Harold Harvey, Cornish Children, 1920 Non essere troppo intelligentePerché vedrai che solitudine!Scoprire l’ indifferenza delle persone,Scoprire quello che vogliono realizzare,E la loro corsa alle deboli ambizioni,E quello che possono offrire di più,E la loro abilità a fingere,E la loro superiore incomprensione,E che sono tutti, anche tu,Il frutto di un errore della natura,Prime nebulose del mondo;Che …
Edvard Munch, Two People – The Lonely Ones, 1899 Aloneone can but not much,one can drink alone, can sing alone,if one believes should pray alone too.Twomake shouting betterwith worm’s dedication,with rubber gestures,on bronze bedsbefore and after looting.The sumof the two voids resembles us. (Transl. by D. Foglia) Da solouno può ma non moltoda solo uno bevee …
William Adolphe Bouguereau, The Wave, 1896 On the wan sea-strandlonely I lay, and in sorrowful brooding.The sun sank lower and lower, and flunghis red rays, glowing, on the water,and I watched the far white billows,in the grip of the flood,foaming and roaring, nigher and nigher… Sulla pallida spiaggia giacevo,solitario dai tristi pensieri.Declinava al tramonto nel …
Maria Fortuny, Il contino, 1861 Lonely, you stand near the fountain, your face reflected in the water. The raw poetry of the military decoration burns in your heart with a fire greater than Botticelli’s Venus. (Transl. by Peter Valente) O solitario intorno a una fontana. Il poetico nudo della leva militare nel tuo cuore ardeva …
Sandro Penna – O solitario intorno a una fontana / Lonely, you stand near the fountain Read More »
Thomas Alexander Ferguson Graham, Alone in London, 1904 My father was not in the telephone bookin my city;my father was not sleeping with my motherat home;my father did not care if I studied thepiano;my father did not care whatI did;and I thought my father was handsome and I loved him and I wonderedwhyhe left me …
Diane Wakoski – Il padre del mio paese / The Father of My Country Read More »
Otto Dix, Newborn Baby on Hands, 1927 We women, we are so close to the brown earth. We ask the cuckoo, what he expects of spring, we wrap our arms around the smooth pine-tree, we search the sunset for signs and counsel. I loved a man once, he believed in nothing… He came on a …
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