SPOLVERASI
presents
Snow, outside you host your kin,
But what offence did bring my sin
That we can’t pair?
– Your fire within.
Is fire my anger or caprice?
– No, child, ’tis not what Spirit flees
But what it wishes for.
– For peace…
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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Returning home, the sky still clear, the hill of old houses lit up in front of your eyes. Tornando a casa, il cielo ancora chiaro, la collina di vecchie case si è illuminata di fronte ai tuoi occhi.
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.