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Saturday, 28 June 2014

Fernando Pessoa: The falling of leaves that one senses without hearing them fall


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Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos, 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)


The further we advance in life, the more we become convinced of two contradictory truths. The first is that, confronted by the reality of life, all the fictions of literature and art pale into insignificance… They are just dreams from which one awakens, not memories or nostalgic longings with which we might later live a second life.

The second is this: every noble soul wishes to live life to the full, to experience everything and every feeling, to know every corner of the earth and, given that this is impossible, life can only be lived to the full subjectively, only lived in its entirety once renounced.

These two truths are mutually irreducible…

Nothing satisfies me, nothing consoles me, everything -- whether or not it has ever existed -- satiates me. I neither want my soul nor wish to renounce it. I desire what I do not desire and renounce what I do not have. I can be neither nothing nor everything: I’m just the bridge between what I do not have and what I do not want.




Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos, 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)

To cease, to be unknown and external, the stirring of branches in remote avenues, the tenuous falling of leaves that one senses without hearing them fall, the subtle sea of distant fountains, and the whole indistinct world of gardens at night, lost in endless complexities, the natural labyrinths of the dark!

To cease, to end once and for all, yet to survive in another form, as the page of a book, a loose lock of hair, a swaying creeper outside a half-open window, insignificant footsteps on the fine gravel curve of a path, the last twist of smoke high above a village as it falls asleep, the idle whip of the waggoner stopped by the road in the morning... Absurdity, confusion, extinction -- anything but life...




Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos, 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)

Every day things happen in the world that can’t be explained by any law of things we know. Every day they’re mentioned and forgotten, and the same mystery that brought them takes them away, transforming their secret into oblivion.

Such is the law by which things that can’t be explained must be forgotten. The visible world goes on as usual in the broad daylight. Otherness watches us from the shadows.



Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos, 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)

Knowing clearly that who we are has nothing to do with us, that what we think or feel is always in translation, that perhaps what we want we never wanted -- to know this every moment, to feel this in every feeling, is not this what it means to be a stranger in one’s own soul, an exile from one’s own feelings?



Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos, 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)


The most painful feelings, the most piercing emotions are also the most absurd ones -- the longing for impossible things precisely because they are impossible, the nostalgia for what never was, the desire for what might have been, one's bitterness that one is not someone else, or one's dissatisfaction with the very existence of the world.

I don't know if these feelings are some slow madness brought on by hopelessness, if they are recollections of some other world in which we've lived -- confused, jumbled memories, like things glimpsed in dreams, absurd as we see them now but not in their origin if we but knew what that was. I don't know if we once were other beings, whose greater completeness we sense only incompletely today, being mere shadows of what they were, beings that have lost their solidity in our feeble two-dimensional imaginings of them amongst the shadows we inhabit.

The impossibility of imagining something they might correspond to, the impossibility of finding some substitute for what in visions they embrace, all this weighs on one like a judgement given one knows not where, by whom, or why.



Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos, 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)


Everywhere I have been in my life, in every situation, wherever I've lived and worked alongside people, I've always been considered by everyone to be an intruder or, at the least, a stranger. Amongst my relatives as amongst acquaintances, I've always been considered an outsider. Not that even once have I been treated like that consciously, but the spontaneous response of others to me ensured that I was.

Everyone everywhere has always treated me kindly. Very few people, I think, have had so few raise their voice against them, or been so little frowned at, so infrequently the object of someone else's arrogance or irritability. But the kindness with which I was treated was always devoid of affection.  For those who would naturally be closest to me, I was always a guest who, as such, was well treated but only with the attentiveness due to a stranger and the lack of affection which is the lot of the intruder.

I'm sure that all this, I mean other people's attitudes towards me, lies principally in some obscure intrinsic flaw in my own temperament. Perhaps I communicate a coldness that unwittingly obliges others to reflect back my own lack of feeling.

I get to know people quickly. It doesn't take long for people to grow to like me. But I never gain their affection. I've never experienced devotion. To be loved has always seemed to me an impossibility, as unlikely as a complete stranger suddenly addressing me as familiarly as 'tu' [Portuguese. Familiar second-person pronoun].

I don't know if this makes me suffer or if I simply accept it as my indifferent fate, and to which questions of suffering or acceptance do not enter.

I always wanted to please. It always hurt me that people should be indifferent towards me. As an orphan of Fortune I have, like all orphans, a need to be the object of someone's affection. I've always been starved of the realization of that need. I've grown so accustomed to this vain hunger that, at times, I'm not even sure I still feel the need to eat.

With or without it life still hurts me.

Others have someone who is devoted to them. I've never had anyone who even considered devoting themselves to me. That is for others: me, they just treat decently.

I recognize in myself the capacity to arouse respect but not affection. Unfortunately I've done nothing that in itself justifies that initial respect and so no one has ever managed fully to respect me either.

I sometimes think that I enjoy suffering. But the truth is I would prefer something else.
 

Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935): from The Book of Disquiet (O Livro do Desassossego), first published in Portuguese 1982, English translation by Margaret Jull Costa, 1991



Parque das Caldas da Rainha, Portugal. Landscape architecture by Francisco Caldeira Cabral (1908-1992): photo by Manuel Silveira Ramos. 2003 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)

MORE CONTENTS



19th century greetings card: artist unknown

Preview

sleepy fox: TC

 
Here are links to the later individual post entries (after 26 June 2014), in alphabetical order:

Abandonment (Bunting's Horace: Forget the weather)

A Dance of Light and Shadow
After the Whirlwind

A Grievous Deception (Fabricating War Out of Absolutely Nothing)
Air of Resignation

Alien Emergency
Almost Time Now
America: Structural: This is how it's going down

American Terror
A Monster from the North: The Day the Germans Came to Kondomari (George Seferis: Postscript)

An 'Act of War'
And then the Alien turned toward Zanna
An End to Empire
A New Life

Another stunning sunset: Ilan Pappe: Israel's righteous fury and its victims in Gaza
Anthropomorphism Under Attack
Aram Saroyan: Old People
Archives

A Recursive Nightmare

A seemingly insatiable demand
A streak of rust (Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore: Gray Fox)

At fawning time
A Transparency (The word made from broken pieces): "Nobody is asleep in Gaza"
At Sea (Yannis Ritsos: Sources: "...between two strokes with the oars")

Austerity: A New Song on the Taxes (from Irish Street Ballads)
Austin Granger: In a wide wilderness, a far cry / Robert Creeley: Moral
A very strong energy drink
A Voice from Troy

Back into the Ruins: What is this? Just stunned
Balls
Baltimore

Barry Taylor: Foreshore Findings
Barry Taylor: Listen Closely
Being Boring

Beneath the Great World's Notice and Lost to History
Bertolt Brecht: Die Musen / The Muses

Bertolt Brecht: Parade of the Old New
Better Together?
Beyond Gaming

Black Dog
Black Wave (Pacific Melt)

Blank Space
Blending In (Lunar Impersonation)
Bless
Bolts (Lucretius: On the Nature of Things)

Borderlands: Between the Dream and the Reality
Broken Promises

Camilo José Vergara: When Everything Fails (Repurposing Salvation in America's Urban Ruins)
Carl Sandburg: I Am the Mob, the People (A Poetry Comic by Nora Sawyer)
Cecil the Lion, Meet Man the Killer

College Pigskin Preview: The New Amazing Return of A Crazy American Girl
Commitment to a Losing Cause: Simonides of Ceos: For the Spartan Dead at Thermopylae (480 B.C.)

Cottonmouth
Craig Stephen Hicks, Angry White Men and Falling Down
Crude

Crusaders -- they're all Charlies
Crushed (George Seferis: "The blood swells now..." from Summer Solstice)

Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore: Faced
Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore: The Brother to the Dog
Deadlock

Democracy DOA (working conditions)
Dennis Cowals: Before the Pipeline (Near the End of the Dreamtime)
Dishonorable
Don't Look Back (Wislawa Szymborska: Lot's Wife)

Dr Mads Gilbert on the Palestinian will to resist: "I compare occupation with occupation"
Dwindling Domain (Nazim Hikmet: from Living)

Edward Dorn: Bob Considine

Edward Dorn: If it should ever come
Edward Dorn: On first looking into Shakespeare's Folios just after Christmas 1998, at the New British Library
Edward Thomas: The Owl
Edwin Denby / Weegee: In Public, In Private (In the Tunnel of Love and Death)

Elephant Memories
Emily Dickinson: Tell all the Truth but tell it slant
End of the World Cinema: Daring To Be the Same / The Commanders 

Erasing the Forgotten: Has Gaza Eluded the Historical Memory of Poetry?
Europa
"Everything is sighing" (Joseph Ceravolo: Come Clean)

Ezra  Pound: from Canto I: Into the Underworld (A Poetry Comic by Nora Sawyer)
Faces in the Sky (Mahmoud Darwish: I'm from there)

Fashion Week
Fear of Television

Fernando Pessoa: The falling of leaves that one senses without hearing them fall
Fireworks are like anything else in life, he said

Flann O'Brien: Is it about a bicycle?

Foreigners

Forugh Farrokhzad: The Wind Will Take Us / Street Art Iran: Nafir (Scream)
Francis and the Miracle of the Spring

Frank O'Hara: On Dealing with the Canada Question
Friedrich Hölderlin: Narcyssen . . . / Jim Dine: Thistles in September
Gag Reflex: Federico García Lorca: Paisaje de la multitud que vomita (Anochecer en Coney Island)

Gauze
George Herbert: I got me flowers

Gérard de Nerval: El Desdichado (Chimeras)
Glory
Grapefruit Moon with Murmurations
Hanging by a thread

Harvest
Have Mercy ((Mr. Obama, do you have a heart? A letter from Dr. Mads Gilbert, a physician working in Gaza)
Hazard Response: What Went Wrong in Happy Valley?

H.D. (Hilda Doolittle): Euripides: The Chorus to Iphigeneia

Heavy Weather (All the Uncool Kids)
Heimat: A Tribute in Light: What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love and Understanding
"Hello my name is..."
Hijos de un dios mejor

Hilton Obenzinger: Treyf Pesach
How it went down for Thabo: NYPD chokeslam, broken leg, plain sight perpwalk show -- American dream glass half full?

I am the bullets, the oranges and the memory: Mahmoud Darwish: Ahmad Al-Zatar / Fadwa Tuqan: Hamza
Ideology
Ideology #2: With Respect
Insecurity: Burundi

Inside the No-Go Zone: Exploring the Hidden Secrets of the Brum Caliphate ("83 outfits on the 8:30 train from Selly Oak")
In the other life: George Seferis: Mathios Paskalis Among the Roses

I Scare Myself: Marguerite Yourcenar: Exploring the Dark Brain of Piranesi's Prisons
Is not the night restless for them?

Is something broken in The Great Towns? Dougie Wallace: Shoreditch Wildlife
It Changes Everything (Perilous Sanctuary)

Its horn more precious than gold

Ivor Gurney: First Time In ["After the dread tales..."]
Ivor Gurney: Possessions
I will make mine arrows drunk with blood 
Je Suis Virunga
Ixnay!

Jim Dine: Murder (for Tom Raworth)
Jim Dine: My Letter to the Troops
Jim Dine: 'When Creeley met Pep' (simply a doll to love)

John Donne: A nocturnall upon S.Lucies day, Being the shortest day; with certain Druidical factions
John Ford's Point

John Frank Keith: Oh, Yeah?
Josephine Miles: Saving the Bay

Just a perfect day for global epic reflection
killing us while we are sleeping
King of the Grifters

Leaving Debaltseve: "The whole town is destroyed"
Lemur lost -- last redoubt (Wislawa Szymborska: Consolation)

Lights out in BEAU Y Town
Little Girl
Lorenzo Thomas: Inauguration
Lorenzo Thomas: MMDCCXIII 1/2   

lost souls
Love Songs
Luna de Sangre: Hasbara Moon ("And Then We Were Free")

Mahmoud Darwish: In Jerusalem
Mahmoud Darwish: Silence for Gaza
Mahmoud Darwish: Think of Others

Mahmoud Darwish: Under Siege
Mahmoud Darwish: Words

Marcia Roberts: Revealed and Not Revealed
Margaret Lucas Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle: Of Many Worlds in This World
Marianne Moore: The Pangolin

Marwan Ali: Train / Ahmed Ashraf: The Iron Way
Marwan Ali: Translation

Meanwhile in Athens (Vassilis Zambaras: Web)

Meditation: Cat Dancer
Michael Lally: Swing Theory: 2

Migratory: 'We are alone'
Minnie: Safely Home

Mohamedou Ould Slahi: Guantánamo Diary
Mon brillant hiver sur le magnifique lac Érié
Movie of the Year: Leviathan: In the Belly of the Beast

Munitions Madness: Procurement and Disposal
Mystery Goo: Mercy, Mercy Me

Nancy Morejon: Tobacco Worker
Naomi Shihab Nye: For Mohammed Zeid of Gaza, Age 15
Negativland: No Other Possibility ("...dying is easy, comedy is hard")

Net
New Moon (Not Dark Yet)
Nin Andrews / Vanessa Winship: Home Comforts
Niobe

No More Tangles: The birth of a truly digital world in which nothing can ever again go wrong, mostly
no one knows
No one to rock the cradle (Nazim Hikmet: You must live with great seriousness, like a squirrel) 

No Place Like Ohm
O-o-h Child

Open Arms
Origami

Out of Africa: Gorilla Happiness, while there's still time
Pablo Neruda: I want to talk with the pigs
Pablo Neruda: Keeping Quiet

Palintology: Final Words
Paratactic "Correspondences": Friedrich Hölderlin: Griechenland (Greece): "Toward wooded Avignon"

Pay-To-Play Killer Cop: The Death of Eric Harris, the Black Holocaust and 'Bad' History in Oklahoma
Peckerwood Diplomacy
Pedestrians -- A Problem in Traffic Engineering  
Philae Lander: Fade Out / Frantz Fanon: The End of the European Game 

Philandering Moon (We Are Not a Virus)
Phiip Larkin: Kid Stuff

Philip Larkin: The Beats: A Few Simple Words
Philip Whalen: Alleyway

Poetry and Extreme Weather Events: William McGonagall: The Tay Bridge Disaster 
Polar Bears: The Big Sleep ("Is the white bear worth seeing?")
Praxilla of Sicyon: What I leave behind

Premonition
Pressure Drop: Democracy in Chains: The Reluctant Capitulation of the Recalcitrant Victim (John Giorno: An Unemployed Machinist)

Price reductions
Primacy
Private Moment: If you could read my mind

Projections of a Dream
Puppetmaster

Rainer Maria Rilke: Orpheus. Eurydike. Hermes -- she was already lost
Rainy Night in Oaktown
Re-admitting Eternity (Joseph Ceravolo: No Complaints)
Really Not a Planet

Rebuilding the House of Stones: A Meditation Outside the Fertile Grounds Cafe
Red Shuttleworth: Three Poems from the Bone-Dry West

Red State Scream Preview (A Period Haunting)
Relocation (the new ABCs)
Rites of Spring: Fire

Robert Creeley: A Wicker Basket
Robert Creeley: For Debora
Robert Creeley: Love

Robert Herrick: To his saviour. The New yeers gift
Robert Walser: A Biedermeier Story 
Robert Walser: The Battle of Sempach
Robert Walser: The Job Application

Robert Walser: Yes, I confess that for some years past
Roberto Bolaño: Among the Horses
Robinson Jeffers: De Rerum Virtute
Robinson Jeffers: Night Without Sleep
Robinson Jeffers: Pelicans

Robinson Jeffers: Point Joe
Rohingya: Adrift

Rollin' In It: Celebrating the Tyranny of Freedom
Rumi: The Diver's Clothes Lying Empty (A Poetry Comic by Nora Sawyer)

Russell Edson: The Pilot
Samuel Beckett: Cascando

Samuel Beckett: My Family
Say What You Will

Scale
Seeing Multiples: Ghosts of Jönköping ("We are somewhere else")
Shadows on the Bridge

Shock (but there it is)
Simon Schuchat: Lion
Slippin'

Slipping the Chain
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen: Eternalization (Se tanto me dói que as coisas passem)  
Sophocles: Oedipus the King: On the shore of the god of evening (The chorus prays for deliverance from the epidemic) 

Stretching It
Studying the ashes under the stars (George Seferis: Fires of St. John)

Stuffed
Sweets
Sy Hersh: My Lai Revisited: "We were carrying the war very hard to them"

Telos -- The End? (Yannis Ritsos: It's taking us a long time to get old)

That secret depth: Thomas Traherne: A Serious and Pathetical Contemplation of the Mercies of God / Jorge Guadalupe Lizárraga: In this world
The Avenger (Lorine Niedecker: "A monster owl...")
the daily screenshot 
The Desertification of Eden

The Forgotten
The General Comes Home: Miko Peled: "Gaza reminds us of Zionism's original sin"
The Human Abstract
The Jews of Asia
The Last Rhodesian Barbeque

The meaning of world football
The most patriotic picture ever taken of me

The only moment we have is right now

The return of the exhausted monarchy
The Ritual Aspect

The Shield of Archilochus

The Tunnel
"These faint pastel bands..."
The strange haunting song of Bad Canary; or how not to spend your summer vacation

The Toll: Asmaa Al-Ghoul: Never ask me about peace again
ThisIsACoup (Vassilis Zambaras: Hope Dies Last / An Air of Acquiescence)

This Is Hollywood
This is where the magic happens (Dark Money)
Thomas Campion: Now winter nights enlarge
Thomas Hardy: Waiting Both

Thomas Wyatt: Stond who so list vpon the Slipper toppe / Seneca: Chorus Two: from Thyestes
Thomas Wyatt: The longe love that in my thought doeth harbar / Petrarch: Amor che nel penser mio vive e regna

Thousand Year Empire
Tightly Protected

Tilt
"Time rotates..."

Tom Clark: Evening Train
Tom Raworth: Shadows

Tonight
Turbulence and Serenity: van Gogh at Auvers, June-July 1890: Last Strokes

Underground
Unearthly Beauty
Units
Vachel Lindsay: The Little Turtle: A Recitation for Martha Wakefield, Three Years Old; together with a Humane Consideration of the Hazards of Turtle Intervention

Viral (Philip Larkin: Myxomatosis)
Wallace Stevens: Thinking of a Relation between the Images of Metaphors

Walt Whitman / John Neubauer: By Broad Potomac's Shore
War of the Climate Worlds: Warming Trend 1, Snowmageddon 0
War of the Worlds: Behemoth vs. Leviathan: Everything is everyone's fault
W.B. Yeats: The Second Coming (A  Sideshow)
Welcome home, villager: A window into the minds of the occupiers ("the most moral army in the world")
We'll Leave a Light On

Wet Leaves
Wharf
What I Did on My Summer Vacation

When medics cry
Where Is the House of the Friend?

While we were away at the circus of representation: Ten minutes and then no home -- no memory, no history
"Who you out here for?"
Why are you punishing me? What is my crime? (Yannis Ritsos: Diaries of Exile)

Why Hillary   
William Carlos Williams / Dorothea Lange: The Descent
William Carlos Williams: The Thing

Wislawa Szymborska: Hatred (It almost makes you have to look away)
Wislawa Szymborska: Some like poetry

Wislawa Szymborska: Utopia
wraith

Yannis Ritsos: The Unhinged Shutter

Yarmouk: 'I Am Not a Statistic'
You (V) (Hölderlin) 

Friday, 27 June 2014

A Dance of Light and Shadow


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Jogo de Futebol entre as selecções de Portugal e Itália, Porto, Portugal: photo by Mario Novais (1899-1967), 1928 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)
 

The history of soccer is a sad voyage from beauty to duty.  When the sport became an industry, the beauty that blossoms from the joy of play got torn out by its very roots.  In this fin-de-siècle world, professional soccer condemns all that is useless, and useless means not profitable.  Nobody earns a thing from that crazy feeling that for a moment turns a man into a child playing with a balloon, like a cat with a ball of yarn; a ballet dancer who romps with a ball as light as a balloon or a ball of yarn, playing without even knowing he's playing, with no purpose or clock or referee.
 
Play has become spectacle, with few protagonists and many spectators, soccer for watching.  And that spectacle has become one of the most profitable businesses in the world, organized not for play but rather to impede it.  The technocracy of professional sport has managed to impose a soccer of lightning speed and brute strength, a soccer that negates joy, kills fantasy and outlaws daring.
 
Luckily, on the field you can still see, even if only once in a long while, some insolent rascal who sets aside the script and commits the blunder of dribbling past the entire opposing side, the referee and the crowd in the stands, all for the carnal delight of embracing the forbidden adventure of freedom.
 
Eduardo Galeano: from El fútbol a sol y sombra (Football in Sun and Shadow), 1995, English translation by Mark Fried, 1998




 
Jogo de Futebol entre as selecções de Portugal e Itália, Porto, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, 1928 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)



Jogo de Futebol entre as selecções de Portugal e Itália, Porto, Portugal. Roquete (Guarda-redes), Jorge, A. Martins, J. Manuel, C. Alves, Pépe, Armando Marques, A. Silva, Martinho de Oliveira, Waldemar (3 golos), V. Silva (1 golo): photo by Mário Novais, 1928 (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)


Jogo de Futebol, Lisboa, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, c. 1920s (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)



Jogo de Futebol, Lisboa, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, c. 1920s (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)




Jogo de Futebol, Lisboa, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, c. 1920s (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)



Jogo de Futebol, Lisboa, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, c. 1920s (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)




Jogo de Futebol, Lisboa, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, c. 1920s (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)



Jogo de Futebol, Lisboa, Portugal: photo by Mário Novais, c. 1920s (Biblioteca de Arte / Art Library Fundaçao Calouste Gulbenkian)


Jogo amador do Pirazu Futebol Clube (Sâo Paulo): photo by Luiz Gustavo Leme, 25 April 2004



Incident in a big football match near the line between British and French forces on the Western Front in France. A large group of French troops watching from the touchline. British in black and white jerseys: photographer unknown, c. 1918 (National Library of Scotland)



Goalkeeper between the sticks. French soldier defending his goal of two wooden poles connected by a length of rope during a football match in France. Standing behind the goal is a group of mainly French soldiers: photographer unknown, c. 1918 (National Library of Scotland)


A football match. 3rd Horse versus 18th Lancers [France]: photo by H. D. Girdwood, 25 July 1915 (Girdwood Collection/British Library)


A football match. [9th] Gurkhas versus a Signal Company [St Floris, France]: photo by H. D. Girdwood, 23 July 1915 (Girdwood Collection/British Library)



A football match. [9th] Gurkhas versus a Signal Company [St Floris, France]: photo by H. D. Girdwood, 23 July 1915 (Girdwood Collection/British Library)
 


A football match. [9th] Gurkhas versus a Signal Company [of the Dehra Dun Brigade, at St Floris, France]: photo by H. D. Girdwood, 23 July 1915 (Girdwood Collection/British Library)


Crianças Tukuna jogando futebol, Benjamin Constant, Amazonas (Ticuna, Alto Solimoes, Amazonia): fotografia realizada pelo Prof. Silvio Coelho dos Santos, mantendo a denominação original do documento, junho de 1962 (Museu Universitário Oswaldo Rodrigues Cabral/Acervo Silvio Coelho dos Santos)


Meninos jogando futebol en Salvador de Bahia: photo by jose angel, 1 September 2007


Futebol: photo by Victor Camilo, 8 March 2011



campo de futebol, Gonçalves, Minas Gerais: photo by Fernando Stankuns, March 2011