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AMEM

Um dia na minha Beira
Fui para a cama bem cedo
Durante a noite acordei
Com uma sensaçâo de medo.

Nâo era de arrepiar,
Era somente a impressâo,
Que alguem me acompanhava,
Apressou-me o coraçâo.

Vi deslisar umas sombras,
Abri os olhos em par,
Era como umas imagens,
Que me vinham visitar.

Fantasmas...logo pensei,
Aqui é tudo possível,
Vi caras que conheci antes,
Isto sim que era incrível.

Olha o velho Araujo,
Daquele jeep a baixar,
Parecia-me bem disposto
Pela praça a passear.

Levava posto um blazer
No pescoço um cachné,
Falava com o Ramchand
Um importante monhé.

Depois vi um homem passar
Deu-me um salto o coraçâo
Parecia-me conhecido,
Era o Saul Brandâo.

Lembram-se dele certamente
Muito conhecido o senhor,
Era homem de negocios
E dono do Embaixador.

Quem vem lá baixo apressado?
O Salzone, o caçador,
Vai correndo antes que feche
O Pinto & Sotto Mayor.

Naquele Mercedes lá vai,
Levantou a mâo pra mim,
Pude vê-lo muito bem,
Era o Engenheiro Jardim.

Deve ter vindo do Dondo,
Acompanhava-o a esposa,
Vi que o carro seguia,
P’ros lados do Pendray Sousa.

Ele fui o presidente,
Por isso o conhecia
Do nosso aero club,
Onde eu muitas vezes ia.

Foi um grade aventureiro,
E foi homem da elite,
Piloto aviador
Director da Lusalite.

Quando estava bem atento,
Vi um Fiat azul passar,
Era o meu tio Acácio,
Que vinha de trabalhar.

Ao Bar Rex se dirigiu,
E foi lá estacionar,
Porque pelas tardes ia,
Com os amigos jogar.

Continuava admirado
Com todos os que passavam,
Porque eu sabia que eles,
Todos mortos se encontravam.

Mas aqui nâo acabava
Era como se estisse à janela,
Passou o Magalhâes Costa
O dono da Caravela,

Isto só acontece aqui,
Nesta cidade da Beira,
Olha o meu amigo Sthamer,
Do Pertersen & Nogueira

Ia no seu Volkswagen
Por isso eu bem o vi,
Tinha a sua companhia,
Por cima do Café Capri.

Passar em frente aos correios
Vi o Virgilio Garcia,
Indo direito à Safrique,
Deles era caçador-guia.

Lembram-se dos Serras Pires?
Lhes juro que eu nâo minto,
Vi passar p’ro 100 à Hora,
O meu amigo Jacinto.

Que andará fazendo?
Com cuidado o segui,
Vi que andava organizando,
À Gorongosa um Rally.

Rallys, carros e velocidade,
Desfilando pela Beira,
Representando o Entreposto,
O José Manuel Mendes Pereira.

Vi passar um grande carro
Atrás dele uma camionete
Saiu de lá o dentista
E a sua mulher, a Gillette.

Continuava a passar,
A gente que eu conheci,
O dono do Simôes Safaris
Naquele momento eu vi.

Olha o Zé que bem o vejo,
Acenando-me com a mâo,
Vi tambem o velho Coimbra
E o Henrique Leitâo.

Olá amigo, me disseram,
Aqui te viemos a ver,
Fomos todos muito amigos
Muito antes de morrer.

Depois vi o Carlos Cruz,
Que tambem foi caçador,
Ele casou-se com a viuva
Que se chama Leonor.

Sabem quem vi eu passar
Pessoa que me deu pena?
Vi que ia muito contente,
O amigo Luis Mena.

A morte tinha-o levado,
Rápido e numa carreira,
Agora encontrava-se bem,
A passear pela Beira.

Mais tarde vi outra pessoa,
Na mâo levava um cajú,
Era o Armindo Vieira
O famoso Marabú.

Foi caçador professional,
Durante muitos anos,
Nese momento passava
Mesmo em frente à Spanos.

Atrás da Manica Trading
Vi o Arquitecto Ivo,
Caminhava devagar
Parecia que estava vivo.

Com ele e acompanhando-o
Em conversa muito amena,
Ia bastante animado,
Creio que se chamava Sena.

Que estariam planeando?
Alguma coisa digo eu,
Será que querem modificar
A entrada para o Céu?

Com calma mas com firmeza
Pelas avenidas da Beira,
Ia p’ro Aero Club,
O grande Chico Moiteira.

Sempre com um grande sorriso,
Que nele era habitual,
Acompanhava-o o Tony Ladley,
Nâo vi que estivesse mal.

Num Citroen tubarâo
Ia o Roger Sauvage,
Tambem o acompanhava,
A que foi minha manacage.

Ao olhar p’ro Pic-Nic,
Estava o amigo Teixeira,
Aterafado preparando,
Uns ovos com uma alheira.

Estava a ver muita gente
Durante essa semana,
Vi aquele que foi piloto,
Amigo Lomba Viana.

E por falar de pilotos,
Que viviam nesta terra,
Ia para o aeroporto,
O aviador Jorge Guerra.

Dizem que a Senhora Morte,
O tinha contratado,
Para levar as pessoas,
Da vida, pró outro lado.

Tambem vi outra pessoa,
E quase solto um grito,
Era um bom hoteleiro,
Do Estoril, era o Brito.

Na entrada do cinema
Que se chama Nacional,
Encontrei um velho amigo
Era o Luis Portugal.

Oh Luis meu bom amigo
Onde é que tua mâe anda?
Está na agencia agora,
E ainda se chama “Armanda”.

Que coisas que estava a ver,
Isto sim era demais,
Pois no Lar Modeno vi
O Silva e o Sr. Morais.

O Torcato pobrezinho
Quando chegou aquele dia
Quiz vender ao Sào Pedro,
Bilhetes de Lotaria.

Despois vi uma pessoa
Que reconheci Deus meu,
Era o Coen das madeiras,
Que era um grande judeu.

Mesmo em frente ao Chiveve,
Preparando o camarào,
O grego do Johny’s Place,
Açenou-me com a mâo.

Que boa que era a comida,
Naquele famoso lugar,
Agora eram os fantasmas,
Que a estavam a gozar.

Segui para a Ponta Gea
Alguem me estava a chamar
Na Padaria Esperança,
Vi o Carvalho trabalhar.

O que mais me impressionou,
Que quase me dá um chelique,
Ver a Gugas, minha mulher,
Em terras de Moçambique.

Em frente ao campo de golf,
Naquele grande casarâo,
Vi o homem importante
O bispo Dom Sebastiâo.

Primeiro Bispo da Beira,
Nos livros assim se aprende,
A lápide que está no châo diz:
D. Sebastiâo Soares Resende.

Vi uma pessoa importante,
Que num grande carro vinha,
Era um bom advogado
E chamava-se Palhinha.

Gostava muito de caçar,
Ia muitas vezes p’ros tandos,
Para poder distrair-se,
De assuntos e de “milandos”.

Por fim vi um grande homem
Que saiu nâo sei bem donde,
O que foi o meu pisteiro,
Um grande amigo , o FOMBE.

Para mim se dirigiu,
E disse-me num tom lento,
Aqui estou oh meu muana,
Te espero até ao fim do tempo.

Ao ver aquele ser querido,
Nem podia respirar,
Desde que era um menino,
Ele me ensinou a caçar.

Ao ver que ele estava bem,
Que felicidade, que alegria,
Sabia que ele me esperava,
Quando chegasse o meu dia.

Depois de ver tudo isto,
Cheguei à conclusào,
Que os beirenses ao morrer
Para o Paraiso vâo.

E ao perguntar-lhe directo,
Ao Dr. Dias Ferreira,
Victor, ainda nâo notas-te,
Que o Paraiso é a BEIRA?

Quando eu morra um dia,
Lá nos vamos encontrar,
Mandem-me limpar a casa,
Onde eu costumava morar.

Agora sei para onde vou,
Agora estou descansado,
À Beira eu vou parar,
Ainda que morra noutro lado.

Por isso amigos nâo temam,
Quando a Morte os venha buscar,
Já sabem que de certeza,
À Beira vamos parar.

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Postagens mais visitadas deste blog

The 3 P.M. Brunch With the 4 A.M. Vibe By BEN DETRICKNOV. 16, 2011 Continue reading the main story Share This Page Share Tweet Pin Email More Save Photo An enthusiastic reveler parties to a performance by Roxy Cottontail, a promoter, at Eat Yo Brunch at Yotel on 10th Avenue, where the $35 brunch allows patrons to eat and drink for two hours. Credit Deidre Schoo for The New York Times BRUNCH, an occasion for flapjacks, Bloody Marys and meandering conversation, is traditionally the most sluggish of meals. But a smorgasbord of clubby New York restaurants have transformed lazy midday gatherings into orgies of overindulgence with blaring music, jiggling go-go dancers and bar tabs that mushroom into five figures. No, boozy brunches aren’t new. Inspired by the daytime debauchery on Pampelonne Beach in St.-Tropez, where jet-setters arrive by Ferrari and yacht, early iterations began at Le Bilboquet on the Upper East Side in the early ’90s, and spread to meatpacking district flashpoints like Bagatelle and Merkato 55 in 2008. But more recently, these brunches have been supersized, moving from smaller lounges to brassy nightclubs like Lavo and Ajna. The party blog Guest of a Guest has taken to calling it the “Battle of the Brunches.” “Not everyone gets to run to the beach or jump on a plane,” said Noah Tepperberg, an owner of Lavo in Midtown, which started its brunch party a year ago. “If you want to leave your house on the weekend, brunch fills that void.” On a recent Saturday, Mr. Tepperberg stood in Lavo’s basement kitchen, surrounded by meat slicers and employees readying confectionary “poison apples” for a Halloween party for a pre-split Kim Kardashian. Upstairs, patrons in costumes danced atop tables and chairs, bobbing to the carnival syncopation of Jay-Z and Kanye West’s “Paris.” Confetti and blasts of fog filled the air. Continue reading the main story Related Coverage slideshow The Brunch Party Takes Over Clubs NOV. 16, 2011 Advertisement Continue reading the main story It was 3 p.m. “People walk in and say, ‘I can’t believe this is going on right now,’ ” Mr. Tepperberg said. The brunch bacchanalia shows no sign of running dry. The Mondrian SoHo is starting Scene Sundays this month at its Imperial No. Nine restaurant. In Las Vegas, the original Lavo started a Champagne brunch a few weeks ago. Similar affairs have bubbled up in Boston, Los Angeles and Washington. For those looking to replicate the formula, here’s a guide to some of New York’s frothiest. Day and Night Ajna Bar (25 Little West 12th Street, dayandnightnyc.com); Saturday, noon to 6 p.m. This extravagant French-themed party landed in October at Ajna Bar in the meatpacking district, after dousing the Hamptons, Art Basel in Miami and the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel with rosé. Beneath an industrial skylight and fluttering flags from the United Kingdom, France and Israel, well-heeled patrons pumped their fists and posed for purse-lipped Facebook photos, racking up huge tabs every Saturday. “I understand there’s a lot of people out there going through hard times,” said Daniel Koch, the promoter who helped start the Day and Night parties at Merkato 55. “But what you want to do with your money is your business.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES “If you’ve been sprayed with Champagne, make some noise!” a hype man will shout between piercing dance tracks from Robyn, Calvin Harris and Oasis. Dancers in orange bathing suits will emerge; pipes will blast jets of fog. In a dangerously drunken take on a bar mitzvah ritual, a man spooning dessert out of a giant bowl will be seated on a chair and lifted high into the air by his cronies. BRUNCH SET Club-savvy guests seem piped in from Miami, Monaco and Merrill Lynch. “I’m from the South, so drinking during the day is not new to me,” said a woman who wore a Diane Von Furstenberg dress but not the necessary wristband to enter the V.I.P. area. Outside, near a black Aston Martin coupe, a young man wearing paint on his face and sunglasses delved into socioeconomics. “We’re the 1 percent,” he said to a woman, matter of factly. THE BUFFET The Nutella-stuffed croissants ($12) cater to Europeans, while a gimmicky $2,500 ostrich egg omelet (with foie gras, lobster, truffle, caviar and a magnum of Dom Perignon) is for aspiring Marie Antoinettes. Champagne bottles start at $500; packages with several bottles of liquor and mixers for mojitos or bellinis are $1,000. The check can be sobering. “You didn’t look at the price of the Dom bottle!” a man barked into his iPhone, to a friend who apparently ditched before paying. “It’s $700!” STILL-HOT ACCESSORY Slatted “shutter shades” live on at Day and Night. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Yes. Lavo Champagne Brunch Lavo (39 East 58th Street, lavony.com); Saturday, 2 to 6:30 p.m. Smog guns. Confetti cannons. Piñatas. Masked masseuses. Dancers in Daisy Duke shorts (some on stilts, obviously). Since last November, this Italian restaurant has roiled with the energy and pageantry of Mardi Gras. At the recent Halloween party, Slick Rick, an old-school rapper with an eye patch and glinting ropes of jewelry, lethargically performed several ’80s hits. Some of the younger “Black Swans” in attendance were unsure of his identity. “Is he big in London?” asked an Australian woman wearing a top hat. SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES Caffeinated anthems like Pitbull’s “Hey Baby” and Roscoe Dash’s “All the Way Turnt Up” are accentuated by processions of bouncers carrying women above them in tubs, like Cleopatra on a palanquin. Polenta pancakes taking up precious square footage? Just kick them aside with your stilettos. Newsletter Sign Up Continue reading the main story Open Thread Newsletter A look from across the New York Times at the forces that shape the dress codes we share, with Vanessa Friedman as your personal shopper. You agree to receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services. See Sample Privacy Policy Opt out or contact us anytime BRUNCH SET Share Champagne spritzers with willowy model types and inheritors of wealth. The scrum on an October afternoon included the son of a Mongolian dignitary, six scions of Mexican plutocracy wearing novelty somberos, and at least one supermodel. “She’s everywhere,” said Mr. Tepperberg, as the nymph, whose name he couldn’t remember, disappeared into the jungle of merriment. THE BUFFET With the emphasis on tabletop dancing, Italian trattoria offerings (margherita pizzas for $21, and lemon ricotta waffles for $19) are often abandoned underfoot and sprinkled with confetti. Proving alcohol reigns supreme here, ice buckets are carefully shielded with napkins. Bottle service rules: Moët Brut is $195 and liquor starts at $295. Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar sizes surge toward the $10,000 mark. RISKY ROSé Alcohol and high-altitude dancing can be perilous: there was a brief hullabaloo in one corner when several women took a tumble. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Yes. Eat Yo Brunch Yotel (570 10th Avenue, yotel.com); Sunday, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. If spending thousands of dollars makes your stomach turn, this newish party at Yotel is more easily digested. This affably cartoonish affair, held at the space-age hotel in Hell’s Kitchen with the design aesthetics of a Pokémon, draws a gay-friendly crowd lured northward by Patrick Duffy, a promoter. “There’s a lot of pressure in night life,” Mr. Duffy said. “But I feel like Sunday is a comedown. It doesn’t have to be perfect.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES These connoisseurs of brunch wear designer shoes too stylish for tromping atop omelets. With a D.J. spinning dance tracks from LeLe and Earth, Wind & Fire, guests sip bellinis at the bar or banter at long communal tables. The performers are looser. One afternoon, Roxy Cottontail, a pink-haired promoter, vamped around the sunken dining area with a microphone. “Don’t make kitty pounce,” she rapped, before climbing atop a table. BRUNCH SET Clusters of trim men wear leather motorcycle jackets or shroud themselves in patterned scarves. “It’s an eclectic, downtown vibe,” Ms. Cottontail said. “We have the most fabulous gays in New York City.” When a platinum-blond waiter in skintight jeans pranced in front of a wall decorated with pictures of sumo wrestlers riding Japanese carp, it seemed straight from an anime cell. THE BUFFET For an egalitarian $35, patrons receive unlimited grub — options include chilaquiles, halibut sliders and seaweed salad — and a two-hour window of boozing. “It’s not bougie,” said Mr. Duffy, who bounded across the room hugging guests and hand-delivering shots. “You could be a poor, starving artist or someone that doesn’t take a client for under $20 million.” COLOR CODE Wear purple if you hope to be camouflaged by the staff outfits, chairs and ceilings. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? No. Sunset Saturdays PH-D Rooftop Lounge at Dream Downtown (355 West 16th Street, dreamdowntown.com); Saturday, 5:30 to 10 p.m. Despite a happy hour time slot, this sunset party atop the Dream Downtown hotel is not for pre-gaming. After funneling in brunch crowds from elsewhere, 8 p.m. has the frenzied atmosphere and intoxication of 2 a.m. The offbeat timing may deter conventional weekend warriors. “No matter how cool the place, some people feel Friday and Saturday nights are for amateurs,” said Matt Strauss, a manager of PH-D. “We’re not for amateurs.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES The D.J. rapid-fires through tracks from C+C Music Factory, LMFAO and Rick Ross, but booze-lubricated guests scramble on couches with little hesitation. Those grappling with bursts of existential angst after six hours of brunch can gaze pensively at the spectacular views of Midtown Manhattan. BRUNCH SET Attractive women and affluent men knot around tables; hotel guests gawk from the bar. On a recent Saturday, Mark Wahlberg danced with a few friends, and David Lee, a former New York Knick, enjoyed downtime provided by the N.B.A. lockout. “We saw an angle,” said Matt Assante, a promoter. “People spend more money than at nighttime.” THE BUFFET Brunch is thankfully over, but crispy calamari ($17) and guacamole ($12) could constitute a light dinner. A bottle of Veuve Clicquot is $475. Cîroc vodka is $450. Cocktails like the Cloud Nine (Beefeater gin, Campari, grapefruit) are $18; a Bud Light is $10. WINDING DOWN After the rigors of daylong gorging, relax with the help of an on-site masseuse. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Obviously.

The 3 P.M. Brunch With the 4 A.M. Vibe By BEN DETRICK NOV. 16, 2011 Continue reading the main story Share This Page Share Tweet Pin Email More Save Photo An enthusiastic reveler parties to a performance by Roxy Cottontail, a promoter, at Eat Yo Brunch at Yotel on 10th Avenue, where the $35 brunch allows patrons to eat and drink for two hours. Credit Deidre Schoo for The New York Times BRUNCH, an occasion for flapjacks, Bloody Marys and meandering conversation, is traditionally the most sluggish of meals. But a smorgasbord of clubby New York restaurants have transformed lazy midday gatherings into orgies of overindulgence with blaring music, jiggling go-go dancers and bar tabs that mushroom into fiv

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