Dead Poets Society ( Clube dos poetas Mortos) See until the end please!

"man writes Poetry not because it is cute, but because he is part of the Human Race."

"it was always thus, and always thus will be "

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Um Hino à VIDA!

UM sentir Verdadeiro de tudo o que a Vida nos cala ao longo do nosso percurso.

A descoberta da verdade individual que é no fundo colectiva!

É por isso que Keating sugere aos seus alunos que quebrem as grilhetas que os acorrentam a uma existência sensaborona e deixem transbordar as emoções que vivem em si.

Para isso, importa que saibam acolher o chamamento e os ensinamentos daqueles que melhor souberam celebrar a vida:

os poetas, em cuja Arte resplandecem as afeições da Humanidade.

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Um filme que faz chorar a alma de felicidade.

O Captain! My Captain!

OH CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!
.

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

OH Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
.

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,
.

You’ve fallen cold and dead.


3My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
.

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, winth mornfull tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

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Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.