Mark Demsteader, Shallow waters, 2014 I have nothing but despairand a confused desire to fade:no voice is crying out for me,in the empty well where I crouch down.This is death, that already locks me up.Memory is weary. Time ago(to whom did it belong if nothing lasts?)I waited for you to come backand I suffered, and …
Elio Pecora – Altro non ho che la disperazione / I have nothing but despair Read More »
Ferdinand Hodler, Silence of the Evening, 1914 There is no land. There is no return. Just follow ending roads. Travel. Start over, don’t give up. You can talk to me again, you know it. Go as long as you’ll find your truth, the substance that you’re looking for, that burst out of emptiness and forgetfulness. …
Giuseppe Conte – Non c’è terra / There is no land Read More »
Luigi Conconi, Dancing couple, 1888 Now that you have come,dancing into my lifea guest in a closed room,to welcome you, love longed for so long,I lack the words, the voice,and I am happy just in silence by your side.The chirping that deafens the woods at dawn,stills when the sun leaps to the horizon.But my unrest …
Camillo Sbarbaro – Ora che sei venuta / Now that you have come Read More »
Douglas Hofmann, Stormey’s Den, 2009 Salti saltabecchi friggendo puro-pura nel vuoto spinto outré ti fai più in là intangibile – tutto sommato – tutto sommato tutto sei più in là ti vedo nel fondo della mia serachiusascura ti identifico tra i non i sic i sigh ti disidentifico solo no solo sì solo piena di …
Ferdinand Hodler, Spring, 1901 “Sorvoleremo insieme il firmamento dove le stelle brilleranno a cento” e poi precipiteremo dagli alti strabiliamenti in annuvolamenti sbilenchi a trascinarci a sfilacciarci in mille dissipazioni? O finiremo, consustanziale sangue, disseccati in mappe in indizi per i meteosat persi sull’orlo di ignizioni? O saremo, soltanto, insieme a mugghiarci addosso stipati nel …
Giorgio Guaini, What the sun tells, 2004 From this artiful land-flesh thin sharp senses and starts and silences, from this slaver of events – suns that collided with threads of eyelashes sparsely fringed wheat-spikes across the hills – from this long instant swallowed by snows, swallowed by wind, from all this which was not spring …
Andrea Zanzotto – Esistere psichicamente / Existing psychically Read More »
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