[[ Read E-pub ]] ⚣ Terra de Neve î eBook or Kindle ePUB free

[[ Read E-pub ]] å Terra de Neve Õ Terra de neve a est ria de um amor de perdi o passada no meio da desolada beleza da costa oeste do Jap o, uma das regi es mais nevosas do mundo a , numas termas isoladas de montanha, que o sofisticado Shimamura conhece a gueixa Komako que se entrega a ele sem remorsos, sabendo de antem o que a sua paix o n o pode perdurarUm romance de grande beleza e sigularidade, uma verdadeira obra prima da literatura japonesa e universal do s culo vinte New love is as delicate as the wings of a moth I try to write but the words disintegrate between my fingertips They melt like snow on my tongue Maybe a light breeze could carry them across the ocean and drop them at your feet They will slip through your fingers like sand They will drift through the air like dandelion wishes.New love is as fleeting as the blossoms of an almond tree.The words might cut you like the sharp edge of this paper The tiny cuts will sting They buzz around your ear New love is as delicate as the wings of a moth I try to write but the words disintegrate between my fingertips They melt like snow on my tongue Maybe a light breeze could carry them across the ocean and drop them at your feet They will slip through your fingers like sand They will drift through the air like dandelion wishes.New love is as fleeting as the blossoms of an almond tree.The words might cut you like the sharp edge of this paper The tiny cuts will sting They buzz around your ear but you won t hear what they are saying They fall into your lap and you brush them away with a shrug.New love floats on water New love sinks like a stone Shimamura gets on a train to dreamland He escapes from the urbanity of Tokyo, from the grayish routine, the dull marriage, the mediocre reality that leaves him numb and empty in search of the purest expression of his desires He is a dilettante, an expert aesthetician who knows that beauty lingers in memory of times past, on the glint of two sad eyes sparkling in a pale face, in a head tilted at a certain angle, in fragrances and sounds and the noiseless rippling waves that assimilate a caress Shimamura gets on a train to dreamland He escapes from the urbanity of Tokyo, from the grayish routine, the dull marriage, the mediocre reality that leaves him numb and empty in search of the purest expression of his desires He is a dilettante, an expert aesthetician who knows that beauty lingers in memory of times past, on the glint of two sad eyes sparkling in a pale face, in a head tilted at a certain angle, in fragrances and sounds and the noiseless rippling waves that assimilate a caress.Who hasn t wanted to run away from daily life Who hasn t felt the exhilaration of being driven away into distant lands, to new beginnings and comfortable anonimity In the rural areas of Japan, there is a place called Snow Country A place where ancient tradition and sheer pleasure are bound together, taking the shape of a young geisha called Komako No longer a girl but still not a woman, she loves with passionate abandon, making herself vulnerable to her own emotions.Who hasn t loved someone knowing the story is over before it even started Who hasn t given free rein to imagination and switched the shipwreck of today for the groundless hope of a future with the person who consistently neglects us Shimamura goes back to the Snow Country, to this world of fantasy, expecting to be reunited with young Komako, whose inexperience attracts and repulses him at once What he can t expect is that an enigmatic woman called Yoko will disturb the imperfect balance of his universe and create silent havoc without uttering a word Her silent presence, the contour of her features and the ominous aura that shrouds her she presents a gateway to the pinnacle of artistic expression.Kawabata paints his story rather than writing it He is an extremely punctilious imagist who uses his brush with ruthless suavity Shorts sentences that never falter but flow in a torrent of the simple and the quotidian transformed into pearls of absolute beauty The reflection of a graceful face on a train window that fuses with the one of the surreptitious voyeur in a backdrop varnished in white, the thunderous calm of a winter night that is as cold and detached as Shimamura s disregard for Komako s utter surrender of body and soul, a landscape covered in perennial snow that mimics the protagonist s stagnation and the geisha swasted effortsto melt the frostiness with her ardent submission There isn t a single image that doesn t evoke the evanescent nature of human feelings.This is the sort of quiet novella that grows on you The characters appear withdrawn on the surface with unexpressive, porcelain countenances, but deep down, they burn inwardly, their hearts are ablaze with the ongoing progression of the many births and deaths inherent in the changing of the seasons, echoing the idea of eternity in ceaceless movement.Much is revelead in things left unsaid, lingering glances and bodies floating in limbo, halfway between heaven and earth The rest is up to the imagination.Kawabata s prose is as suggestive as it is devastating, it tantalizes, it provokes, it stings with painful lyricism His voice is a whisper in a world that only shouts and replaces the background noise with words that contain it all, the gift of life, the tragedy of death and the interdependent wholeness of both If you like a ski read instead of a beach read, this is for you The setting is the western mountain slopes of northern Japan, one of the snowiest regions of the world up to 15 feet of winter snow is common In the town, the overhangs of buildings over the sidewalks form a tunnel through the snow in winter.We are told in the translator s Introduction that the snow country geisha catering to the ski lodge and hot spring clientele in winter are second class geisha compared to the urban geish If you like a ski read instead of a beach read, this is for you The setting is the western mountain slopes of northern Japan, one of the snowiest regions of the world up to 15 feet of winter snow is common In the town, the overhangs of buildings over the sidewalks form a tunnel through the snow in winter.We are told in the translator s Introduction that the snow country geisha catering to the ski lodge and hot spring clientele in winter are second class geisha compared to the urban geisha in Japan In fact they are considered almost social outcasts and come close to being just prostitutes at least that was the case in the 1930 s, the time of this story The setting is one of cold loneliness The literary style matches the setting It is written in prose but using the haiku style, terse and austere, due to the limitation of words and the use of opposites and contrasts You quickly see all the references to black hair against the white snow and darkness against sunlight, distant music against stillness darkness and wasted beauty as the main character says in regard to his favorite geisha There isn t a lot of plot Our main character is a middle aged man who is independently wealthy just a dilettante who piddles around and yet a recurring theme is that he comments on the geisha s wasted efforts in reading and learning or practicing her music as she tries to improve herself The other main character is the geisha who hasor less fallen in love with this man Of course he is married with kids in Tokyo but he can still be her sugar daddy, so to speak As she gets on in years, her goal is to find a man who will set her up in a business when she is no longer a geisha in demand She has had two other older men in her life the first was an old man who paid off all her debts and then died The way the geisha system works is that she signs a contract for a set amount with the ski lodge for a period of years and pays the lodge back out of her earnings She is selective in offering herself to men and much of her earnings come from entertaining groups of men at parties by serving tea, playing music and dancing The second man is also an old man who is still around and the main character wonders what her relationship is to him A passage I liked The man was clearly ill, however, and illness shortens the distance between a man and a woman There is a lot in the book about the coolness of the special Japanese fabric called chijimi, and how it is laboriously made It s a white fabric that is dyed by exposure to the sun on top of the snow This is still true here is a short National Geographic video about it The book is a pretty good read but slow I liked his novel First Snow on Fuji better The author was the first Japanese winner of the Nobel Prize for literature 1968 Photos from top to bottom japantimes.co.jpsnowbrains.commaisondexceptions.com I am white, mostly And cold And occasionally, weeping But you don t see my tears, for they run down the stream and lose their essence at the prolonged kiss of the first sun But I do not mind I come alive to die I bulk up to surrender I appear to vanish But I, too, have admirers Admirers, who eye ephemeral beauty with a stinging lacquer of depleting life, colluding their vision with a bagful of clouded vignettes stroking the air that arises after all is consumed and lost Visiting Japan I am white, mostly And cold And occasionally, weeping But you don t see my tears, for they run down the stream and lose their essence at the prolonged kiss of the first sun But I do not mind I come alive to die I bulk up to surrender I appear to vanish But I, too, have admirers Admirers, who eye ephemeral beauty with a stinging lacquer of depleting life, colluding their vision with a bagful of clouded vignettes stroking the air that arises after all is consumed and lost Visiting Japan in 1935, I met Kawabata san He whispered in my drifter ears that he wished to nestle a story under my frosty silhouette I cast a doubtful glance at him and asked Are you sure I am no spring and I am no sun In my lap, tears appeartenacious than smiles And in my heart, I imprison love stories that untangle into laborious passion, reverberating in their incomplete destinies of intertwined desires but scattered existences Your decision to drop your child in my tutelage may mar its chances of gaining an empathetic visitor But he ran his hand on my granular head and said Be assured wasted love is still love, after all I eventually agreed to take his characters in my country So came, Shimamura and Komako, Yoko and Yukio You don t need to know who they are since all lovers in my country appear the same And this Japan was still under the wreck of unequal rights of labour and dignity But if you insist, I will oblige Shimamura was groping for new vistas after a regular life had clutched him tight and Komako was a young geisha who equated new horizons to the skyline that inebriated my edges When I saw them the first time, they were well equipped to escape my mirthful sorrow Shimamura was indulgent without emotion and Komako was wishful without goals But alas I am such a wretched stage people step on me and forget the rest I kept telling them I am the soft soil that sinks with repeated stamping but the duo, perplexed under the hypnotic rhythm of my robust sheets, dripping body and glistening air paid no heed to my cries Intoxicated, they spent nights under my shadows and burnt lamps to spring reflections in my eyes they held their rage and admiration under the chilling blanket I sent their way they fought their jealousies when I subdued to let the sun cast a scarlet veil on Yoko, the lovely girl who never got bewitched under my spell and they darted viscous glances through my flakes at each pondering pause, rippled from Yukio s disintegration Both returned at my every appearance like faithful regulars but the unfulfilled rooms of their lives refused to open to a common hall Whether other people tricked them into acts they did not intend to commit I am afraid not I suspect when I melt, I steal a part of those who hold me in their eyes and at each return, I bind the stolen things in threads of melancholy despite my intention to dye them in colors of happiness I can t help it my whiteness, under nature s exponents of aggravation, assimilates all spunk and disperses a reeling blankness unmatched by any buoyant avalanche.But Kawabata san was a mature man for when he placed his characters in my world, he also slipped many lyrical skates bearing the mark of mono no aware, handing a robust sailing to his creations and effectively annulling the threats posed by the steep boulders of unrequited love, unfathomable concern, unstoppable heartbeats and unmanageable bonds, compounded further under the burden of my heavy, stoic breathing He won my heart by comprehending the little corners of my country with a sagacity comparable to someone born in my womb and chiseled them gently to accentuate their hidden beauties So, the next time someone alights from a rickety train on a faint evening into a land bearing my stamp for as far as the eyes go, he will extend his arms in anticipation of an embrace that will not congeal his thoughts but would set them in riveting motion, softly swaying them in the gust of impermanent realities and navigating them into thewarm kotatsuof permanent memoirs