Acompanhe aqui ou aqui as novidades. Milhares de relógios mostrados na maior plataforma do seu género em língua portuguesa.
segunda-feira, 20 de setembro de 2021
Meditações - dias...
Where every day doesn't start with an alarm clock and end with the television
Chuck Palahniuk, in Diary
domingo, 19 de setembro de 2021
Meditações - A literature that is alive does not live by yesterday's clock
A literature that is alive does not live by yesterday's clock, nor by today's but by tomorrow's. It is a sailor sent aloft: from the masthead he can see foundering ships, icebergs, and maelstroms still invisible from the deck. He can be dragged down from the mast and put to tending the boilers or working the capstan, but that will not change anything: the mast will remain, and the next man on the masthead will see what the first has seen. In a storm, you must have a man aloft. We are in the midst of storm today, and SOS signals come from every side.
Yevgeny Zamyatin, in On Literature, Revolution, Entropy and Other Matters (1923)
sábado, 18 de setembro de 2021
Meditações - o relógio da História
The muffled tongue of Big Ben tolled nine by the clock as the cortege left the palace, but on history's clock it was sunset, and the sun of the old world was setting in a dying blaze of splendor never to be seen again.
Barbara W. Tuchman, in The Guns of August
sexta-feira, 17 de setembro de 2021
Coisas do Ephemera - exposição aC / dC - Tempos de Pandemia no Museu de Ciência, em Lisboa
aC / dC*
– Tempos de Pandemia
Num mundo que mudou – há um aC / dC, um antes e um depois do
Coronavírus (ou do Covid-19…), são mostrados objectos como máscaras, viseiras,
gel, luvas, fatos cirúrgicos, kits de vacina ou de testes, e outra parafernália
nacional e internacional, material de aviso sanitário institucional e de
empresas, cartazes improvisados, ilustrações e primeiras páginas da imprensa.
Bem como filmes de manifestações contra o confinamento ou milhares de posts
que foram aparecendo nas redes sociais, relacionados com a pandemia.
Preservar a Memória e equacionar a comunicação de Ciência em
tempos excepcionais são objectivos da exposição.
A Exposição aC / dC* – Tempos de Pandemia decorre de
24 de Setembro a 21 de Novembro, no MUHNAC.
*Antes e depois do Coronavírus
Uma inciativa que Estação Cronográfica concebeu e comissariou.
Meditações - junckie time
The clock in the room above the Safari told only Junkie Time. For every hour here was Old Junkie's Hour and the walls were the color of all old junkies' dreams: the hue of diluted morphine in the moment before the needle draws the suffering blood. / Walls that went up and up like walls in a troubled dream. Walls like water where no legend could be written and no hand grasp metal or wood. [... ] He was falling between glacial walls, he didn't know how anyone could fall so far away from everyone else in the world. So far to fall, so cold all the way, so steep and dark between those morphine-colored walls of [an addict]'s terrible pit.
Nelson Algren, in The Man with the Golden Arm (1949)
quinta-feira, 16 de setembro de 2021
Quando o Relógios & Canetas esteve na Pensilvânia, no Museu de Relojoaria mais importante dos Estados Unidos, visitou os relógios RGM e, em Nova Iorque, esteve no museu dos relógios Bulova
Meditações - as horas
Les heures sont faites pour l'homme, et non l'homme pour les heures.
Francois Rabelais, in Gargantua et Pantagruel (1532–1564), Gargantua (1534), Chapter 39 (frère Iean des Entommeures)
quarta-feira, 15 de setembro de 2021
Relógio de mergulho Seiko para leitor do Anuário - participe!
Tem até 30 de Setembro para participar neste passatempo.
Meditações - Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
The Old Vicarage, Grantchester
(Cafe des Westens, Berlin, May 1912)
Just now the lilac is in bloom,
All before my little room;
And in my flower-beds, I think,
Smile the carnation and the pink;
And down the borders, well I know,
The poppy and the pansy blow ...
Oh! there the chestnuts, summer through,
Beside the river make for you
A tunnel of green gloom, and sleep
Deeply above; and green and deep
The stream mysterious glides beneath,
Green as a dream and deep as death.
— Oh, damn! I know it! and I know
How the May fields all golden show,
And when the day is young and sweet,
Gild gloriously the bare feet
That run to bathe ...
‘Du lieber Gott!’
Here am I, sweating, sick, and hot,
And there the shadowed waters fresh
Lean up to embrace the naked flesh.
Temperamentvoll German Jews
Drink beer around; — and THERE the dews
Are soft beneath a morn of gold.
Here tulips bloom as they are told;
Unkempt about those hedges blows
An English unofficial rose;
And there the unregulated sun
Slopes down to rest when day is done,
And wakes a vague unpunctual star,
A slippered Hesper; and there are
Meads towards Haslingfield and Coton
Where das Betreten’s not verboten.
ειθε γενοιμην ... would I were
In Grantchester, in Grantchester! —
Some, it may be, can get in touch
With Nature there, or Earth, or such.
And clever modern men have seen
A Faun a-peeping through the green,
And felt the Classics were not dead,
To glimpse a Naiad’s reedy head,
Or hear the Goat-foot piping low: ...
But these are things I do not know.
I only know that you may lie
Day long and watch the Cambridge sky,
And, flower-lulled in sleepy grass,
Hear the cool lapse of hours pass,
Until the centuries blend and blur
In Grantchester, in Grantchester. ...
Still in the dawnlit waters cool
His ghostly Lordship swims his pool,
And tries the strokes, essays the tricks,
Long learnt on Hellespont, or Styx.
Dan Chaucer hears his river still
Chatter beneath a phantom mill.
Tennyson notes, with studious eye,
How Cambridge waters hurry by ...
And in that garden, black and white,
Creep whispers through the grass all night;
And spectral dance, before the dawn,
A hundred Vicars down the lawn;
Curates, long dust, will come and go
On lissom, clerical, printless toe;
And oft between the boughs is seen
The sly shade of a Rural Dean ...
Till, at a shiver in the skies,
Vanishing with Satanic cries,
The prim ecclesiastic rout
Leaves but a startled sleeper-out,
Grey heavens, the first bird’s drowsy calls,
The falling house that never falls.
God! I will pack, and take a train,
And get me to England once again!
For England’s the one land, I know,
Where men with Splendid Hearts may go;
And Cambridgeshire, of all England,
The shire for Men who Understand;
And of THAT district I prefer
The lovely hamlet Grantchester.
For Cambridge people rarely smile,
Being urban, squat, and packed with guile;
And Royston men in the far South
Are black and fierce and strange of mouth;
At Over they fling oaths at one,
And worse than oaths at Trumpington,
And Ditton girls are mean and dirty,
And there’s none in Harston under thirty,
And folks in Shelford and those parts
Have twisted lips and twisted hearts,
And Barton men make Cockney rhymes,
And Coton’s full of nameless crimes,
And things are done you’d not believe
At Madingley on Christmas Eve.
Strong men have run for miles and miles,
When one from Cherry Hinton smiles;
Strong men have blanched, and shot their wives,
Rather than send them to St. Ives;
Strong men have cried like babes, bydam,
To hear what happened at Babraham.
But Grantchester! ah, Grantchester!
There’s peace and holy quiet there,
Great clouds along pacific skies,
And men and women with straight eyes,
Lithe children lovelier than a dream,
A bosky wood, a slumbrous stream,
And little kindly winds that creep
Round twilight corners, half asleep.
In Grantchester their skins are white;
They bathe by day, they bathe by night;
The women there do all they ought;
The men observe the Rules of Thought.
They love the Good; they worship Truth;
They laugh uproariously in youth;
(And when they get to feeling old,
They up and shoot themselves, I’m told) ...
Ah God! to see the branches stir
Across the moon at Grantchester!
To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten
Unforgettable, unforgotten
River-smell, and hear the breeze
Sobbing in the little trees.
Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand
Still guardians of that holy land?
The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,
The yet unacademic stream?
Is dawn a secret shy and cold
Anadyomene, silver-gold?
And sunset still a golden sea
From Haslingfield to Madingley?
And after, ere the night is born,
Do hares come out about the corn?
Oh, is the water sweet and cool,
Gentle and brown, above the pool?
And laughs the immortal river still
Under the mill, under the mill?
Say, is there Beauty yet to find?
And Certainty? and Quiet kind?
Deep meadows yet, for to forget
The lies, and truths, and pain? ... oh! yet
Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?
terça-feira, 14 de setembro de 2021
segunda-feira, 13 de setembro de 2021
Lisboa, o Largo do Relógio e as 34 portas da Muralha Fernadina
In História de Portugal. Desde os tempos mais remotos até à actualidade. Escripta segundo o plano de F. Diniz por uma sociedade de homens de letras
Lisboa. Edição da Typographia Franco-Portugueza. 1900.
Introdução por Manuel Pinheiro Chagas (arquivo Fernando Correia de Oliveira)
Fábrica de Louça de Sacavém - caixas para relógios de mesa, 1944
(arquivo Fernando Correia de Oliveira)
Meditações - acertar relógios dos outros
The fact is, winding and dusting and fixing somebody else's clock is boring.
Brian Hayes, in Group Theory in the Bedroom (2008)
domingo, 12 de setembro de 2021
Meditações - People think they own time
People think they own time. They have watches and clocks and digital pulses. But they are wrong.
Caroline B. Cooney, in Both Sides of Time
sábado, 11 de setembro de 2021
Relojoaria inglesa
in The Anglo-Portuguese News de 22.03.1945 (arquivo Fernando Correia de Oliveira)
Meditações - filhos e tempo
With children the clock is reset. We forget what came before.
Jhumpa Lahiri, in The Lowland
sexta-feira, 10 de setembro de 2021
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