SPOLVERASI
presents
History is of Love composed,
and She’s its magic few:
Belief required but a star,
while she exacted two;
She takes a Magic out of pocket,
shares the excess –
be though a generous producer,
she shuns no poor dress;
She brings her membership around –
What small a figurine! –
Her Word a cubbyhole becomes
and lures all pagans in.
A step does not demand a shoe –
for self – in moving on,
but ’tis a harder enterprise,
once on, to take it off.
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La storia vera di una donna, nel sud Italia degli anni ’50. The true story of a woman, in the southern Italy of the 50s.
I wish we were in Rome. One of these evenings, so sweet and cold, while Christmas is approaching, I would have come to hear you sing at the Teatro Argentina.
I would have eagerly left my stage, after the last applause, to come waiting for you at the side exit.
As far as we are obliged by the certainty of death, there is no such obligation to cohabit with hatred, sorrow and pain, whose place in life is sanctioned by no other than ourselves.
The darkness engulfs the astonished spectator. What can I ask of you and myself?
Non offendere, perdona, chiedi scusa, dì: “è permesso?”. Pensieri su questa guerra, su qualsiasi.