Helena Arcoverde

the bus

Posted in Crônica by helenarcoverde on 30/04/2017
Dourado desfazendo 3
Posted by helenarcoverde on 16/10/2013
image and text helena arcverde

The busshook, but she didn’t seem to feel it. Nothing shook in her lean body. The objects inside the bus jiggled, butwent right back to their places. Sitting in the second row, she was amazed at how lucky she was that nobody sat beside her. The driver seemed to understand much more than the momentrequired. Time and again he looked through the rearview mirror as if he could read not only the passengers’ thoughts, but also to know more than they did about the lives that didn’tbelonged to them. Elzastarted to become annoyed by what she saw aspetulance. She tried notto look in the driver’s direction, although knowing she would,once in a while. And when it was inevitable, he would look at her with sarcasm. On the other side, a woman tried to fit into the seat. Fearing to be noticed, Elza turned her face in another direction, but she suddenly looked back when she noticed that the woman’s right arm seemed to be wounded. Dirty gauzes seemed to become a little looserat every jolt. Elza was wondering about the strangeness of the whole situation, when the driver announced a stop. The bus pulled over and the woman, after moving around for a few minutes, stood up from the seat. Her dress was loose and torn on one side. Staggering,she managed to get off the bus that had stopped in front of a house. The woman went in. The passengers seemed resigned to wait. Elza noticed that the driver still had that same contemptuous air about him and was tapping the tip of his fingers on the dark circle of the steering wheel.She could not tell for how long they stayed in that unusual concession. At last, she saw the woman. She was crying.

There was movement inside the house, but nobody accompanied her to the door. She got on the bus in the same way she had gotten off –staggering. She was even more crestfallen and forlorn then before. The trip resumed. Between maneuvers, the driver still tapped his fingers. Elzadozed off and when she woke up she realized that the bus had stopped in front of another house. She looked out of the window and this time the details were more visible. The house seemed abandoned. Crossed boards had been nailed over the entrance door and the one window. A man was standing in front of it, staring at the building. He stayed like that for a few minutes. She observed the scene with increasing uneasiness. She had taken that trip to meet some friends and she would certainly miss herappointment if that went on for too long. The man finally came back. Circumspect, he took a seat behind her. The ride had gone on for some immeasurable time, when the bus started to slow down as it neared an accident that had probably happened a few days ago. A bus and a passenger car comprisedthe scene.There was lots of debris, some candles and flowers. All faces turned simultaneously. Only Elza’s remained on the other passengers’. They looked at each other.

After all theinterruptions, the ride seemed to have returned to normal. Elza felt dizzy, but noticed that someone seemed to be poking her. Frightened, with eyes wide open, she composed herself. Now, everybody was looking at her. The driver, standing in front of her, tried to squeezehis body in the space between the front rowsmaking room for Elza to pass. She stood up and walked just like the others had done it, to the exit. She went down, reluctantly, the two steps and only then she realized that the bus had stopped in front of her house. She looked inquisitively at the driver,who now with a compassionate air about him moved his head signaling her to go on. The young lady went on walking toward the house. At the entrance, she met neighbors, who did not greet her. Intrigued, she entered the house. Nobody greeted her. They must be mad about her trip. She walked to her mother’s room and saw her lying down, crying. She hugged her,but she didn’t even notice it. Elza stayed there until her mother fell asleep. Then, she got out without anyone noticing her. She got on the bus again, and left.

ARCOVERDE, Helena Sobral. The bus. In: blog Helena Arcoverde. Translation: SCHLEMM, Martha. Curitiba, 2013.

Posted in Fotografia by helenarcoverde on 28/04/2017

DOURADO2

crédito: helena sobral arcoverde

Adeus, Jerry

Posted in Crítica by helenarcoverde on 23/04/2017

Por Helena Sobral Arcoverde
Os galãs não resistem à dor, aos chambres que carimbam os doentes, à solidão dos vãos hospitalares. Jerry Adriani – por décadas- foi o galã das mocinhas que hj prefeririam os MCs. Nenhuma novidade na morte, ela se instaura até nos mitos, ela os destrói como se fossem quaisquer mortais. Ela se vinga pela fama, sem nenhum glamour. Em algum auditoria das cidadezinhas quaisquer outros jerris surgirão, confiantes que ainda demorará o dia em que se igualarão a todos os outros que viveram no espaço do anonimato. Adeus, Jerry.

Chiado Editora lança antologia de poesia Além da Terra Além do Céu

Posted in notícias by helenarcoverde on 02/04/2017

manhãzinha

Posted in Poesia by helenarcoverde on 01/04/2017
por helena sobral arcoverde
os rastros da manhã se estraçalham
sob a intolerância da claridade
`a mercê da rua, me alinho com a terra do acostamento
com o gato na cumeeira
com o constrangimento das margaridas
maltratadas pela geada da noite
com o reacender dos galhos
sob o ímpeto do dia