Nicholas Roerich, Saint Panteleimon the healer, 1931 From an endless exile I endlessly come back, I turn to and blend with days, I go, further away from me, snipped on grass, meadows and October times and silences whispered by stars and mountains. (Transl. by D. Foglia) Da un eterno esilio eternamente ritorno e coi giorni …
Andrea Zanzotto – Da un eterno esilio / From an endless exile Read More »
Eliseu Visconti, Back to the trenches, c. 1917 I will remember this autumn beautiful and fleeing the migrant light that curves now as the reeds are being bowed by the wind. The floodwater in the canals has come up to my waist and, parched by the drought, I sank right in. At night in the …
Leonardo Sinisgalli – Mi ricorderò di questo autunno / I will remember this autumn Read More »
Piet Mondrian, Farm near Duivendrecht, c. 1916 Chi sia stato il primo, non è certo. Lo seguì un secondo, un terzo. Poi, uno dopo l’altro, tutti han preso la stessa via. Ora non c’è più nessuno. La mia casa é la sola abitata. Son vecchio. Che cosa mi trattengo a fare, quassù, dove tra breve …
John Everett Millais, Autumn leaves, 1856 Just as the colors of seasons change, so do the moods and thoughts of men. All in the world is but fickle time. And here is already the pallid, sepulchral Autumn, while just yesterday was reigning a flourishing, almost eternal, Summer. (Transl. by A. Baruffi) Come varia il colore …
Vincenzo Cardarelli – Tempo che muta / Times change Read More »
Jean-François Millet Shepherdess with her Flock, c. 1863 Along the street you see on the hedge red berries laughing in clusters: in the plowed fields to the shed make a late return the cows. Along the road a poor lad with a tired tread is shuffling along slowly on the crispy leaves: in the fields …
Giovanni Pascoli – Sera d’ottobre / October Evening Read More »
George Clausen, The stone pickers, 1887 Gemlike the air, the sun so bright above you look for blossoms on the apricot trees, recall the bitter whitethorn scent you love and sniff the breeze. But the whitethorn’s withered, the brittle boughs hatch their black schemes against the empty blue, and the earth rings hollow now beneath …
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