Monday, December 6, 2010


Maria, jetzt bist Du in Berlin, DDR. Du sitzt jetzt hinter dem eisernen Vorhang. Wie das alles passiert ist, weiß ich kaum. Nun sitzt Du da, aber als Du noch in Portugal warst, schien mir alles so verträumt.

Berlin, Dec. 5th, 1981
snow came at last dancing with the west wind a wild dance against my window. These days I have to stay at home and have no permission to speak (nor even whisper) or go out. I really can´t speak and the worst thing is that I can´t sing. I can only write. It seems to me that grey Berlin will soon be white with snow falling as on the first pages of Through the Looking-Glass. So I decided I would write you a letter.
I have been thinking how much my life has depended on letters in these last years, how many have probably been open by mistake, enfin combien de lettres portugaises j´ai adressé à l´étranger... It also seems a paradox that I should be needing communication so badly when I can express myself and communicate with people, sometimes even in a very peculiar and strange way - as if I were on the other side of the glass. I have been considering the strange circumstances that brought me here and make me live my solitude so deeply that sometimes I feel I have more in common with the wind and snow or with the sun and the stars than with my own fellowmen, although I do like people and enjoy their company. Sometimes I have the feeling I went so far and so fast towards the future, that noone can reach me where I am and that I write for people who "are not there yet" ("noch nicht da sind").
(a continuar)
In: Linha de Fuga - Flightline - Fluchtlinie, 1996
Fotografia de Luis Mariano Gonzáles, Noa al otro lado