Gustave Moreau, The travelling poet, c. 1888 I didn’t know what a poet was when I was leading chariots to war and the horse Xanto was speaking to me. But the young age of Hector and Achilles passed as a comet. I have become nothing but a man: now my soul is seeking itself in …
Gustave Courbet, The sleepers, 1866 Te lo ricordi, infedele, quel mattino che dormivamo nudi vicino e un sole più che orientale salendo veloce le scale bussò ai nostri vetri e ci svegliò? Te lo ricordi, infedele, o no? Il primo raggio forte, sereno, si infranse alla sommità del tuo seno così scoppiò per un istante …
Gleb Aleksander Ilyin, Nocturne, 1941 You are so beautiful tonight so incredibly happy that I should dare now, I should immediately slip down your large and white shirt through which I glimpse your breast and make love with you here, in the garden, make love with you till early morning. But after kissing we start …
Giuseppe Conte – Sei così bella questa sera / You are so beautiful tonight Read More »
Childe Hassam, Gathering flowers in a French garden, 1888 You know all about me: you know what’s on my desk, too. You’re right, I can’t come in: and time does not pass, or blindly passes when I’m with you. The sun is still high, how can that be? In the ivy where your feet and …
Giuseppe Conte – Sai tutto di me / You know all about me 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 »
Giuseppe Conte is an Italian poet, writer and translator from Liguria. His work is about rediscovering myth and nature, and claims the ethical and spiritual primacy of poetry.
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