Quando ci penso, che il tempo è passato,
le vecchie madri che ci hanno portato,
poi le ragazze, che furono amore,
e poi le mogli e le figlie e le nuore,
femmina penso, se penso una gioia:
pensarci il maschio, I think the boredom.
le vecchie madri che ci hanno portato,
poi le ragazze, che furono amore,
e poi le mogli e le figlie e le nuore,
femmina penso, se penso una gioia:
pensarci il maschio, I think the boredom.
When I think that the time has come, the partisan
fought here,
one hit, wound once
and the dead, we buried
female I think, I think if the peace
think the male does not like to think.
fought here,
one hit, wound once
and the dead, we buried
female I think, I think if the peace
think the male does not like to think.
When I think of that time back,
comes the day when the day dawns, I think that is the cradle
a woman's belly, belly
and home is holding a skirt and belly is
cash, which is the end,
comes the day that you go to sleep.
comes the day when the day dawns, I think that is the cradle
a woman's belly, belly
and home is holding a skirt and belly is
cash, which is the end,
comes the day that you go to sleep.
Because the woman is not heaven, it is ground meat
of land that does not want war:
is this land that I was sown,
life that I lived in. I planted,
here looking for a warm heart that we feels
the long night that I get nothing.
of land that does not want war:
is this land that I was sown,
life that I lived in. I planted,
here looking for a warm heart that we feels
the long night that I get nothing.
Female I think, if I think the human
my partner, I take you by the hand.
my partner, I take you by the hand.
(Edoardo Sanguineti)
Saturday we went to the theater to hear Sergio Rubini recite a selection of poets of the 900.
In reality there is no place for the timeless Shakespeare and Leopardi, passing by Pushkin in a swing of records, forms and sounds.
The theater is full of kids.
I almost could hardly believe it.
I like going to the theater, but almost always I find myself being one of the youngest in the room. This time, no, there are many boys and too few children, and I wonder even more so given the nature of the show: a poetry recital. There's a full house, it is true, but in any case, poetry, objectively difficult subject and a little 'snubbed, has a following of course.
Rubini is very good: not wasting time, she started in the verses of Neruda, followed by Edward and gradually, with small oasis in prose to tell the life of Pushkin or His admiration for Sanguineti.
E 'accompanied by a trio of swing that gives the best of himself in digressions that is allowed, while in the background sometimes gets a little' and naively didactic onomatopoeic (the cry of gulls in the reproduction of a hand or far away).
There is not a dull moment and I can also shed a few tears while Rubini recites the Ballad of the women I mentioned above. Only
Prevert, with its splendid Déjeuner du matin, disappoints me a bit ': in French is another story .. The
a mis le café Dans la
The fees to the mis
lait Dans la de café
The fees to the mis
sucre Dans le café au lait Avec
the little spoon He turned
He drank the coffee And he rested
cup
Without me about
He lit a
sigarette
He made rounds with smoke
He put the ashes
In the ashtray Without
talk to me Without looking at me
He stood up He put His
hat on his head He put His raincoat
Because it was raining And he left
Under
rain Without a word Without looking at me
And
month I took my head in my hand
And I cried.
(WHO the traduzione)
Sono uscita da theater happy, serene, at peace with the world. As I said in my last post, I am convinced that beauty is important, as important, at times, overwhelmed by what is not instantly accessible, which is not easy, but takes the form of verse, perhaps, that raise us, make us think, reflect, or simply let your thoughts wander.
More simply, we are improving.
I almost could hardly believe it.
I like going to the theater, but almost always I find myself being one of the youngest in the room. This time, no, there are many boys and too few children, and I wonder even more so given the nature of the show: a poetry recital. There's a full house, it is true, but in any case, poetry, objectively difficult subject and a little 'snubbed, has a following of course.
Rubini is very good: not wasting time, she started in the verses of Neruda, followed by Edward and gradually, with small oasis in prose to tell the life of Pushkin or His admiration for Sanguineti.
E 'accompanied by a trio of swing that gives the best of himself in digressions that is allowed, while in the background sometimes gets a little' and naively didactic onomatopoeic (the cry of gulls in the reproduction of a hand or far away).
There is not a dull moment and I can also shed a few tears while Rubini recites the Ballad of the women I mentioned above. Only
Prevert, with its splendid Déjeuner du matin, disappoints me a bit ': in French is another story .. The
a mis le café Dans la
The fees to the mis
lait Dans la de café
The fees to the mis
sucre Dans le café au lait Avec
the little spoon He turned
He drank the coffee And he rested
cup
Without me about
He lit a
sigarette
He made rounds with smoke
He put the ashes
In the ashtray Without
talk to me Without looking at me
He stood up He put His
hat on his head He put His raincoat
Because it was raining And he left
Under
rain Without a word Without looking at me
And
month I took my head in my hand
And I cried.
(WHO the traduzione)
Sono uscita da theater happy, serene, at peace with the world. As I said in my last post, I am convinced that beauty is important, as important, at times, overwhelmed by what is not instantly accessible, which is not easy, but takes the form of verse, perhaps, that raise us, make us think, reflect, or simply let your thoughts wander.
More simply, we are improving.
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