had drums, and bass, and distorted guitars. Had strong lyrics. Full of hate, full of sorrow, full of regret.
She watched him. From far away, but she did.
He never saw her. But, in her dreams, he opened his eyes and he could see her clearly. And his face - in her dreams - became from sadness to happiness just in one single glimpse. His whole life changed by just seeing her.
And in her dreams she made him suffer.
Just a piece of what's she's been through.
Die, mortherfucker, and die again!
Die from the inside because that's the most painful death!
She watched him die. Very slowly. The bright in his eyes starting to fade away. His smile, so recent from the glimpse of her, just going down, fading. His life turned upside down, his mother crying in his grave - although that last image hurt just a little bit inside her head - and his friends... oh, his friends. They were shown of what the great guy could do and they just didn't want to see him anymore. Shut, closed, dead.
You are dead, motherfucker.
But still.. in the room full of darkness and resentment, she could see just a tiny line of light coming from the other side. She would run to in, as fast as she could, and she would lock him inside the dark room, two twists at the key in the door jamb, just to make sure he could never come out.
And the reason she didn't want him to come out was that she really didn't want him to come to the other room where she found herself: empty, blank, with blind-white walls and no furniture. Just emptiness.
Until other young man came and filled the blind-white with suffocating-darkness again.
That was just life.
And she wanted to live it, while she could...
So she grabbed the imaginary gun and run to the door, just seconds before he saw the movement. And when she got there, she shot him right in the face.
Once, twice, three times, countless times...
And watched him die. Just like her dreams. Just like she imagined. It was good. The sense of power. The sense of freedom. And so, she locked the door and went into the other room...
Where his phantom slide through the gap on the bottom of the door and sit in one small chair that suddenly appeared in the middle of the white room - which just went a little bit darker.
It was in that point that she realized that no matter where circumstances life put ahead of her, she would always have to face the past and the misery that came with it. Because that was part of who she was and what she had made of herself.
She sighed, shrugged, and sat one more time right in the corner of the room, waiting for desperation to come again...
The light was dim, so he didn't quite see her for a while.
She just expected him to see her face, her body shape, and finally recognize her in the middle of the dark. She was sure he would recognize her in any situation.
She was tapping her toes to the rhythm of the song in her head. It was joyful noise, something kinda funny to be playing in such misery. But the joyful noise had drums, and bass, and distorted guitars. Had strong lyrics. Full of hate, full of sorrow, full of regret.
She watched him. From far away, but she did.
He never saw her. But, in her dreams, he opened his eyes and he could see her clearly. And his face - in her dreams - became from sadness to happiness just in one single glimpse. His whole life changed by just seeing her.
And in her dreams she made him suffer.
Just a piece of what's she's been through.
Die, mortherfucker, and die again!
Die from the inside because that's the most painful death!
She watched him die. Very slowly. The bright in his eyes starting to fade away. His smile, so recent from the glimpse of her, just going down, fading. His life turned upside down, his mother crying in his grave - although that last image hurt just a little bit inside her head - and his friends... oh, his friends. They were shown of what the great guy could do and they just didn't want to see him anymore. Shut, closed, dead.
You are dead, motherfucker.
But still.. in the room full of darkness and resentment, she could see just a tiny line of light coming from the other side. She would run to in, as fast as she could, and she would lock him inside the dark room, two twists at the key in the door jamb, just to make sure he could never come out.
And the reason she didn't want him to come out was that she really didn't want him to come to the other room where she found herself: empty, blank, with blind-white walls and no furniture. Just emptiness.
Until other young man came and filled the blind-white with suffocating-darkness again.
That was just life.
And she wanted to live it, while she could...
So she grabbed the imaginary gun and run to the door, just seconds before he saw the movement. And when she got there, she shot him right in the face.
Once, twice, three times, countless times...
And watched him die. Just like her dreams. Just like she imagined. It was good. The sense of power. The sense of freedom. And so, she locked the door and went into the other room...
Where his phantom slide through the gap on the bottom of the door and sit in one small chair that suddenly appeared in the middle of the white room - which just went a little bit darker.
It was in that point that she realized that no matter where circumstances life put ahead of her, she would always have to face the past and the misery that came with it. Because that was part of who she was and what she had made of herself.
She sighed, shrugged, and sat one more time right in the corner of the room, waiting for desperation to come again...
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