Helena Arcoverde


Posted in Uncategorized by helenarcoverde on 02/05/2017

Crédito: Helena Arcoverde

Posted in by helenarcoverde on 18/10/2013

The day of the trip was coming and she dreaded it. Despondency for what she had not livedcame between her and what wasover. The rain had lost its fascination, shopping seemed purposeless,and dialog inopportune. She had hidden from time, but it had found her. […] Carlota cried for the time gone bythat prevented her from celebrating, like all the others, the graces of the new season. She would no longer stare, eyes wide open, at sweet preserves, the money won unexpectedly. She was immune to desire and the small pleasures she treated herself to in its name. She did not buy – like her ancestors – her shroud. Not even the lilac one. It made no difference to her what kind of fabric would cover her.It would survive her dejected flesh. The day did not take too long to arrive. Over her body cried the remorseful, the debtors, and even those who showed their happiness before her corpse, with no reserves. With no more needs, she lay there, among odorless flowers and ordinary phrases.  She would have hated to read them, but this no longer mattered. Love and lack of love blended in with the few prayers received. Those who loved her did not pray even a section of the rosary. She had not taught them how to. And outside, the birds hopped among rotten branches. They pecked on crumbs while chirping, restlessly, here and there. They looked at each other without actually seeing, and sang in praise of the vain soul of Carlota who, had she been able to see them, would have seen in that scene her final solace. Then they took flight, saddened by the departure of another one who left without ever tasting the sweet fruits of the persimmon tree.

 ARCOVERDE, Helena Sobral. Carlota. In: blog Helena Arcoverde. Translation: SCHLEMM, Martha. Curitiba, 2013.
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A viagem se aproximara e ela a temia. Desalento pelo não vivido se interpunha entre ela e o acabado. A chuva perdera o fascínio, as compras pareciam despropositadas e o diálogo  inoportuno. Escondera-se do tempo, mas ele a achara. […] Carlota chorava o tempo que se esgotara impedindo-a de festejar, como os demais, as graças da nova estação. Não arregalaria mais os olhos ante as compotas de doce, o dinheiro ganho e não previsto. Estava imune ao desejo e aos mimos que se fazia em nome dele. Não comprara – como seus antepassados – a mortalha.Nem a lilás. Pouco importavam os panos que a cobririam. Eles sobreviveriam a suas carnes desalentadas. O dia não tardou nadinha. Sobre ela choraram os arrependidos, os devedores e até os que se regozijaram ante seu corpo sem reservas. Sem mais quereres, jazia, entre flores sem odores e frases ordinárias. Odiaria lê-las, mas isso também já não importava. Amor e desamor se misturavam às poucas rezas recebidas. Os que a amavam não proferiram nenhum pedaço do terço. Ela não os ensinara. Lá fora os pássaros saltitavam nos galhos apodrecidos. Bicavam migalhas enquanto ticavam, sem sossego, aqui e ali. Olhavam uns aos outros sem se enxergarem e cantarolavam a alma vã de Carlota que, se pudesse vê-los teria na cena seu único consolo. Depois voaram, desalentados com mais uma que se fora sem degustar as bicadas doces do caquizeiro.

the passage

Posted in Uncategorized by helenarcoverde on 02/05/2017

Posted in Uncategorized by helenarcoverde on 16/04/2015 Editar isto

She walked so slowly, on the sidewalk. In the house, everyone waited for her to go by. She was dainty and discrete. The form-fitting grey skirt contoured her body. The silk blouse stirred gently against the warm wind. Away from the street, she did not undo her smile, aware of the effect it had caused. The small steps sometimes became larger ones. One day, she no longer went down the street. Not in that area. It would never be known if she missed the looks that venerated her every afternoon; the no need for words that her consideration she awakened. The instant had taken her. Not once would she go down that street again. The warm breeze still hopes to brush against her fair and slim body. After her, everybody was gone too. Occasionally, I meet her in an impossible threshold, in a gathering without territory. Neither am I ever going to go down that street again.

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

Helena, dez, 2016

Posted in Fotografia, Uncategorized by helenarcoverde on 06/12/2016

Photo on 2016-12-05 at 15.52.jpg

Photo on 2016-12-05 at 15.53 #2.jpg



Posted in Uncategorized by helenarcoverde on 12/10/2016

Oi, gente, estou ocupada, oportunamente voltarei a publicar. Por enquanto, algumas crônicas e imagens.


Posted in Uncategorized by helenarcoverde on 27/08/2016

METAL camadas