Silent film

How can I define outlines
Of aleatory unusual forms
Significances that suggests meanings
Of fragmented realities

And while I survive, by routine
In this chaotic city, that is the World
There is no indepth meaning
Only premeditated truths

And in straight avenue’s lines
I remain, perplexed, in the wrong way
In the shapeless subjectivities of life
On the opposite, I encouter identification

If everything is, and is not
I content myself in be being

(Negative films reveals itself into memorable scenes)

Jussara Ribeiro

Do you like languages? Check out the Portuguese Version of this poem, translated by the own author.
All rights reserved.


Once that the rationalism was questioned, not the soul
the hell is sane: is it (to be or not) the others?

The sight that does not cross the mirror
framed, such as a mere reflector glass
limits into an image the desire for freedom

Pure reflection, of the society

With shape, yet without flavor

(The label is a tag that brings information, but has an expiration date)

A paradoxical paradigm

An ode to the World`s culture & history…
…and to the creative stories that can be made

By a crossword`s game.

Because the history of the World is too magnificent to be mistaken
In the digital collective unconscious, the internet disclaim

Because to write & reflect…
…is the same thing of revealing the World to yourself

And to expose and reinvent the reality…
…is to discover your own self

(Everything, everywhere is connected)

No one holds Pagu


“This crime, the crime to be divergent, we will always commit”

Among all information lost on the web nowadays, some golden stories worth a shot to be written.

“Why don`t you read Tarzan? At least you would know, in principle, that there exists something called adventure, discovery, and audacity, in the world.”

That is what she said! Patricia Galvão, better known as Pagu. A Brazilian Journalist, International Correspondent, Writer, Poet, Theatre director, Translator, Cartoonist, Designer, and Political Activist. Have you got a breath? She had also had time to be a mother. During her life, she got to know a lot of artists and intellectuals, from all around the world.

pagunovinhaBorn in 1910, in a city called Sao Joao da Boa Vista, Sao Paulo State. Strenght-minded and beauty were her most salient features. When only 15 years old, she started to write for a small neighborhood journal under the pseudonym Patsy. Isn`t it Sassy!?

Pagu was introduced to Oswald de Andrade and Tarsila do Amaral, two reputable artists. This couple created the cultural movement Modern Art Week, together with one of the greatest poets of the moment, Raul Bopp.
Surprised by her intelligence, this one created her nickname Pagu with a poetry in her honor:

Pagu`s Coconut


Pagu has soft eyes
Eyes that make us hurt
Hits like coconut when passing by
It catches bits of the heart

Hey Pagu Hey
Hurts, because it is good when hurts

She passes pulling me with her eyes
Intensily, provocatively
Moves, moving, hula hooping
To get everybody

Hey Pagu Hey
Hurts, because it is good to hurt

Everybody keep looking
Your little body that come and goes
Umbilical and softly
of do-not-know-what-it-has

Hey Pagu Hey
Hurts, because it is good when hurts

I want you because I want you
In the sense of taking care
Little wish that wants to be togheter
That is good to make it hurt

Hey Pagu Hey
Hurts, because it is good when hurts

In the Modern Art Week, she had distinctive participation. The event marked her professional trajectory for the rest of her life. Critic, charismatic and revolutionary, she was the first Brazilian woman that really fought the sexism and many other human matters.

Pagu, by Candido Portinari

In a trip to Argentina, she met Luis Carlos Prestes, a Brazilian politician and communist. That is the moment that Pagu started her Politic Activism writing about communism in different papers. She also participated in many marches against the dictatorial government and was the first Brazilian woman arrested for politic reasons. In her hole life, she was arrested because of this matter 23 times!

In her life of International Correspondent, she was the only Latin American journalist that attended to the coronation of Pu Yi, the last China Emperor. Her proximity to him made it possible for her to bring to Brazil the first Soya seeds. In Moscow, Pagu was very upset with the communism, because she saw a lot of poverty and social segregation. In Paris, she studied at Sorbonne and met a lot of great intellectuals such as Andre Breton, writer, poet, and the Surrealism`s cultural movement theorist.

In Europe, she was arrested as a communist in the World War II, and deported back to Brazil. She was arrested several times again. Tired of her political militancy, Pagu became a Cultural Activist. She helped the city of Santos to be a theatre beacon, attracting many students and artists from all around the state.

In her whole life, she wrote articles and columns for different journals, and yet had time to get from life the most of it.

An irreverent personality, that never gave up of altruistic purposes, fighting for Human Rights, and, at the same time, never giving up her dream: to be a real woman, being truly herself. 


Lyric drops


When a tear comes from my eyes
I can cry I can cry

Does not mean that I am depressed
I am dressed I am dressed

I just learned how to cry
They say why they say why

Always been a strong girl
Always will always will

Is it not the sensibility
That makes me, an alive poetry?

Next line


I have been writing all my life
Step by step, editing
That crazy journalist mind
I can not stop creating

Diverses verses I can see
In everything that I have been through
Yet, if it was the other way around
It would not have been me, or you

I do not regret the past
And about the future, I can create
I can only celebrate
I started to write the next line

About Love and its enChantMent



Let me tell you a little story
A secret, a magic spell.
Every poetry is made from love

Love, the purest feeling
Bloom in an ineffable instant
An epiphanic and sublime moment

Some would say: oh, no.
Words, texts, and poems exist,
and consequent attitudes…

That are born from a feeling
yet are not,
not even a little bit
they do not get even close indeed
Of Love.

Yet, I contest. By fear of the uncertainty
Sometimes we distort Love.

Anger, envy, sadness and that little jealousy…
– Inadmissible!
Are Love.

It is necessary to focus, to fall
in reality (of society?)

Even if the things we do
– And we did what we have done
Not by malice

Alas, there are so many realities,
as personalities…

And we see things
As we are
In different levels of

Not as they are and
– They really are undoubtedly

That is the reason why
We must take really good care
And heal every corner of us

To have

– The certainty –


When we are in love

it is



(Jealousy is definitely not the perfume of love)


Jussara Ribeiro

Do you like languages? Check out the Portuguese version of this poem, translated by the own author.
All rights reserved.

Treasure Map


What an irony! An arrow that turns yet goes nowhere.
A dream`s compass, a filter of the symbols
A sharp spear that points to destiny,
Is karma the biggest challenge?

In the world`s map, cartographic secrets
Dreams that reveals the intention
Lyric truths, colorful signs
Oh dream`s compass, show me the direction
Land Ho! Take care navigator.
An uncertain tracing: the imagination.

As a perpetual magnet, in the circle of life,
The dream`s star shows the true path

Of that one, the fearless heart.

(When you think you know all the answers,
comes life and changes all the questions)
By Jussara Ribeiro
Do you like languages? Check out the Portuguese Version of this poem, translated by the own author.
All rights reserved.


While the pen scratches the paper
I draw some words by metalanguage
If only by chance, the opposite was real
My ideals would be a reality

In a gravure that explores the infinite
Above geometric patterns, in squares, I move
Playing in the darkness, with black shapes
dancing with colors, in white boxes

Every game has its own rule
and every match, its start
When the averse becomes normal
the dices will roll into the abyss

Master the technique, is a must
To transcend the aesthetic and the addiction
In the structure, no more column
The art now is my craft

Dices threw, cards on the table
I observe the move, the opportune moment
As a puzzle with its own life
I change the rules, as life it self

Jussara Ribeiro

Do you like languages? Check out the Portuguese version of this poem, translated by the own author.
All rights reserved.