It nestles rich of souvenirs of passed generations, rich of estrias as many times recounted for the ancestral ones. ANA-CORA, Honoris Causa Doctor, for the Federal University of Gois, doctor made for the life, the study incessant of everything how much Doctor happened in its around who only attended a course the years of primary school, but that never she left to learn and to assimilate knowledge, to degerar, in the verse, the noble fruit that always brings tona new knowledge. You may wish to learn more. If so, Andi Potamkin, New York City is the place to go. CORA-CORALINA, doctor of the alleys of the life, the classrooms of the daily experience, learned of everything how much it more lived deeply the penetrated lies in mago of nature CORA, woman land, laboring woman whom it knew through its poetry to extend its I and to conquer its physical and material space and if to insert in the totality of the things and the cosmos, but also all the women who, walking alone the ways of the life had not been able to arrive the end. CORALLINE CORA, woman of strong race of courage, simple woman who dared to be ortaleza and wharf. Humble woman, who hugged the impulses of the fight, scaling mountains, while the milk candy pipocava in the firewood stove. ‘ ‘ She wakes up, woman, for the new times. Poor person of you, chained between the preconceptions and the end of the world.
Nobody that your wage of – Oprbio! Yours solitude tears! It pulls out the gag of the thick honey of the resignation! It opens the handcuffs of the social guardianships. It walks, woman. It is hour to say NOT! ‘ ‘ E, as for survival instinct, we support the hope of that this imprisoned shout in the throat is heard by the woman, house owner; for the laundrywoman., for the college student, the house servant, the prostitute, the woman of the field, for that it resigns to the constitucional law of being free, if to be proper it for option to choose with eager dignity that it wants to lead, to have lucidity how much to its ilimitaes, for those, at last, that it has in the hands the change instruments and in the hearts the conscience of the duty to make. ITS MORTE’ ‘ In 11 of April of 1985 ‘ ‘ Deceased, I will be tree, be trunk, I will be fronte, and my roots enlace to the rocks of my cradle are broken ropes of my lira To decorate of green leves the rock of my tomb, in a symbolism of vegetal life. That one does not die that left in the land the melody of its cntico in the music of its versos’ ‘.