Archive for the 'Life' Category

April 9, 2017

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March 18, 2017

Il suo sguardo, per lo scorrere continuo delle sbarre,
è diventato così stanco, che non trattiene più nulla.
E’ come se ci fossero mille sbarre intorno a lui,
e dietro le mille sbarre nessun mondo.

L’incedere morbido dei passi flessuosi e forti,
nel girare in cerchi sempre più piccoli,
è come la danza di una forza intorno a un centro
in cui si erge, stordito, un gran volere.

Soltanto a tratti si alza, muto, il velo delle pupille.
Allora un’ immagine vi entra, si muove
Attraverso le membra silenziose e tese
E va a spegnersi nel cuore.

~ “La pantera”, Rainer Maria Rilke.

January 25, 2017

“In tutti i bambini, finche’ siano ancora immersi nel mistero, l’anima e’ senza posa occupata con l’unica cosa davvero importante, vale a dire loro stessi e l’enigmatico nesso tra la loro persona e il mondo circostante. Colui che cerca e il saggio giunti agli anni della maturita’ ritornano a queste occupazioni, ma per la maggior parte gli esseri umani dimenticano e abbandonano questo mondo interiore, il mondo di cio’ che e’ davvero importante, e lo fanno assai prima e per sempre, e per tutta la vita errano nei policromi labirinti di preoccupazioni , desideri e mete, nessuna delle quali abita nel loro intimo, nessuna delle quali li conduce alla loro interiorita’, a casa.” ~ Hesse

January 25, 2017

“Non beve forse il cuore la buon’azione come un orto secco la prima pioggia, rispondendo grato con fiori?” ~ Hesse

January 15, 2017

“Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some, are given a chance to climb. They refuse, they cling to the realm or the gods or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.”
~ GoT

January 14, 2017

“Quanti altri dovevano essersi gia’ provati in simili imprese, e fin dall’inizio essere andati alla malora, giovani scudieri e cavalieri dei quali nessuna principessa aveva udito parlare, sui quali non correva nessuna canzone, sul cui conto nessuno stalliere raccontava storie la sera! Erano scomparsi: uccisi, avvelenati, annegati, precipitati da rupi, divorati da draghi, murati in caverne. Per nulla erano partiti, inutilmente avevano sopportato privazioni e sofferto dolori!”
~ “Infanzia di san Francesco d’Assisi”, Hesse.

January 14, 2017

“Il fiume, com’egli lo cantava, calava dai monti, scuro e selvaggio, in un’ebbrezza distruttiva; digrignando i denti sopportava a stento di essere imbrigliato dai mulini, scavalcato dai ponti, odiava tutte le navi che doveva portare, e tra le sue onde e tra lunghe, verdi erbe marine cullava sogghignando i corpi bianchi degli annegati.”
~ “Sogno flautato”, Hesse.

January 6, 2017

“Non è mai troppo tardi per andare oltre” ~ Dante

January 2, 2017

“We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return; prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only, as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again; if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man; then you are ready for a walk.”

“Of course, it is of no use to direct our steps to the woods, if they do not carry us thither. I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit. In my afternoon walk I would fain forget all my morning occupations, and my obligations to society. But it sometimes happens that I cannot easily shake off the village. The thought of some work will run in my head, and I am not where my body is; I am out of my senses. In my walks I would fain return to my senses. What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?”

~ Thoreau

Let America be America again

December 28, 2016

“Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!”

~ Langston Hughes