Portuguese fragments for intimacy

1) Porto in the first moments of the sunrise. The first rays of light are graciously caressing the way of the soothsayer to Sao Bento: Palacio do Cristal, Cordoaria, Praca de Republica and Batalha. I knew these streets since eternity; I came here to visit in every previous life. I live in Porto and Porto lives in me. We are both familiar to each other like restless seagulls. The Douro takes the Light to the Atlantic under the careful gaze of Raul Brandao. And there the river meets the ocean. Indifferently and since ever.

2) The smell of the Portuguese coffee is plainly strong. The smell of that unique and forgotten café on the way to Foz was way too strong. The air carrying the salty droplets of sea water kept spraying my face and that of Raul Brandao. He stood there staunchly guarding the Lighthouse. And I was compelled to return to the land of the pale sun.
Porto ’s trilogy often visits me in the land of the cold. A mighty Light spelled with the breaking of dawn, a crushing smell of burning stones and a helplessly intense coffee- all these look as real as a guided tour in the Serralves orchestrated by Elsa on a Saturday afternoon.

3) My heart is still flying above Lisbon : Blessed be this stranger, plowing right now the streets of Lisbon and deliciously steeling a first look into a small book of verse by Alvaro do Campos .

Michel Kabalan, Leipzig (April 2007)