sempre bom ver

aqui .

I bend over forgotten corners Prague
woven by your gloomy splendour
smoke of inns in which the chirping of birds is lost
evening like a harmonica player makes the weeping doors creak
long fat keys lock up indecipherable things
and footsteps scatter like a broken rosary.

de Vitezslav Nezval
em "Prague with Fingers of Rain"
a mais não ser porque o título é tão bonito.

Prague, that's a sip of wine with flavour,
a hundred times I say her name,
light as a breath and bright as flame,
and sweeter than a lover's favour.

do nobelizado Jaroslav Seifert
em "A wreath of Sonnets"

e há o Václav Havel, Milan Kundera, Bohumil Hrabal. A ver Miroslav Holub. Para a to read list: Vladimír Macura e os semi(o)-feuilletons. E talvez Alexandra Berková e Sylva Fischerová, estas para o bloco de notas. (E não somos todos iguais agora: "The commercial book market since 1989 has altered the publishing scene a great deal, producing a flood of translated entertainment literature, but native output seems to have revived, not only with the support of grants, and continues to find both publishers and readers.") Reduzidos todos a uma profecia celestina. O grande apagão é capaz de vir a ser pior do que parece. Em Lisboa, essa figura sinistra, queridinho das revistas cor de rosa e não só, e a assustadora Leya.