SPOLVERASI
presents
I know exactly where you are,
and what you sigh, I know that too.
You trip at most that felling far.
The town’s as grand as I tale you.
Lamps out, your eyes no blanket hold.
Though furred, you share common tremors;
like pasts conform a single mould,
same futures will agree to stem us.
All-harking comrade, even now
each scribbled word does reeve your ear
as if your own it were, and vow
you friendship and accord career,
unruly to the rationale…
Isn’t it how love ’s bilateral? “To My Bear”
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.