Posts Tagged ‘Poesia’

“Aubade” di Philippe Larkin

16 novembre 2016

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
– The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused – nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear – no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Gabriele d’Annunzio – Pastori (in svedese)

2 febbraio 2016

Gabriele d’AnnunzioHerdarna (“Pastori”)

September, uppbrott! Mina herdar lämna
nu sina fållor i Abruzzerlandet.
Kom, det är tid. Till havet de sig ämna.
De stiga ner till Adria, vars vildhet
är lika grön som bergens betsfläckar.

Djupt ha de läskat sig ur alpens bäckar
på det att vattnet skall av hembygd smaka
och stanna kvar som tröst i vilsna hjärtan
och hålla länge vägens törst tillbaka.
Spön ha de skurit sig av hasselveden.



13 agosto 2015


Gabriele d’Annunzio – 150 anni

12 marzo 2013

gabriele dannunzio

12 marzo 1863 – 12 marzo 2013

Auguri Vate!

L’Uomo che come Ken delle Barbie

20 aprile 2012

L’Uomo come Ken delle Barbie

L’uomo come Ken delle Barbie
cantava come Terence Trent d’Arby
ma aveva diversi disturbi
dovuti ad assenze masturbi
pur dentro tenea superbi
sogni d’amor acerbi
ma tali furon le turbi
di donzelle ch’egli conturbe
che divenne eroe di proverbi
e noto in tutte le urbi
ché l’uomo come Ken delle Barbie
avea prole senza riserbi

Sonetti lussuriosi

12 ottobre 2011

Ho appena scoperto – grazie a una preziosa fonte – l’esistenza di un’opera importantissima di Pietro Aretino. Si intitola Sonetti lussuriosi.

Ne incollo qui una prima parte, giusto per gradire. Ma chi volesse leggere l’opera completa, può farlo cliccando qui.


Carlo Michelstaedter

17 ottobre 2010

Un omaggio a cento anni dalla morte.

Ritornate alle case tranquille
alla pace del tetto sicuro,
che cercate un cammino più duro?
che volete dal perfido mare? (more…)