O que é isso?

  O que é isso?

Isso? Isso é chouriço para comer no serviço, para não dar enguiço.


  É um refrão popular que diz que alguém viu um embrulho, curiosidade, desejou saber. E se explica que se vai compartilhar um alimento.

    Porém, vai acontecer naquele momento em que se busca do fogo, e se iça de lá para servir.

   Serviço é ao mesmo tempo a arrumação da cozinha, as panelas no fogo, o processo do cozinhar. É também o arrumar da mesa, e todo o mais. Os condimentos que alguém traz, uma parte a mais, um pouco de tudo, e nisso, até um chouriço.

   O que é divertido é o dado cadenciado das rimas, como algo extremamente definido, ético e correto porque já bem cabe ao que se sabe que é como uma cantoria do trabalho. 

   Todos estão envolvidos nesse cuidado de compartilhar. A dizer que de cada um surge um bem que a todos convém.

   E é ainda, o chouriço um petisco. E o sujeito rimador, brinca, desconversa porque está a levar a sua contribuição para a feitura do alimento.

    Mostra o modo  como os trabalhadores ampliam em quantidade e qualidade o que vão juntos levar à mesa.

   Assim, se pode entender a busca do serviço, de trabalhar juntos, e de fazer cada qual a sua parte, fazer o fogo, arrumar a cozinha, trazer algo de casa para juntar com os demais e preparar o alimento.

   Também se entende a intenção de integrar gostos e sabores que são provenientes de cada pessoa, de sua cultura. E nisso, como no caso do chouriço, a turma do trabalho explica, ensina como se integra o que trouxe, o que contribuiu.

   O refrão mostra que o chouriço é bem conhecido já de todos, e que o esperam.          

   Assim, se caso fosse mostrar ao curioso, tivesse por bondade dividir, mesmo um pedacinho para se provar, não poderia - faria falta. Daria enguiço. As pessoas, os camaradas não iriam gostar.

   Há muito a dizer sobre esse refrão, que há movimento, que está em sequência, e que ele é dito aos passos, sem retorno, despachado, com direção certa, vai ao serviço. 

 

I am someone who came from a place that never was. River water, calm lakes, waterfalls, edges where bushes and trees grow, the open field, the sky reflected in my hands in the trembling mirror of the river, the waits I am, this man lying in the river in the middle of autumn of my existence, loves his children, he likes to be alone, and he has a great company. I leave out the conceptual groups that put their finger on the face and follow fashion. I try not to be like that. In this boat, I am also the water where I sail. I take the sky with me, the fields, the flowers, and the fragrant herbs all my mornings. I am a being of the dawn. The scandal of nature in the voice of a bird, the incessant hum of the bells that insects make. I look like it, but I am not afraid of anything. I do not think I ever was. Indeed, my father, especially my mother, sweetly led me to read and write. I am always primary; I am still learning to read and write, row, and let the boat go safely. pmnt

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