Albert Anker, Girl braiding her hair and reading, 1887 I am happy living simply: like a clock, or a calendar. Worldly pilgrim, thin, wise – as any creature. To know the spirit is my beloved. To come to things – swift as a ray of light, or a look. To live as I write: spare …
Andy Warhol, Lamentation, 1986 If someone is looking for me my distinguishing marks are ecstasy and despair. Se dovessero cercarmi i miei segni particolari sono l’estasi e la disperazione. Do you know a different English translation? Please contact me, this is a personal translation Go back to album – W. Szymborska
Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot, The Burning of Sodom, 1843 They say I looked back out of curiosity. But I could have had other reasons. I looked back mourning my silver bowl. Carelessly, while tying my sandal strap. So I wouldn’t have to keep staring at the righteous nape of my husband Lot’s neck. From the sudden …
Wislawa Szymborska – La moglie di Lot / Lot’s wife Read More »
Edward Robert Hughes, Night with her train of stars, 1912 At the creation of the Earth pleasure, that divinest birth, from the soil of Heaven did rise, wrapped in sweet wild melodies – like an exhalation wreathing to the sound of air low-breathing through Aeolian pines, which make a shade and shelter to the lake …
Percy Bysshe Shelley –The Birth Place Of Pleasure Read More »
Guido Reni, The Coronation of the Virgin, 1607 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand— As if I asked the Orient Had it for me a Morn— And it should lift its purple Dikes, And shatter me with Dawn! Come se …
Emily Dickinson – Come se chiedessi una comune elemosina / As If I Asked A Common Alms Read More »
Paul Delvaux, The cortege, 1963 Dead poets, philosophs, priests, martyrs, artists, inventors, governments long since, language-shapers on other shores, nations once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn, or desolate, I dare not proceed till I respectfully credit what you have left wafted hither, I have perused it, own it is admirable, (moving awhile among it,) think nothing …
Walt Whitman – Poeti estinti, filosofi, preti / Dead poets, philosophs, priests Read More »
Create a website and earn with Altervista - Disclaimer - Report Abuse - Privacy Policy - Customize advertising tracking
