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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473717" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Journey To Lisbon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Winter Journey to Lisbon </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up rua Garrett I walked and it’s steep, in Baixa, the old heart <br>of Lisbon, past a shop that sells lottery tickets that sits beside <br>a shop that sells religious artifax, which is next door to a shop <br>that sells Cartier watches, if you buy a ticket and win, there is <br>money to decorate you mother’s grave and to buy a watch for <br>yourself. At the top of the street there is café Brasilia it used to <br>be Fernando Pessoa’s drinking den, the place is full of solemn, <br>nice Portuguese who, dressed for the occasion, drink nice cups <br>of coffee, their forefathers used looked down on Fernando, <br>irreverent poets and writers must go and drink elsewhere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The master poet is now a statue sits outside in the rain and has <br>his picture taken by tourists, one wonders what he thinks of it all <br>as he sees the statue of Antonio Ribero Chiado, a poet who lived <br>in the sixteen hundred, the Largo is called after him he is bald and <br>is dressed like monk. From Largo Chiado I could see the harbour <br>where tug boats ply their trade on grey waters; the church <br>“Incarnacao” where Antonio used to pray is beautifully restored, <br>but empty god had left by the backdoor, the front door was too <br>heavy, but I saw woman weeping near a statue of Christ, “opium <br>for the people? ” Yes, why not? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is getting dark the Portuguese are swallowed up by the Metro <br>as middle aged men with folded cardboard boxes, look for a shop <br>doorway where to bed down; and over this scene hovers Amalia, <br>the great Fado singer, she came from poverty too, famous in her <br>own life time she had the sense to be a friend of the powerful and <br>made it to the top. When her friends toppled from power she was <br>out in the cold, but not for long the Portuguese quickly forgave her. <br>Fine rain falls on Fernando’s hat and Antonio’s bald head, empty <br>streets the city sleeps and leaves the space to cats, the sleepless, <br>whores and their sad clients.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473717" data-title="Journey To Lisbon de Oskar Hansen" data-description="Winter Journey to Lisbon 

Up rua Garrett I walked and it’s steep, in Baixa, the old heart 
of Lisbon, past a shop that sells lottery tickets that sits beside 
a shop that sells religious artifax, which is next door to a shop 
that sells Cartier..."></div>
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