Aphrodisiac Poetry
Exclusive and limited handmade book: Aphrodisiac Poetry. An art book, bringing together poetry and painting, producing unique and kinesthetic pieces. The work is related to the album (AfrodisíacA), as it contains in writing all the poems that are in its tracks (and videos!), in addition to presenting a crop of the most recent and unpublished literary production by Iara.
With artisanal assembly, on 300g kraft paper covers, hand-painted by the artist Emília Santos - who also signs illustrations and design - this is a super special and limited edition.
The crumb is printed on the delicious texture of the bold 90g pollen paper, and has a few more surprises...
Icing on the cake: this tactile object of desire has the unique characteristic of enabling olfactory and taste interactions! Let's eat poetry!
Makunaimã: the myth through time
Authors: Taurepang, Macuxi, Wapishana, Marcelo Ariel, Mário de Andrade, Deborah Goldemberg, Theodor Koch-Grünberg, Iara Rennó
Dramaturgy: Deborah Goldemberg
Dramatic contributions: Marcelo Ariel
Illustrations: Jaider Esbell
"Do not be afraid. I've been sleeping peacefully for so long and suddenly I hear you here discussing my work, accusing me of a lot of things […] I heard people there saying that I had to go to the Indians, listen for myself the taurepang myths. And that if I had done that, I would have written another story.”
Makunaimã: Myth through Time is a revolutionary book, which brings to light voices and visions from the other side — the indigenous one —, which for ninety years was totally invisible, being repeatedly disrespected in its existence and in its sacredness.
— Cristino Wapishana, in the preface
Tongue Ember Meat Flower
Poetry book by Iara Renno published by Editora Patuá.
by Luiz Chagas
When it comes to erotic poetry, we are assailed by the fear that we will be subjected to words like turgid, fellatio, lewd, coitus, bloated and other precious things (?) that neither time nor the internet have managed to erase. It's really good when we get the impression that the author threw the speech away and published between the lines. He dove into emptiness. No safety net.
Iara Rennó one day, with a lot of sand still on top of the hourglass, invited me to have a beer. I gently explained that I "didn't drink with children". Her reaction was so dignified and sassy that I can't remember the words, but I immediately began to see her as a friend. I literally followed her birth on a stage. I watched, with great pleasure, his adventures as a band, as a band, his first solo flights as an instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, performer. I gave up the kitchen at home for his cooking experiments. I laughed a lot at your tirades and I always welcomed your boldness in life. I never had any doubts about your intelligence.
So I immersed myself in Lingua Brasa Carne Flor, his little book of erotic poems, without any major fears. Knew its origin. Your pedigree. And I wasn't disappointed with the “tacit agreement of the skins” proposed by Iara. I crossed without bothering the “Trident of Saturn”, the “cracks and vulva”, the conjugations of the verb “sip”, certain that I had precious between the lines in front of me.
Liked it. And I sign under “professionals” such as Xico Sá, who prefaced the adventure, and Kiko Dinucci, who accentuated the daring designing the cover.