Uma primavera

Nessa "uma primavera" fazia muuuuuuuito frio. Mas o vento gelado não foi suficiente para deixar a equipe da Gabriela Amaral Almeida menos calorosa... Foram cinco dias de filmagem pelos parques de São Paulo. A Gabriela e todos que estiveram ali, para contar com a maior delicadeza a estória da entrada de Lara em sua idade adulta (ou, quase isso), são meus novos amigos. Apresentados por outro amigo mais antigo, reencontrado com alegria, o Duda. Aplausos a todos. É uma delícia quando o "foi um prazer conhecê-lo" é mais do que retórica. Aguardo com ansiedade a estréia do filme da Gabriela (fotografia de Matheus Rocha Amadeu Alban).


a little girl lost - blake

Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time
Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.
In the age of gold,
Free from winter's cold,
Youth and maiden bright,
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.

the little girl found

All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.

Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm, seven days
They traced the desert ways.

Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
And dream they see their child
Starved in desert wild.

Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.

Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman pressed
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.

In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.

Turning back was vain:
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground,
Then he stalked around,

Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay
When he licks their hands,
And silent by them stands.

They look upon his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit armed in gold.

On his head a crown,
On his shoulders down
Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.

'Follow me,' he said;
'Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.'

Then they followed
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among tigers wild.

To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell,
Nor fear the wolvish howl
Nor the lion's growl.