Livro com prazo de validade: tens 60 dias para o ler

Mariana Correia Pinto 

Editora argentina criou um livro cujas letras desaparecem com o tempo. Objectivo é incentivar a leitura e não deixar os livros (e os novos autores) à espera.

Consumir em dois meses depois de abrir. A recomendação é digna de qualquer produto alimentar, mas, desta feita, é dada por uma editora de livros. A Eterna Cadencia lançou, em Junho, a colecção o “Livro que não pode esperar”, uma compilação de textos de autores latino-americanos.

O título explica, literalmente, do que se trata: um livro que, depois de aberto, sobrevive apenas por 60 dias. A ideia é possível graças à impressão com uma tinta especial que vai desaparecendo com o contacto com a luz e o ar, até se transformar num livro completamente em branco.

Com esta colecção dedicada a novos autores, a Eterna Cadencia não procura propriamente lucro: o livro foi posto à venda por uma preço simbólico de dois pesos argentinos (cerca de 35 cêntimos) e, como era previsível, a procura superou largamente a oferta, tendo esgotado de forma muito rápida.

“Os livros são objectos muito pacientes: compramo-los e eles esperam por nós para serem lidos, dias, meses, até anos”, explica na promoção da iniciativa a editora argentina. Mas e os novos autores? Com esta colecção, a editora garante que eles também não esperem e que sejam mesmo lidos.

É um incentivo à leitura e um desencorajamento à utilização dos livros como peças decorativas: quem comprou o “Livro que não pode esperar” dificilmente arrisca deixar para mais tarde a leitura.

Fonte: Mariana Correia Pinto (2012). «Livro com prazo de validade. Tens 60 dias para o ler». Público. Disponível em: http://p3.publico.pt/cultura/livros/4046/livro-com-prazo-de-validade-tens-60-dias-para-o-ler

Álvaro de Campos

Começa a haver meia-noite, e a haver sossego,

Por toda a parte das coisas sobrepostas,

Os andares vários da acumulação da vida...

Calaram o piano no terceiro-andar...

Não oiço já passos no segundo-andar...

No rés-do-chão o rádio está em silêncio...

Vai tudo dormir...

Fico sozinho com o universo inteiro.

Não quero ir à janela:

Se eu olhar, que de estrelas!

Que grandes silêncios maiores há no alto!

Que céu anticitadino! —

Antes, recluso,

Num desejo de não ser recluso,

Escuto ansiosamente os ruídos da rua...

Um automóvel! — demasiado rápido! —

Os duplos passos em conversa falam-me

O som de um portão que se fecha brusco dói-me...

Vai tudo dormir...

Só eu velo, sonolentamente escutando,

Esperando

Qualquer coisa antes que durma...

Qualquer coisa...

Fonte: 

Fernando Pessoa (1944). Poesias de Álvaro de Campos. Lisboa: Ática, p. 59.
Disponível em:  http://arquivopessoa.net/textos/260

OS NOSSOS DEDOS

Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen

Os nossos dedos abriram mãos fechadas

Cheias de perfume

Partimos à aventura através de vozes e de gestos

Pressentimos paixões como paisagens

E cada corpo era um caminho

Mas um se ergueu tomando tudo

E escorreram asas dos seus braços.

Florestas, pântanos e rios

Viajámos imóveis debruçados,

Enquanto o céu brilhava nas janelas.

E a cidade partiu como um navio

Através da noite.

Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen (1991). Obra Poética I (2ª Ed.). Lisboa: Editorial Caminho. p. 160.

Conto popular português







































Adolfo Coelho (1995). Contos Populares Portugueses. Lisboa: Dom Quixote.

Página Paralela:

MEMORIAmedia e-Museu do Património Imaterial

The Prairie

James Fenimore Cooper

The harvest of the first year of our possession had long been passed, and the fading foliage of a few scattered trees was, already, beginning to exhibit the hues and tints of autumn, when a train of wagons issued from the bed of a dry rivulet, to pursue its course across the undulating surface of what, in the language of the country of which we write, is called a “rolling Prairie.” The vehicles, loaded with household goods and implements of husbandry, the few straggling sheep and cattle that were herded in the rear, and the rugged appearance and careless mien of the sturdy men who loitered at the sides of the lingering teams, united to announce a band of emigrants seeking for the Eldorado of the West. Contrary to the usual practice of the men of their caste, this party had left the fertile bottoms of the low country, and had found its way, by means only known to such adventurers, across glen and torrent, over deep morasses and arid wastes, to a point far beyond the usual limits of civilized habitations. In their front were stretched those broad plains, which extend, with so little diversity of character, to the bases of the Rocky Mountains; and many long and dreary miles in their rear, foamed the swift and turbid waters of La Platte.

The appearance of such a train , in that bleak and solitary place, was rendered the more remarkable by the fact that the surrounding country offered so little that was tempting to the cupidity of speculation, and, if possible, still less that was flattering to the hopes of an ordinary settler of new lands.

The meager herbage of the Prairie promised nothing, in favor of a hard and unyielding soil, over which the wheels of the vehicles rattled as lightly as if they travelled on a beaten road; neither wagons nor beasts making any deeper impression, than to mark that bruised and withered grass, which the cattle plucked, from time to time, and as often rejected, as food too sour, for even hunger to render palatable.

Whatever might be the final destination of these adventurers, or the secret causes of their apparent security in so remote and unprotected a situation, there was no visible sign of uneasiness, uncertainty, or alarm among them. Including both sexes, and every age, the number of the party exceeded twenty.

James Fenimore Cooper (1992). The Prairie. Oxford: Oxford University Press. p. 11. First published in 1827.

The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe

Daniel Defoe

THE JOURNAL

September 30, 1659. I, poor miserable Robinson Crusoe, being shipwrecked, during a dreadful storm, in the offing[1], came on shore on this dismal unfortunate island, which I called the Island of Despair, all the rest of the ship’s company being drowned, and my self almost dead.

All the rest of that day I spent in afflicting my self at the dismal circumstances I was brought to, viz. I had neither food, house, clothes, weapon, or place to fly to, and in despair of any relief, saw nothing but death before me, either that I should be devoured by wild beasts, murthered by savages, or starved to death for want of food. At the approach of night, I slept in a tree for fear of wild creatures, but slept soundly tho’ it rained all night.

October 1. In the morning I saw to my great surprise the ship had floated with the high tide, and was driven on shore again much nearer the island, which as it was some comfort on one hand, for seeing her sit upright, and not broken to pieces, I hoped, if the wind abated, I might get on board, and get some food and necessaries out of her for my relief; so on the other hand, it renewed my grief at the loss of my comrades, who I imagined if we had all stayed on board might have saved the ship, or at least that they would not have been all drowned as they were; and that had the men been saved, we might perhaps have built us a boat out of the ruins of the ship, to have carried us to some other part of the world. I spent great part of this day in perplexing my self on these things; but at length seeing the ship almost dry, I went upon the sand as near as I could, and then swam on board; this day also it continued raining, tho’ with no wind at all.

From the 1^st of October to the 24^th. All these days entirely spent in many several voyages to get all I could out of the ship, which I brought on shore, every tide of flood, upon rafts. Much rain also in these days, tho’ with some intervals of fair weather: but, it seems, this was the rainy season.

Oct. 20. I overset my raft and all the goods I had got upon it, but being in shoal water, and the things being chiefly heavy, I recovered many of them when the tide was out.

Oct. 25. It rained all night and all day, with some gusts of wind, during which time the ship broke in pieces, the wind blowing a little harder than before, and was no more to be seen, except the wreck of her, and that only at low water. I spent this day in covering and securing the goods which I had saved, that the rain might not spoil them.

Oct. 26. I walked about the shore almost all day to find out a place to fix my habitation, greatly concerned to secure my self, from an attack in the night, either from wild beasts or men. Towards night I fixed upon a proper place under a rock, and marked out a semi-circle for my encampment, which I resolved to strengthen with a work, wall, or fortification made of double piles, lined within with cables, and without with turf.

From the 26^th to the 30^th. I worked very hard in carrying all my goods to my new habitation, tho’ some part of the time it rained exceeding hard.

Daniel Defoe (1978). The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. pp. 87-88. First published in 1719.

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[1] Distant from the shore