Essa pagina está sendo descontinuada gradualmente.
Todo o material esta sendo transferido para um novo site.
Devido a inúmeros bugs, decorrentes da pagina
A gestão preferiu começar do zero,
Ou ficaríamos num trabalho de Sisifo:
A cada segundo tendo que fazer manutenções,
E nos afastando do primordial motivo:
Manter vivo o Legado de Claude Forgeron e sua Obra,
Alem de outros conteúdos.
Não foi fácil tomar a atual decisão, mas foi a única de fato a ser tomada.
Mas foram encontradas outras matérias que se perderam aqui, e estão presentes na nova pagina.
Não poderíamos deixar de agradecer a todos que visitaram a pagina durante esse tempo todo e os esperamos na nova e melhor versão dessas pagina.
A Gestão.
Attention
due to obsolescence This page is being phased out gradually. All material is being transferred to a new site. Due to numerous bugs, arising from the page Management preferred to start from scratch, Or we would be left with a work of Sisyphus: Every second having to do maintenance, And moving away from the primary reason: Keeping alive the Legacy of Claude Forgeron and his Work, In addition to other content.
It was not easy to make the current decision, but it was the only one to actually be made.
But other materials were found that were lost here, and are present in the new page.
We couldn't help but thank everyone who visited the page during this whole time and we look forward to seeing you in the new and better version of these pages.
The management.
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Agradecimentos aos visitantes ,caso você não fale o idioma português ,use o google tradutor
" Aus langehegten,tiefgefuehlkten Schmerzen Wand sichs empor aus meinen innern Herzen Es fest zuhalten hab ich lang gerungen Doch weiss ich dass zuletzt es mir gelungen Des Werkers Leben koennt ihr nie gefaehrden Ausfhalten koennt ihrs, ninmer mehr vernichten Ein Denkmahl wird die Nachwelt mir errichten."
Arthur schopenhauer Tradução: Das dores longamente cultivadas e profundamente sentidas,ela nasceu de meu coração. Quanto lutei para consegui-lo,mas afinal tenho a certeza de que não foi em vão. Podeis,por isso portar-vos como quiserdes, que a vida de minha obra jamais ha´de periclitar. Podeis detê-la, mas nunca destruí-la. um monumento erguer-me-a´ a posteridade.
"As pessoas de notoriedade intelectual costumam estar à frente de seu tempo. Certamente Claude subverte essa lógica e prova que não se atinge a vanguarda apenas olhando pra frente. Ele se notabiliza intelectualmente, não por antecipar o que há de melhor no futuro, mas por representar o que há de melhor no passado. Assim, como uma personagem pinçada de uma novela de época, Claude nos comtemporiza tal como alguém que ficou congelado numa câmara criogênica por 200 anos e, de repente, circula nesse mundo de velhas novidades. É o poeta remanescente e extemporâneo, representante legítimo do simbolismo poético com todo seu rigor estético. Uma figura singular, admirável.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping — rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ; — This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping — tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you” — here I opened wide the door : — Darkness there, and nothing more.
UNE fois, par un minuit lugubre, tandis que je m’appesantissais, faible et fatigué, sur maint curieux et bizarre volume de savoir oublié — tandis que je dodelinais la tête, somnolant presque : soudain se fit un heurt, comme de quelqu’un frappant doucement, frappant à la porte de ma chambre — cela seul et rien de plus.
Ah ! distinctement je me souviens que c’était en le glacial Décembre : et chaque tison, mourant isolé, ouvrageait son spectre sur le sol. Ardemment je souhaitais le jour — vainement j’avais cherché d’emprunter à mes livres un sursis au chagrin — au chagrin de la Lénore perdue — de la rare et rayonnante jeune fille que les anges nomment Lénore : — de nom pour elle ici, non, jamais plus !
Et de la soie l’incertain et triste bruissement en chaque rideau purpural me traversait — m’emplissait de fantastiques terreurs pas senties encore : si bien que, pour calmer le battement de mon cœur, je demeurais maintenant à répéter « C’est quelque visiteur qui sollicite l’entrée, à la porte de ma chambre — quelque visiteur qui sollicite l’entrée, à la porte de ma chambre ; c’est cela et rien de plus. »
Mon âme devint subitement plus forte et, n’hésitant davantage « Monsieur, dis-je, ou Madame, j’implore véritablement votre pardon ; mais le fait est que je somnolais et vous vîntes si doucement frapper, et si faiblement vous vîntes heurter, heurter à la porte de ma chambre, que j’étais à peine sûr de vous avoir entendu. » — Ici j’ouvris, grande, la porte : les ténèbres et rien de plus.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore !” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore !” — Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before, “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice ; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; — ’Tis the wind and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he ; not an instant stopped or stayed he ; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — Perched and sat and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore !” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.”
Loin dans l’ombre regardant, je me tins longtemps à douter, m’étonner et craindre, à rêver des rêves qu’aucun mortel n’avait osé rêver encore ; mais le silence ne se rompit point et la quiétude ne donna de signe : et le seul mot qui se dit, fut le mot chuchoté « Lénore ! » Je le chuchotai — et un écho murmura de retour le mot « Lénore ! » — purement cela et rien de plus.
Rentrant dans la chambre, toute mon âme en feu, j’entendis bientôt un heurt en quelque sorte plus fort qu’auparavant. « Sûrement, dis-je, sûrement c’est quelque chose à la persienne de ma fenêtre. Voyons donc ce qu’il y a et explorons ce mystère — que mon cœur se calme un moment et explore ce mystère ; c’est le vent et rien de plus. »
Au large je poussai le volet ; quand, avec maints enjouement et agitation d’ailes, entra un majestueux Corbeau des saints jours de jadis. Il ne fit pas la moindre révérence, il ne s’arrêta ni n’hésita un instant : mais, avec une mine de lord ou de lady, se percha au-dessus de la porte de ma chambre — se percha sur un buste de Pallas juste au-dessus de la porte de ma chambre — se percha, siégea et rien de plus.
Alors cet oiseau d’ébène induisant ma triste imagination au sourire, par le grave et sévère décorum de la contenance qu’il eut : « Quoique ta crête soit chue et rase, non ! dis-je, tu n’es pas pour sûr un poltron, spectral, lugubre et ancien Corbeau, errant loin du rivage de Nuit — dis-moi quel est ton nom seigneurial au rivage plutonien de Nuit. »
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