Se io fossi

se io fossi

https://mariangelatardito.wordpress.com/2015/08/24/niente-panico-rispondere-si-puo/ che carina 🙂 mi ha fatto una sorpresa, la ringrazio molto perché a me piace giocare, seguirò le regole, ma non nominerò nessuno, chi vuole essere nominato si nomini da solo, è benvenuto!!!

Questo è il gioco del “se io fossi”.

 

  • Mantenere l’immagine all’inizio di questo post
  • Citare il paziente zero da cui è partito il tag,   bloody ivy , e da chi siete stati nominati
  • Rispondere nel modo più breve possibile alle domande sottostanti
  • Nominare (almeno) 10 blog e avvisarli, NON lo farò, chi vuole puo’ autonominarsi

Se fossi un libro sarei Il Maestro e Margherita

se fossi un film sarei Mistery Train

se fossi un cattivo mi piacerebbe essere il gattone de Il Maestro e Margherita

se fossi una musica Verde Milonga di Paolo conte

se fossi una fiaba sarei quella che sto scrivendoper mio nipote, Una piccola favola

se fossi un’opera d’arte il quadro di Ombretta Saulat, red passion

se fossi un’artista sarei simile per sensibilità a

http://www.ombrettasaulat.it/

se fossi una poesia sarei questa di Alda Merini

poesia emozioni merini

se fossi una frase “le storie sono doni d’amore” Lewis Carroll

se fossi unpersonaggio storico il conte di Montecristo di Dumas

se fossi un mezzo di trasporto, sarei quello della mia fantasia : vi porto con me su

https://ioinviaggio.wordpress.com/

se fossi una città sarei Brisighella , una domenica a Brisighella
http://wp.me/p5F33D-i

BRISIGHELLA

e I delicati acquarelli di

http://marisafaccani.com/
image

se fossi un personaggio fumetti sarei L’ape Maia, così mi chiamava il mio amico Tom, perché non saprei, forse perchè tanti anni fa amavo vestirmi a righe…

se fossi un colore sarei il rosso e il blu delle emozioni , barriere emozioni in rosso e e blu.
http://wp.me/p5F33D-2D

se fossi un profumo sarei il delicato profumo del fiore di mirto

se fossi un suono della natura, sarei il temporale che si allontana mentre io sono al sicuro in una casetta di legno affacciata sul mare in un bosco di ulivi e carrubi

se fossi un fiore, io sono una Phlomis 🙂

phlomis

http://wp.me/s5F33D-info

se fossi un animale: un simpatico bradipo, incontro con il bradipo, in Brasile.
http://wp.me/p5F33D-V

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

oppure un granchio

se fossi una pianta : sono un’umile Phlomis all’ombra di un maestoso carrubo sul mare, http://wp.me/s5F33D-info

se fossi una pizza sarei quella che fa la mia amica con i peperoni arrostiti

se fossi un dolce : una melanzana al cioccolato.
image

se fossi una bevanda: un succo di graviola con latte.

graviola

(Sulla domanda jolly , io “glasso” per favore 🙂 Una salsa? Ma che roba è?)

Annunci

Talvez una dupla gota de chuva

fiore blu44

Uma dupla gota de água-
Uma
dupla gota de pensamento

Eu escrevo um poema
para dizer o quanto eu penso em você,
enquanto está chovendo
agora quieto agora forte,
a intensidade não muda
meu sentir,

quando cada gota ressoa em meu coração
Eu penso suas lágrimas,
Eu acho que você permit
e que a chuva molha
Desejo ser
sua chuva.

“As nuvens pretas corren no céu
e de repente começa a chover
Os choupos curva
n e voltan
e
u escute minha música dentro de mim
e eu me sinto livre por um
momento.
Deixo o mundo fora de mim, por um momento.
Por um momento
o mondo não vai me- esmagar.
e depois vou
a limpiar da chuva.
Mas não importa. Pode
r sentir as gotas, uma por uma
é uma espécie de liberdade. ”

Apenas uma única gota de pensamento –
apenas uma única gota de agua

Eu gostaria de explicar a você
aquela sensação de espera
que a tempestade acaba
sem trazer destruição,
esse sentimento de esperança de etern
o
sem causar
alguna perda,
aquela sensação de suspensão entre o seu silêncio e seu retorno
sem
o medo de que você não va a voltar mais.

Eu acho que
para você
enquanto suas lágrimas se misturam com a chuva
e você quere saber qual é o seu significado,

você observa o céu de veludo de longe,
você está certo que as estrelas e a lua estão sempre lá
ainda ausente
s ou invisíveles.

Peço a você
se apenas uma única gota de chuva
pode superar qualquer distância
qualquer diferença
sua resposta

Depende da distância entre as coisas.
Entre dois átomos é apenas uma única molécula.
Se olharmos para o homem ao universo, é apenas um átomo.
Então, basta apenas apenas.
Apenas uma única gota de pensamento. ”

Eu penso em você
Eu te vejo
Eu recreo você com a força de uma gota de água
como o céu refletido nas poças
Eu desenho um rosto puro
e um coração intacto

acendo sorrisos em seus lábios,
ilumin
o seus olhos,
e limp
o as lágrimas.

Mas é apenas uma ilusão
uma única gota não pode

Talvez uma dupla gota de chuva-
talvez uma
dupla gota de pensamento-

Maybe a twin drop of rain

fiore 5

A twin drop of rain-
A twin drop of thought-

I would write a poem
to tell you how much I think of you,
while it is raining
now quiet now strong,
the intensity does not change,

when every drop resonates in my heart
I think about your tears,
I think that you allow the rain to get you wet

and I wish to be that rain.

“The black clouds running in the sky

and it starts raining suddenly
The poplars bow and then are back
and I listen to music inside me
and I feel free for a while.
I leave the world outside of me, for a moment.
For a moment it don’t crush me.
and then I go up to dry from the rain, damn.
But never mind. Can feel the drops one by one

is a kind of freedom. “

Just a single drop of thought –
just a single drop of rain-

I would like to explain
that sense of waiting to end the storm
without bringing destruction,
that sense of hope of eternal
without causing me loss,
that sense of suspension between your silence and your return
without being scared that you do not return more

I think
to you
while your tears mix with the rain
and you wonder what is your sense.

and look at the sky velvet away
and you’re sure that the stars and moon are always
although absent or invisible

I ask you
if just a single drop of rain
can overcome any distance
any difference
you answer

“It depends on the distance between things.
Between two atoms it is just a single molecule.
If we look at the man to the universe, it’s just an atom.
So just just just.
Just a single drop of thought. “

I think of you
I see you
I recreate you with the force of a drop of water
as the sky reflected in the puddles
I design a pure face
and a heart intact
I turn on your lips smiles
I lighten up your eyes
stopping your tears.

But it is only an illusion
not a single drop can-

Maybe a twin drop of rain,
maybe a twin drop of thought-

Forse una doppia goccia

fiore blu

Doppia goccia d’acqua- doppia goccia di pensiero

Vorrei scriverti una poesia

per dirti quanto ti penso

mentre sta piovendo

ora piano ora forte

l’intensità non cambia

quando ogni goccia risuona nel mio cuore

io penso alle tue lacrime,

io penso a te che permetti alla pioggia di bagnarti

ed io vorrei essere quella pioggia.

Le nubi nere corrono in cielo e inizia a piovere d’un tratto

e I pioppi si inchinano e poi risalgono

e io ascolto la mia musica dentro di me

e mi sento libero per un istante.

Lascio il mondo fuori di me, per un istante.

Per un istante non mi schiaccia.

e poi salgo ad asciugarmi dalla pioggia, accidenti.

Ma non fa niente. Poter sentire le gocce una a una

è stata una grande libertà.”

Basta una sola goccia di pensiero –

basta una sola goccia di pioggia-

Vorrei spiegarti

quel senso di attesa che finisca il temporale

senza portarmi distruzione,

quel senso di speranza d’eterno

senza causarmi perdita,

quel senso di sospensione tra il tuo silenzio e il tuo ritorno

senza farmi spavento che tu non torni più

io penso

a te

mentre le tue lacrime si mescolano alla pioggia

e ti domandi qual è il tuo senso.

e guardi il cielo di velluto lontano

e sei sicuro che stelle e luna ci sono sempre

anche se assenti o invisibili

io ti domando

se basta una goccia di pioggia

a superare ogni distanza

ogni differenza

tu rispondi

Dipende la distanza fra cosa.
Fra due atomi basta una molecola.
Se guardiamo l’uomo rispetto all’universo, è un atomo.
Quindi basta proprio poco.
Basta una goccia di pensiero.”

io ti penso

io ti vedo

ti ricreo con la forza di una goccia d’acqua

come cielo che si specchia nelle pozzanghere

ti disegno un volto puro

e un cuore intatto

accendo le tue labbra di sorrisi

illumino i tuoi occhi

e annullo il pianto.

Ma è solo un illusione

una sola goccia non può-

Forse una doppia goccia di pioggia,

forse una doppia goccia di pensiero-

1. Notes about a youth. Part one.

Notes about a youth.

Part One.

1- One.

Rimini, a night. The road is now empty and silent after the confusion and traffic of just a few hours before. The sidewalks are desert after the evening entertainment, the street lights have already turned off and the last shops close at this time. half past midnight. Eve retrace the paths that at ten walked through the crowd up to the disco, one of many in Rimini in the 80s.

Eve,16 years old, is now returning home, she has just accompanied to hotel her friend with whom she spent the night at the dancing. She is alone again as she was at the disco but it’s a different, dignified sense of loneliness. Tonight Eve danced tirelessly, isolated in the midst of people, focused on the rhythm of the music in the square of the track that she has managed to win. Instead , her friend remained in the bar area to make new boyfriends. Closed into an imaginary ring drawn on the floor, divided from the other people by no existing lines, Eve went on dancing until the end without noticing the people around her. Not because of a sense of superiority or arrogance, simply she would not know what to answer to ones who could have approached her. Now, lonely, through the deserted streets, she breathes in the night’s thin air a strange and new sensation of freedom. She thinks it’s strange that they can exist two such different and separate worlds, the one of crowded nightclub and the one this empty quiet street. But here it is the door that you enter in the depths of the night and of yourself. Eve’s walking without hurry, sure and light of her 16 years. It was the first time that her parents have given permission to go to the disco. The dance has made her thirsty. She stops at bar on the corner where she buy a lemon ice cream. She starts walking without caring if she will get soon at home. But she feels she has to live, enjoy the night in a breath, even here on this stretch of road. She feels indistinctly that in front of her there is a choice, a chance, she should just reach out and grab it. In the street few passersby are flowing fast, without looking or pause, similar to shadows, late for secrets appointments, she is just coming back home, in her aunt’s summer flat where she and her family are guests for a week, it is August 1984. The boy walking in the opposite direction that Eve, has a portable recorder on his shoulder, crossing her eyes he shout her something like: “Good ice cream?” The boy has already passed but Eve turns suddenly: “Eh ?!” Eve has stopped, the boy is back on his feet and stands next to her. “Where are you going?” “At home,” replies Eve making a gesture with his hand in the direction from which the boy has just come. “I went on the other side …”, seems to think a bit ‘, then almost talking to himself adds: “I know and now what I’m doing? Yeah, we can go:” He is going with her to home. Eve cannot ask him his name because of her shyness. Now he leads her into the night, carrying it in his music. At the level crossing he stops to make her listen to a provocative song about animal’s slaughter. Before pressing the start of the analogical recorder he articulates some ironic words of the text. They are still in the darkness of the last streetlight, his face is in shadow but his blue eyes emerge affected by bright light. He lightly touches her shoulder, showing his eyes, Eve realizes his loneliness and despair. They turn in the road of the apartment of her aunt, at the end there is a garden, they sit on a bench, a tacit agreement, without no one has proposed. The boy leans the bulky recorder, from the backpack carefully, chooses a box, they are the area, a progressive rock group early 70’s, Eve listen to it for the first time. “What music do you listen to?” “Like everyone else, the music everybody listens on the radio.” He smiles. “Do you know Angie by the Rolling Stones?” “I do not.” “No? I’m sure you’ll like it, I do not like the Rolling Stones, but …” Angie, I still love you … Let me whisper in your ear … Angie … He approaches suddenly with the mouths of his hair, a breath, a warm breath, a sweet absolute request, hot and desperate at the same time. The guy takes her in his arms. Eve looks at the Shirt he wears, there is a white text on a black background, he says he does not like, a friend of his presented from England. He touches her breast as if it were normal. “Why do you look yourself with indifference?”, he asks, “Looking casually means to be shy. Being shy means to tell to everybody let me do what you want.” Eve says no, that’s not true. “I, too, at age of 16 I was shy, I was hard boy, if I had a gun I would have fired at all. Yes …” He takes her hands bringing them on to his chest. “You can touch me, you’re free to do so … Hold me. ” The verb is declined imperative as before his breath through her hair and ear. “Let’s see who holds the strongest.” Eve embraces him with all his strength. He laughs: “Girl kills boy in street … which way is this?” Now it’s up to him to hold her. Eve says ah! “What does it mean ah! You hurt me or do it again?” There is a kiss. He apologizes for his tongue, it is rough because he says with conviction that he went on eating hard candy mint. The windows of buildings have the blinds drawn, the garden, behind them, is now empty and quiet, you hear any noise, the street is deserted, the night has isolated them from the rest of the world. Eve is attracted by his clear eyes. He is telling something, he speaks softly softly, he whispers. Eve can hardly hear him. “You know, the other night I was afraid …” A car ride on Romea by night, vegetation upset and fearful, the recorder was playing a suggestive music and the night … A race with fear to the ribs, in the desperate flight, sleepless night, paranoia as only his companion. The words, so whispered, smell of fear, as if that mood still was continuing. His bright eyes are open on the night. Then he stops talking, the voltage drops. He proudly show his tattoo on left forearm, it is a hammer braking the shell of an egg, he does not explain the meaning, just asking if she likes. His hands are large and strong in comparison Eve’s ones. He says they are rough and damaged due to the instrument he plays. He plays double bass but he also works. The question if she knows what means to work in Mestre in a factory in contact with acidic substances. Certainly it cannot be easy. Eve instead studied, she’s attending the High School. The school and the study fully occupy her time. In the classroom, teachers say that real life is another matter, in the meanwhile they never speak about this real life. There are the programs to be carried out, the questions, a series of checks. Afternoons nights waking for a version of a Latin translation, or a difficult math exercise. What is the Real life? How many sunsets Eve watched from her bedroom window. They say that real life is out but where? Eve thinks from this point of view studying is not so different that working in the factory. “If I could go to the factory without damning … Being able to be a musician at last, to take the strength and courage, then I would not need neither you nor anyone else to trick paranoia, so there is only it. ” It ‘s late, Eve must return to the apartment. With ingenuity Eve asks that he attends at any school but he does not respond, do not look at her, then she still asks how old he is. Twenty-one, it’ s his bitter answer. Actually Eve would like to know his name but she fails to overcome her own shyness. Under the single streetlight lit he kisses her. Eve discovers his eyes fixed upon her, they have something cold and terrible, almost the eyes of the murderer who split with lucid and detached madness the unwitting victim. But those cold eyes have also fear because the night stays. It means the night insomnia, a desperate wake, paranoid roam the streets without knowing what to do or where to go. “See you tomorrow morning?” “Yeah.” “Earlier you can, otherwise I fall into paranoia. We are meeting at the bar at the corner. And it ‘s better that you see me in the light of day, which Iam really.” Eve’s room is on the third floor, the aunt is waiting for her, she saw them through the window. Who’s that boy? Eve does not know, not even asked his name. Lying in bed, unable to sleep thinking about him, the way in which they met, she remember his gaze, his eyes cold and desperate. She is scared and attracted at the same time, she could help from it. She’s thinking tomorrow I will ask him “what’ s your name”, thinking and thinking … But the night is too short and runs on the shutters, in the distance the whistle of a train …

2- Two.

Rimini day, a morning. Eve goes out the house. The bar is still shuttered and the chairs are spilled over the tables. The boy is sitting, the same face, as if he had been waiting all night, or not, as if he had thought of her even for a moment in the hours that separated them. It’s early morning, everything appears resized comparing to that night. Eve does not think anymore to thw fear, she has already forgotten the coldness of those eyes that looked at her with indifference. The morning is always good sweet quiet and hopeful. His eyes are now a natural blue, the night’s despair has disappeared. The morning air is fresh and bright like the promise of a peaceful and warm summer day. They walk to the sea, along the roads still in shadow, Eve test a fragile sense of happiness, every thing looks good and right with nothing to fright, but everything to be experienced intensely , thinking that life is an eternal morning, this morning so full of promises. Above the swimsuit Eve wears a short dress sun, instead he is wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt, he is carrying on the inevitable analogical recorder. The sea is calm, flat, along the direction of the pier, Eve unwittingly pushes him into the water, he wets the hem of his jeans. They leave the beach, on the road the sun is high, the morning has been left behind, somehow it has got lost. They are walking in Rimini, among the people and the goods of the stores exposed on the sidewalks, they are directed o the old part of town.

During her childhood Eve’s family spent here summer vacation renting a few rooms of an ancient house . Going to the beach she was accomusted to across a long avenue surrounded by gardens, in one of those there were some stone statues, Eve child was used to stop and look at them every time , reading the inscriptions. Now it seems to her to go through a different city, while she listen intently to every word that this guy says and to the music that he loves , the Area. “When I listened to the Area for the first time, I was 16 years old. They hit me in the deep. From that moment on, my life changed.” The first impression of Eve is that of a hard and fascinating music at the same time. “Listen to this piece, the text is taken from a poster of the French Revolution, written on the walls in the streets. You have to be cold and aloof when you read these words.” This is the voice of Demetrio Stratos, the voice of the Area, incredible disconcerting voice that comes burning out from the body , the human voice is used like any other musical instrument. But this is first of all an absolute voice that believes , cold and detached, articulating the syllables: “Take the third street on the right then the third left arrive at the square Turn the coffee that you know Throw down your statue stay down stay down. ” The boy believes in the words of the song, he repeats them with the same inspiration. His language, a mixture of Italian with a cold and ironic Venetian dialect, it is the same one with his body, it is his gesture, his expression and his line dry the face, his light hair, his hollow eyes, his shoulders, his tattoo. The tone of his voice, the sound of the dialect, how he spells and pronounces the words as they sound, this is the most vivid expression of what it lives inside him, this is his sincerity. Eve’s silent, listening to the things he says, the words and tales, the instruments and the voice of Demetrio, meanwhile she observes Rimini becoming unreal under the sun: the absurd and the sense of hallucination invade the city. he says: “I do not let anyone say hey look at that guy.” His voice is strong, the words are once again cold ironic and indifferent. At eleven in the morning they walked in front of the station, then they continued to follow the streets aimlessly, drawing an invisible trace, up to this electric cabin near the railway, an isolated spot from the road, where now they are sitting at the shadow. He asks her to undress, he wants to touch her breasts, it’s not Love or it is if love means oblivion, if love is the one thing to oppose to paranoia , to restrain even for a few moments in deep forgetfulness of self and of the rest of the world. In his eyes there is still a sense of cold indifference when he touches her and he seems reading: “I loved Jonathan, your death has only strengthened my will to fight. Jonathan has bought death.” (Anthology, Area) A single sentence, a single sound. Then Eve realizes. There is Jonathan now , Jonathan of the Area’s song, Jonathan cold and desperate, Jonathan who touches her breast and wants make a kind of love and need her not because she is Eve, but just because she is the one who he met last night as he could meet any other one Eve. Jonathan is his name. The return to reality is immediate, two railroad workers discover their presence, invite them to move away. Back on the road: Rimini is again under the sun, the town is hot and muggy. They go to the parking where he left his gray Fiat 126. The sun is up, must be past to noon, Eve is not aware of what time it is, she forgot everything, coming out in the morning she assured hers that she would have gone along with that boy at the beach, and now she realize she has forgotten everything. All morning she just walked with Jonathan. The sun is high and hot over the deserted parking and on the roof of 126. But Eve can not get away right now. Jonathan touches on parts of her body unknown to her, she looks without recognizing herself, as if it do not concern her. he says: “This afternoon we have a walk to the hills …” She imagine the scene, in the car with him, with the windows open and the sun cooler in the evening. They separate near the bar, where they met in the morning, he tightens her making back bones creaking . They laugh. “See you later, I’ll wait here in the bar, come quickly as you can.” Eve can not imagine how late it is, and does not expect to see her parents and uncles stop at the four corners of the intersection, looking for her , they are really tense and worried.

Where Eve is ? They’re waiting, they are looking for her. Eve do not even have time to understand the situation that they pounce on her, the father is furious, the mother, sobbing in fear, fixes her with disapproval. Recklessly without any decency they make a scene there in the road. In the flat the table is half set, lunch is ruined, the whole family is upset by the occurrence. Eve came out early in the morning, pointing vaguely to a known person that night, she also forgot to show up at the beach. His family did not know where she was with, who was that guy, and if something serious might be happened. Her family feel betrayed, she followed the first guy she met , who is he?, and she has forgotten everything. She acted improperly. As the hours passed their concern went increasing, at first they tried to look around, the uncle did a ride in the neighborhood, then as tension was getting strong they waited a long in vain, believing that she could come back at any moment , as time passed, the fear increased while anxiety and expectation were loading with anger and pain. Eve sits on the couch and watch the silent table in ruins. She does not try to defend herself, she has forgotten , she forgot everything. Now their eyes scrutinize her, considering the punishment, the judge and condemn. her major fault is her young age, she’s 16 years old.

Tonight we return to F, her mother says. In the afternoon, Eve is sitting at the beach, while her brother and her cousin, who are 5 years younge,r are free to move, she is under their control. On the surface everything is back to normal. Eve, in the shadows, is watching to her body and she realizes how white it is. At three in the afternoon her grandmother accompanied her to the bar to greet him: Eve briefly explained him the situation. Jonathan is irritated, he does not understand. All the paranoia emerges in raw evidence. Eve now know what is, she has seen it in his eyes and now she perceives within herself, as a disease, as something which can not break free. Then Jonathan says: “If I had the courage to be a musician til the end, then I would not need neither you nor anyone else, but … turn to Rimini like animals …” Her grandmother mentions that it’s time to go, quickly Eve leaves him the address of a friend of hers that can make contact between them, “I’m going back to F.” “Okay, I’ll come, you can go out tonight?” “No, it is impossible” “No. Nothing is impossible.”

3- Three.

And your hands on my hands. (Paolo Conte)

Jonathan is waiting at a bar with a glass of coke and a packet of cigarettes. When he sees her he says ah here you are without surprise. Eve sits in front of him, order an orange soda, carefully observe his face, there is the usual irony mixed with sadness. She calls Jonathan although now know his name, William. They are in C, a small town close to F, where Eve lives. Jonathan and Eve are walking through the country pretending to be still in Rimini. At the end of the town, after the last shops, there is an ​​uncultivated area. They follow a path in the dried grass to an electric cabin. He lifts her T-shirt up to touch her breast, he takes her hand to his sex. It quickly starts, his body bends towards her, Eve holds her face above his, it follows the hard features, his eyes lowered, his lips parted, she looks at him while it happens and when it ends, Jonathan goes far away from her. His head back, eyes closed soft, mouth desiring, Jonathan seems to ignore everything else, it seems there is a concentric wave that surrounds him into oblivion, every thought canceled, there is no more paranoia. He has just finished when suddenly behind them a dog and a hunter are getting near. Jonathan dress up, they return on the main street. And it is the end of August, the weather threatens a sudden storm. They are sitting at the bar with two ice cream cups. Outside it starts raining, a short and intense storm. Jonathan finally places the recorder on a chair and throws the empty package of cigarettes in the ashtray. Again he takes her hand bringing it on his knees, and holds it in his and he caresses. He begins to talk staring at an indefinite point, he said to be at the bottom of a cliff and he don’t know how to get out, perhaps simply there is no way out. Now the roar of the storm is stronger and covers every item of the hosts of ice cream. “Everything is shit from this table, that can save you the awareness of living a shitty life, so I would like you to write on my tombstone: I lived a life of shit and I knew it, hello friends! Go to work, to make the bottom of worker and not have time to play, to be a musician. ” Eve does not understand his words, later the recall and will hurt, now feels the touch and the lightness of the hand of Jonathan who holds and caresses her. “I do not know anything, I do not know if you’re right for me or not, if you’re right or just shit like everything, like this table.” The storm has slowed down in intensity, it is about to stop. They leave the bar without that Eve could say something, now they are greeting in the light rain. Jonathan puts his hands on the shoulders of Eve, looks long and deep into her eyes to imprint her image in the memory, to remember it as it is now, in his unconscious and naive youth. Smiles, kisses, while the rain has wet their hair, claps his hands on her shoulders in greeting and lets her go home. Eve can not go out tonight, tomorrow afternoon have another appointment at the bar. Eve can not know that Jonathan will not be.

4- Four.

Credevi di cacciare ma adesso la preda sei tu. (Litfiba)

4th of October.

Eve has sent him a letter after many other written and never sent.

“Hello, I should be studying but I can not concentrate. I still think of you, when I know that this may not be enough. I’m back from the house of a friend of mine. Outside it is raining. A school is hard, I do not care anymore. At home I feel oppressed, the walls of this room are narrow, they can not contain myself, I’m bigger. I would like to go away with you and live with music. ” Eve looks for him walking through the city in the autumnal afternoon, she let meaninglessness come in. At night she takes a bus taking her back home. She does not like the square in the evening, perhaps because she feels even more alone. She feel a void, a lack within him. His name is Jonathan. “If you seek me I will always be with you.” The day after their meeting in C , Eve waited for him in vain all afternoon sitting at the bar without ordering anything, the town was full of tourists, she waited but he didn’t come. At six o’ clock there was another summer storm, which stopped as soon Eve had returned home by her foot, she was disappointed, why did he not come? Even the waiter at the bar understood and left her waiting at that absurd table without taking anything to drink.

To live here in summer meant to be excluded from life, isolated from the world. Her parents had a small farm in the hills surrounding C , the access road was unpaved and a sign indicated that there was no maintenance, some small hairpin bends snaked through the inhabited countryside for a couple of kilometers to the yellow tin prefabricated house that served as a summer unpretentious residence during agricultural work of picking fruits, apricots, peaches and plums. A Eva disliked help her parents, living the summer season here it was as a prison, it was far from everything, from the town, from her two friends, the only ones she had, Daniela and Cristina.

Daniela used to spent the most time of the summer at V, a small town in the hills of Rimini while Cristina stood in F, and sometimes she came to visit Eve by scooter. Eve did not even have a scooter, she completely depended on her parents to move from there, they never had time to her, whether she would go down she could do by foot. All around it was just open countryside, the soil of clay dried from sun. Her only company was the radio, an old radio that could receive Radio Koper and something else on medium frequency waves. On Saturday afternoons Radio Koper transmitted the hit parade, best-selling songs , Eve felt alone in the garden sitting on top of an old farm carriage, listening to the hits of that summer, however the nights were beautiful, in the absence of city ​​lights the stars were really superb, she tuned on Radio Koper and she come in touch with a planet lost up there in some unknown galaxy and she used to listen to the stars’ music, often jazz, Weather Report, Miles Davis. She was completely alone, her only contact with the world, rather with the space, was that old radio. She used to go to older neighbors who had a telephone to call her friends or sometimes she went to town to call them from a cab. Sometimes Cristina visited her and together they made a walk into the white road to a small resurgence of water in the middle of fields and then they came back talking about maximum systems, philosophy, religion, mathematics, music … Outside, the tin house was a rough structure in yellow painted sheet metal, while the interior was simple but functional, a kitchen with stove and frigo, a large hall, a sitting room with TV, a bathroom , a master bedroom for the parents, a bedroom for her brother and another for her. The summer was all here, a forced exile in the middle of nowhere, luckily there were the stars at night …

Only in October they returned to live in the city when school lessons were beginning, in September it was time of the grape harvest, so at morning the mother accompanied Eve and her brother by car to school, then they went back to yellow house, on that place they used to call “earth” because there was only land full of cracks and desolation. At the end of September if it was raining, the prefabricated became wet and it was necessary to turn on the gas heaters and the night became cold and Eve could not anymore look at the stars. This summer was different, Eva met Jonathan and experienced a different world, a different music, listening to the Area has greatly affected her, the words spoken by Jonathan fill her mind, she remembers every word, she transcribed in her diary.

Jonathan memories.

Old images and holy fools. Why do you look at yourself with indifference? And it’s better for you to see me in the light. My hands are all ruined. It’s ‘cause of the double bass. To make love as animals. Come here for a while. If you want to touch her breasts, I have to. I know but I doing? But yes we can go. I do not like my shirt. He bought death. I loved Jonathan, your love has only strengthened my will to fight.

Eve transcribed this last sentence at the end of the letter that she sent him. In his response Jonathan rewritten it correctly replacing the word love with death. Death and struggle underlined. His letter is a few lines on a piece of paper torn from a sheet of music, his handwriting is stretched and the g and p look like quarter notes or crotchets. “This morning I did not feel well, I spent my life on eating cartons, (you know the cartons contain a minimum percentage of proteins, but if you want to be free you must die because of hunger, then I willingly eat them as chewing . I took heart and cigarettes went to work swimming in a sea of damn (and belief), then at noon I found a big letter from you in the mail box. ” At the bottom he adds his phone number. Eve calls him immediately. “I will come tomorrow, wait for me a the station to F. at three o’clock in the afternoon.” “Do you really desire to come?” “Yes I want to come, it is absurd but it would more absurd not to come. When I received your letter, I cried, I went into paranoia. I was not so bad for a while. I want to come to see how things are.” How things are ? But Eve do not dare to ask.

5- Five.

Autumn. Warm autumn saturday afternoon, people already dress with warm cloths, but the sun today gives the illusion of an ephemeral summer. Eve wearing a light shirt, the warm sun of the afternoon gives her a sense of intoxication. He would like to believe it was still summer. Her friends Daniela and Cristina accompany her to the station, sit on a bench but Jonathan is delayed. Cristina notes that are already four o’clock, an hour after the agreed time, believes that he will not come. Daniela is more positive, sitting in the autumn sun, she proposes to wait another half hour. Cristina insists to go to the center, after all it is Saturday afternoon and everyone goes into the streets to meet each others. Eve would like to wait, but she follows her friends without opposing their decision as if at the end Jonathan was not so important. +Downtown boys and girls, mostly high school students, stands in little groups to talk at every intersection of the road, other groups walk in a circle like performing the sacred ritual of the “hot” idiom that means a ride obsessive of the two main courses . The windows and the street lamps light up. Among people Eve and her friends recognize some of their classmates but did not salute. Eve pretends to light a cigarette, she feels observed because of her light shirt wearing, and because of her clumsiness in smoke. At six o’ clock they come back home by bus, they separate without any comment. Eve is just rising in her apartment when the Cristina intercoms: “He has arrived.” Jonathan is just down the street, Daniela remains with him, Eve reaches them quickly. “Hello.” “Sorry I’m late, but it took me much more time than I thought.” Daniela and Cristina are greeting her with a sign of hand and turn away. Jonathan has blonde hair, he dresses a white T-shirt, his face highlighted by the last rays of sunset. “Let’s go to a bar, I saw one near here.” They’re walking along the road that Eve runs every morning to high school. Eve observes him in silence, she does not know what to say now that he is here, as if his physical presence had lost its meaning, perhaps because of the long wait. In a letter she should have known what to write but by voice now it’s different. At the bar Jonathan buys two cans of coke, they are sitting outside on two chairs against the wall under the yellow banner. Eve drinks quietly while Jonathan topples to the ground in provocative way his coke. Back to car they make a ride in the neighborhood, they stop in front of a house under construction, the lamp is off, car’s glasses fog up, Jonathan’s lips are on the breast of Eve. “I know we should not do it but you can not remain abstract, completely black or white.”, he justifies. For Eve it’s not even sex, it’s not pleasure, but it is only a palliative to paranoia, an attempt to escape from the nonsense. It just works for a few moments then everything hurts more than before. Eve knows. By car they approach to the building of Eve, they stay still in the car, he must go to see Frank Zappa in Bologna. Then Eve tries to express how she feels and to tell him her sensation of isolation at home and at school, but suddenly she cannot find the words, suddenly the speech she had prepared looks empty and insubstantial. She feels ridiculous and childish, a spoiled child with the luxury of paranoia, her manner of expression is clumsy and disjointed, in front of him she is inhibited, at the end she tells him that she needs him. His answer is tough. “There are 250 km that separate us, not a few, they would do nothing if it is worth it while but it is not. If I can I ‘ll visit you again, I beg you to believe me, I will come, sure, maybe not right now . Now I must go. Do not think of me, you and me would be just paranoia. I think about you as I think of other people I met in my life. You can not become a shit for one that yon the road. I do not care anymore for anything.

Now I play in a heavy metal band, I have a job in a factory, I will never play jazz well because it serves a constant and continuous exercise, and work prevents it, physically.

A few months ago we made a concert, some guys stopped me to tell me that I had been great but I’m not interested. I only care about playing, nothing else. ” Eve hears it and turns it in her hands the music box he gave, it is the group Il rovescio della medaglia. Jonathan is saying that he ‘going away. Eve realizes miserably that she ‘s the only one who needs the other and she can’t believe to love means becoming a shit. For her 250 km won’t be a problem. Jonathan shakes twice her hands. “Now I leave.” Eve is already out of the car when she realizes that her mother is on the road and she’s looking for her, her mother sees and recalls her , Jonathan answers a vulgarity but then goes back in car and goes away. Back home Eve takes refuge in her room. Her mother is crying , her father is upset by anger, Eve has never seen him in these conditions, his face is distorted by violence and his eyes are blinded.

Her father shout out all the evil.

Her mother complains:

“ Don’t you realize that everyting you have in yur little life is, is thank to us and owes to us? You do not seem to show any sign of respect or gratitude towards us !

You cannot understand the love we gave you, the love with which we grew you up, we gave you all that you have and who you are, dresses, instruction, money. Why do not you understand? Why do not you understand that your parents are the only people in the world who love you and want your own good so disinterested?

You belong to us, you owe to us, we owe your life, your life depends on us, what do you do? Do you want to go? You have nothing, nothing belongs to you, you are nothing without us, understand?” Eva is alone, she lies in the dark on the ground and listen to the tape that Jonathan gave her. The words of her parents echo in her mind, she does not want to listen anymore,she desire to lose herself in the music and lose touch with the world, she listen at Io come Io of Il rovescio della medaglia.Why did they treat her so badly?

They say to love her but they made worse than if they had beaten her. Why had they insulted her until to make her to feel to be a person unworthy of love? To their accusation she’d have liked to replicate stripping of all material goods that they gave her, she’d have liked to give up their comfortable home and their ordinary life.

Eve feels a suffocating sense of imprisonment.

Her head explodes, her eyes burn, she can not breathe, her body is something heavy, just a physical body, in a house, in a room, in a place that can no longer define of hers. She has nothing that owes to her. Only music and poetry allow her to escape, the verses of Baudelaire’s Spleen mingle with notes of music Io come Io.“… how many things people emotions are coming to me … … There I see a shadow that comes to meet me,

Do I know who are you ?”

A dong. The guitar is repeated obsessively, when sky opens the voice catches echoes, the guitar becomes more incisive, then the tension is released and resumed again, rises, grows then falls down. “… One leg in a road, in two directions … everything is empty around me, what is it?” Suddenly the guitar abandons its obsessive lap. A silent people of spiders tend the nets at the bottom of the brain, a crazy bat bangs his head against wet ceilings, thick raindrops become gray bars of an endless prison.

Hope like a bat, goes slamming the walls with her timid wings

And knocking her head against the wet ceiling;

When the rain stretching out its endless train

Imitates the bars of a vast prison

And a silent horde of loathsome spiders

Comes to spin their webs in the depths of our brains,

All at once the bells explode with rage

And hurl a frightful roar at heaven…”

(Spleen, Charles Baudelaire)

The frightened soul  is screaming that the hope is dead. The guitar slows down its desperate rhythm , it softens, then the flute sings. The guitar reemerges hard and the anguish plant his black banner on the skull of the poet.

6- Six.

The night after, back from work , her father hands her in sign of peace a bouquet of flowers, the mother tells her that he’s going to take her for a walk and for an ice cream together. Eve must necessarily accept the invitation. He takes the car and park in Liberty square and then the walk for the Republic Avenue to Saffi square. They talk quiet as if nothing had happened, so it looks alike, they have many point of views in common. Eve would like to live in a big city without the provincialism of a small town as F. Her father says that he understands and tells her his experience in Paris, where he was 22 years old he spent a few months working in the early sixties. He got very impressed by the open-minded of French capital and by the freedom of the Parisians while Milan, his birth town, was very provincial despite the industrial development. They stop in front of the ice cream shop, the goal of their walk. “Do you take an ice cream?”, his father asks. “No, I don’t and you?” “I do not even.” “And then you say why we get here, what to do?” “We came for a walk. Together.” It ‘s clear that the ice cream was only a pretext. They are going back to the cold and desert streets, they do not speak, they go by car at the station and go upstairs to see if there is some train passing but F. is a small railway station and there is not a all this big transit of trains. “I like to watch the trains go by.” the father says. “Me too, but sometimes I’d like you to take the train for somewhere.” “You’ll have a plenty of time to do it.” They sit in car. His father take a pause of silence and then start talking. “I would like to explain why we came tonight, not for the ice cream which we did not take and not even to take a walk, do you know?” This is the time to talk, to get to the core of the speech, the moment can not be delayed. Eve listened to him , she is amazed and curious. “If there’s something really shameful is what happened last night, I mean the scene that I did. I’m sorry but if you try to put yourself in my shoes maybe you can understand that when the problem is with a child of yours, it is difficult , or better it is impossible to restrain. Maybe you do not know, but I’m very shy and reserved in my way of loving. I can hardly express my feelings, to externalize my emotions, and so sometimes the anger explodes but it was not me that last night, it is not your father, your father is the one who loves you and wants your good. I know you are thinking but what does it mean to love? To love is to act like me last night? Of course not. I apologize to you. I would like to tell you a curiosity about your name. When a child is going to born the parents are looking for a name to give him, but not any name, because the name will accompany him throughout his life long and would like to bring him luck. When you were born there was a popular actress, a certain Eve, I liked her so much but don’t tell Mom. Choosing for you the same name I hoped that my daughter could have equal beauty and equal success in life. This think is nonsense if you want … I guarantee you that the scene of yesterday will not repeat, I wish that you may have confidence in your parents, and if you like I’m here to listen, to talk, to advise, to help you. And the mom is too, you know. We have nothing to teach you but maybe our experience might be useful because we had already been through in certain affairs, we have already crossed many things. You know, for us, for me and for your mother, the family is the most important thing, not only it is the meaning of our life, it is much more … A son, a daughter is the story of a lifetime. ” He pauses and looks at the face of her daughter, he told her everything he felt inside, he succeeded in it. Eve has no grudge against him, only sadness for not being able to understand each other, his words have struck intimately, perhaps for the first time she can understand the existence of another being, his father. The clock on the facade of the station marks a quarter to midnight. “It’s late, the time flew, we return home.” All the way back home , neither of them says a word.

Buonanotte che è ioinviaggio (per una madre)

fiori4

Buonanotte che è ioinviaggio.

16 agosto 2015

Buonanotte anche se so che non dormirai,

anche se so che non dormirò

buon viaggio per domani

e il mio pensiero ti accompagnerà,

io sarò il piccolo sbuffo di nuvola nel cielo

che ti seguirà,

o la coccinella su un fiore,

il tuo splendido fiore,

il mio piccolo fiore:

ogni tuo sorriso io sorriderò,

ogni tuo sorriso sarà il mio,

ogni tua lacrima io asciugherò

e ne farò un diamante

per la mia collana di ossidiana nera,

ogni tua emozione sarà la cascata

a cui attingerò acqua purissima

per innaffiare il mio giardino,

ogni tuo ricordo sarà un geode prezioso

che conserverò con cura e ne farò poesia,

buonanotte anche se so che non dormirai

buonanotte anche se so che non dormirò,

buonanotte di quieta veglia,

buonanotte di chiaro sonno,

buonanotte come una luce accesa alla finestra

che mai si spegne,

buonanotte che è già quasi il tuo viaggio,

buonanotte che è ioinviaggio.

Good night that is already a new leaving. (for a friend)

fiore blu 22

Good night that is already a new leaving.

30th december , 2014

Good night even if I know that you won’t sleep,
good travel for tomorrow
and my thoughts will accompany you,
I will be the small puff of cloud in the sky
that I will follow you,
or ladybird on a flower,
your beautiful flower:
any smiles of yours I will smile,
I will wipe all your tears
and I will make a diamond,
any emotions of yours will be the waterfall
which I will draw pure water,
all your precious memories will be a geode
that I will preserve,
goodnight even if I know you won’t sleep

I won’t sleep, too,
good night of quiet eve
good night as a light on the window
that never goes out,
good night that is already a new leaving.

You said goodbye.

You said goodbye.

.
You said goodbye to me.

Twice you said goodbye,
to me, to me,
I remained ,first,
surprise
stunned
breathless,
not be believed,
then I began to fall,
falling down and down
in a bottomless void,
dark
cold
obscure
desperate

and so empty.
You said goodbye to me,
Why to me, I do not know,
goodbye,
curtly,
peremptory,
cruel,
You said goodbye,
that you never say goodbye,
that you fear the end of things,
you told me goodbye,
I never would have told you,
I never would tell you,
‘cause you can’t say goodbye,
‘cause it is forbidden
to say goodbye
not even when they weld with fire

the zinc coffin,
you told me goodbye
why I could not figure it out
nor understand
nor accept
I asked you again
if it really was a goodbye,
if it was what you desired
Farewell, it was your answer
coldly
wildly
you severed me
tearing off
as a root of a plant useless,
as a Phlomis Eduard Bowls,
yellow flower on a high stem dried,

lasting to wind and drought.
What harm had I done
if I I told you that I loved you!
Do you know you hurted me?
Because we were running together
on the wire of a highway
with a one voice
and I couldn’t anymore discernmy thoughts from yours,
and you opened the window of the car
and you hurled me away
on asphalt
going on your ride, alone:
my fragile parcel

shattered
in pieces of a puzzle useless …
I stood on the road
watching the pieces,
and there were my little pieces,
scattered on the ground,
shattered,
and I did not know how to join them back…
so split
so inert
so unnecessary.
I told you I loved you.
I wanted to forget
and I could not hate you.
If the day could briefly
not to think of you,
the night you went back,
the thought of you returned
and I hugged it,
I held it close on my heart,
I rocked it,
I consoled it,
I forgave it,
I sang love poems to it,
I would light stars to it,
I said those words to it
that you did not want
and because of you said goodbye.

Tu mi dicesti addio.

phlomis

Mi dicesti addio.

Per due volte mi dicesti addio,
a me, proprio a me,
dapprima restai
sorpresa
attonita
senza fiato,
senza poterci credere,
poi iniziai a precipitare,
a precipitare, precipitare
in un vuoto senza fondo,
buio
freddo
oscuro
disperato
e vuoto.
Dicesti addio a me,
perché proprio a me, non so,
addio
secco
perentorio
crudele,
mi dicesti addio,
tu che non dici mai addio,
tu che temi la fine delle cose,
tu mi dicesti addio,
io mai te lo avrei detto,
mai te lo direi,
perché addio non si dice,
perché è vietato
dire addio
anche quando si sigilla
a fuoco la lastra di zinco,
tu mi dicesti addio
il perché non potei capirlo
né comprenderlo
né accettarlo
te lo domandai nuovamente
se davvero era un addio,
se era ciò che tu volevi
Addio, fu la tua risposta
freddamente
violentemente
recidendomi
strappandomi via come
una radice di una pianta inutile,
come una Phlomis Eduard Bowls,
dal fiore giallo secco sul lungo stelo
che resiste al vento e alla siccità.
Che male ti avevo fatto
se ti avevo detto che ti volevo bene!
Che male mi facesti !
Perché io e te stavamo correndo
sul filo di un’autostrada
all’unisono
e io non distinguevo più i miei pensieri dai tuoi,
e tu apristi il finestrino dell’auto
e mi scaraventasti
sull’asfalto
proseguendo la tua corsa, da solo:
il mio fragile pacco
si infranse
in pezzettini di un inutile puzzle…
io rimasi sulla strada
a guardare i pezzettini,
ed erano i miei pezzettini,
sparpagliati a terra,
in frantumi,
scomposti
inerti
inutili.
Ti avevo detto che ti volevo bene.
Volevo dimenticarti
e non riuscivo ad odiarti.
Se il giorno riuscivo qualche istante
a non pensare a te,
la notte tu tornavi,
il pensiero di te ritornava,
ed io lo stringevo a me,
lo tenevo stretto sul cuore,
lo cullavo tra le mie braccia,
lo consolavo,
lo perdonavo,
gli cantavo poesie,
gli accendevo stelle,
gli dicevo quelle parole
che tu non volevi
e per quali mi dicesti addio.

Quale fondo? Siamo già arrivati al fondo. (da Appunti di giovinezza)

Le cose vanno a finire così quando nell’amore non ci si mette quel qualcosa in più, quando ci si dimentica di metterci il lievito e si arriva a toccare il fondo senza neppure rendersi bene conto di ciò.

L’amore è fatto di attesa, sogno, idealizzazione e tanto altro.

Ma così, come qui viene descritto,  svuota, diventa scialbo, senza cielo, eppure si può imparare anche da questo.

notte

Andiamo via subito.” dice Eva, tornando da Jonathan dopo aver chiamato casa, lei è molto agitata.Aspetta, io prendo la mia auto, così dopo non devi riaccompagnarmi indietro, cerchiamo una pizzeria sulla strada per Ravenna e poi stiamo insieme. Vado avanti io.” risponde Jonathan tranquillo come se avesse un piano perfetto in mente.

Va bene, io ti seguo.”

Eva, non voglio fare l’amore con te.”

Ognuno è solo dentro alla propria auto.

Sono le otto di un sabato sera di metà ottobre, sulla strada è scesa una leggera nebbiolina, Jonathan si ferma a due distributori chiusi per chiederle se è tutto a posto.

Jonathan guida senza sapere neppure lui dove andare. Eva lo segue, guarda nello specchietto la strada buia che si dilegua nella nebbia dietro di lei.

Una corsa in auto.

Le tornano in mente le parole del libro:

Mentre correvo verso nord sull’autostrada capii finalmente che follia stavo commettendo.”

Una follia!

E’ dunque una follia seguire quell’auto e quella figura che intravede nell’oscurità, Eva vorrebbe arrestarsi, fare inversione e tornare indietro a casa e alle sue certezze, là dove sa esservi il proprio posto nel mondo. Ma è davvero così, cosa sta cercando, cosa sta inseguendo? E’ davvero una corsa folle e inutile senza alcun punto di arrivo?

Considera con freddezza la persona davanti a lei, non lo riconosce, non sa chi sia e se ne valga la pena, non sa se è inutile o se è già tutto perso.

Eva continua a seguirlo nella strada cieca decisa ad arrivare fino in fondo ammesso che non l’abbiano già toccato e che lei non se ne sia accorta.

Le risuona la voce di Jonathan:

Quale fondo? Siamo già arrivati in fondo.”

Può darsi che sia così, sempre meglio sbatterci per bene la testa.

I paesini sulla strada per Ravenna si assomigliano tutti in quanto a squallore, le case a ridosso della carreggiata, la chiesa con il campanile, un campetto da calcio e il circolo.

Guglielmo si ferma in un piccolo piazzale davanti al circolo della frazione X, le fa cenno di parcheggiare.

Entrano nel locale dove vengono immediatamente notati perché estranei, forestieri.

Dove siamo capitati?” si dicono sorridendosi. Jonathan le chiede se desidera mangiare qualcosa, ma Eva non ha fame, neppure lui. Al grasso barista con i baffi lui ordina due cappuccini e si fa indicare i servizi igienici. Eva resta al banco, è stanca, osserva il locale e i gesti del barista nel preparare il caffè e il latte. Quando lui torna i cappuccini sono pronti e prendono posto ad un tavolino. Anche Eva ha necessità del bagno, “Attenta, pericolo di infezioni”, lui l’avvisa. A lato della porta del bagno, un vero cesso, c’è una stanza fumosa illuminata da luce al neon una tv accesa un tavolo da biliardo e quattro giocatori con le stecche in mano in un’atmosfera da bar Mocambo come in una canzone di Paolo Conte.

Jonathan ed Eva sono seduti a quel tavolino, uno di fronte all’altro, bevono il cappuccino e si guardano intorno. Eva pensa che è davvero squallido quel locale ma non dice niente mentre Jonathan non si astiene dai commenti negativi. Le pareti giallognole sono ricoperte da foto di gruppo, avvisi, pubblicità, ritagli di giornali sportivi, gli stretti tavolini stanno addossati al muro come foglie d’autunno sugli alberi pronte a cadere, il grasso barista coi capelli unti e la testa intontita dalla tv, i vecchietti accaniti in una briscola, l’aria densa del fumo e l’odore del caffè e del latte rancido.

Non vuoi qualcosa da mangiare?”

No, non potrei mangiare più niente.”

Il latte del cappuccino è andato a male.”

Jonathan paga, escono dal locale e vanno nell’auto di Eva, ferma davanti ad una casa con gli scuri chiusi mentre un albero oscura la luce del lampione.

Si distendono sui sedili, Jonathan ha un senso di nausea.

Avvicinati.”

Lui le prende la mano e la porta sotto alla sua maglietta, sulla sua pancia, Eva avverte il contatto caldo con la sua pelle e istintivamente gli fa un leggero massaggio per calmargli il dolore allo stomaco.

Sì così, toccami, toccami…”, sussurra sempre più intensamente, toccami diventa l’unico verbo, l’unico modo possibile e totale.

Adesso lo desidero, quando sarà finito non lo desidererò più, ma ora lo voglio, ora è la cosa più importante e tra poco non lo sarà più.”

Eva dice di no, che è inutile.

E’ già tutto finito, resta il mal di testa, ora lui non la desidera più, non le importa più. Eva si rende conto che Jonathan sta per lasciarla, aveva ragione lui, erano già arrivati in fondo.

Jonathan ora la guarda freddamente con una punta di disprezzo.

Ma guarda le tue mani, non hanno mai provato niente, non sanno niente, dimmi ma cosa ti aspettavi da me, cosa credevi, perché mi hai cercato?”

Niente, non credevo niente, volevo solo stare insieme a te, volevo sapere se il mio pensiero di te corrispondeva a qualcosa di concreto se eri parte del mio mondo oppure no, è iniziato tutto ascoltando Van Loom, così diverso e così lontano da me ed io non avevo capito, Van Loom viveva ed io lo credevo morto…, che ne sapevo di quanto avesse navigato.”

Eva parla del senso di estraneità, dell’incomunicabilità tra due esseri umani, di quanto sia difficile se non impossibile comprendere l’esistenza di un altro nonostante che uno ce la metta tutta. Guglielmo pare capire nonostante che lei si esprima in modo confuso, le risponde recitando il testo di una canzone degli Area, Consapevolezza da Arbeit macht frei. Recita credendo e scandendo con fredda precisione ogni parola.

Sono alle ultime battute, Jonathan è sceso dall’auto:

Io sono io. Uno uguale a me non lo troverai mai più.”

Eva gli è di fronte, lui l’abbraccia per salutarla, Eva lo stringe forte ma lui la respinge adducendo un forte mal di stomaco, sale sulla sua auto, abbassa il finestrino per l’ultimo saluto.

Così non mi va, in questo modo non ne vale la pena, non può continuare, lo capisci?”

E’ lei ora a fissarlo con fredda indifferenza, lui sta andando via e non si vedranno più.

Se un giorno capito a suonare dalle tue parti te lo faccio sapere.

Ora io vado, non so nemmeno a che ora sarò a casa, non mi sento bene e non funziona neppure l’impianto di riscaldamento, ciao, io vado via e basta.”

Eva continua a ripetere senza guardarlo più in viso.

Non mi importa più, è tutto inutile.”

Ciao.”, lui dice.

Ciao.”

Jonathan va via.

Basta. Stop. Fine. Basta.

Eva gli volta le spalle e sale in auto, parte nella direzione opposta di quella in cui è andato Jonathan, torna indietro a casa. Non si gira neanche una volta, da questo istante è come se lui non esistesse più, cancellato finito, e lo stesso lei per lui.

I vetri dell’auto sono appannati e la notte è nebbioso, l’asfalto è bagnato, la strada più deserta di prima.

Nel sedile Jonathan la lasciato una cassetta musicale, la lattina vuota di birra, un pacchetto con due o tre sigarette, e dietro tutte le lettere che lei aveva scritto per lui ora giacevano perdute e abbandonate. Lui non le avrebbe mai lette.

Eva abbassa il finestrino, una ventata di aria fresca le colpisce il viso, prende la cassetta e la lancia fuori, l’osserva volare poi rotolare e infine rompersi, il nastro srotolarsi come una stella filante, poi getta la lattina e il pacchetto delle sigarette, è sola per strada, controlla negli specchietti che non ci siano altre auto, infine strappa le lettere e ne fa coriandoli nel vento.

E’ stato l’ultimo atto.

per chi vuole continuare a  leggere Appunti di giovinezza http://wp.me/P5F33D-E

soon available in english

Lack of love

Lack of love

fugacità

Evening.
And here I love you
against these sunsets

filtered through the curtains.
Light silver gray.
The bandit of the desert.
The profile against the sunset.
Loneliness.
Solitude … solitude …
Time destroys everything

and love is self-desctructive.
To believe that time cannnot change anything is madness.
And that’s why I miss you terribly, immensely.

I’m crazy …

but it’s just a fiction where I hide myself.
I love you.
I love your absence,
this void,
this evening,
Now,
no sunset.
I love you because you cannot come back.
I love the lack of love.
I love this voice singing

loneliness

in the hour silver gray

in the evening.

You are coming to me

from a song,

it takes an echo from Sahara,

a coat of sand,

a heart of loneliness.
The bandit of the desert.

Luck of love :

its essence-absence,

that becomes

a distance

that pretends

to be present and alive.

Una ragazza in fuga. (da Appunti di giovinezza)

Una ragazza in fuga.

scabiosa

Karen è seduta ad un tavolino del pub con altre amiche, è bionda, occhi azzurri, capelli corti fini tagliati alla maschietto, il sorriso sincero, è molto bella e catalizza naturalmente intorno a sé l’attenzione, molti ne sono innamorati. Karen scrive poesie e testi teatrali, ama il disegno e suona la chitarra, adora gli U2, frequenta un master di finanza internazionale, lavora saltuariamente come cameriera in un locale, vive per conto suo dividendo l’affitto con una compagna, è spesso al verde ma gli amici a turno l’aiutano. Pia ne ammira la vita libera e indipendente.

Quando Karen parla di qualcosa che le piace in modo particolare solleva lo sguardo verso l’alto e dai suoi occhi sfugge uno scintillio. A Karen non piace essere al centro dell’attenzione ma sa di esserlo, è estremamente schiva, agli altri non si rivela mai fino in fondo, nasconde sempre qualcosa di sé. Si difende dietro ad un’apparente timidezza, una naturale ritrosia. A volte pare custodisca un segreto, si richiude a riccio, altre volte è spontanea e allegra.

Pia le chiede di raccontare loro del suo viaggio a Londra.

Karen mostra felice l’orologio, dice di averlo comprato a Londra e quando dice Londra i suoi occhi scintillano. L’atmosfera che si respira a Londra, dice, è fantastica, tanta gente colorata, tantissimi mercatini… Nel suo sguardo rapito e sognante vi è tutto lo splendore del suo essere semplice e radioso. D’un tratto presa da un’improvvisa timidezza si interrompe, si chiude in una rarefatta riservatezza in un silenzio a cui agli altri è negato l’accesso.

Karen è come una fortezza senza porta, una pianura sconfinata da attraversare, ma qualche volta la fortezza arma i suoi cannoni e la pianura diventa un arido deserto, qualche volta si sente come minacciata da chi le viene troppo vicino, di chi ha desiderio di entrare nel suo intimo, allora braccata si da alla fuga, stancando il nemico fino a farlo desistere. Spesso Karen vorrebbe fuggire persino da se stessa e dalle sue emozioni troppo intense, dai suoi sentimenti troppo contrastanti. Storie d’amore burrascose che iniziano finiscono e poi ricominciano. Karen è soprattutto un anima libera, un cavallo selvaggio che scalcia per essere addomesticato.

Eva si domanda cosa sia l’amore per lei, sempre in fuga come un animale impaurito, sempre timorosa di essere messa in una gabbia.

Per Karen l’amore è perdita della libertà, è perdita di se stessa, è aprire il proprio cuore e farne intravedere all’altro le parti più segrete. Non vuole consegnarsi per intero nelle mani del nemico, vuole essere libera e sola. Sembra dire:

“Inseguimi ma non raggiungermi, non potrei che fuggirti.”

Per Eva, invece, amare qualcuno significa firmare una resa, arrendersi all’altro completamente, vuol dire che non ci importa più di noi stessi, che l’altro e il suo bene sono più importanti , amare qualcuno significa esporsi a gravi rischi perché l’altro può disporre di noi come vuole, amare è anche un gesto di totale fiducia verso l’altro, è un fidarsi e un affidarsi.

Karen è , suo malgrado, al centro dell’attenzione, sorride come sa fare, poi il suo sguardo vola lontano, a Londra o chissà a cosa altro…

per chi volesse continuare a leggere Appunti di Giovinezza (parte seconda) http://wp.me/P5F33D-17

Nunca cuidando flores

Nunca cuidando flores

fiori1

As flores desabrocham
descontroladamente
valentões
inesperadas.

Os espinhos de rosa picam dentro de mim,
há sempre alguém que você está escrevendo para,
mesmo que ele não vai ler você,
porque escrever é
uma outra maneira de amar.

A raposa, presa em gaiola,
olha as rosas
e investiga
no fundo dos meus olhos.
Eu vejo um rapaz sorridente,
em seu coração está presa uma raposa,
o rapaz pequeno sorri secretamente,
a raposa reflete em seus olhos,
mãos de rapaz tremen como en um voo.
As flores desabrocham
mesmo se ninguém espera por eles,
as flores nunca cuidam de florescer,
por isso acontece.
De repente florescen,
ou durante a noite,
ou na manhã por algumas horas,
as pétalas amarrotadas
depois fechan de novo,

florescen para nada,
florescen após anos de vigília silenciosa,
desnecessariamente florescen,
sem um motivo,
a flor é suave,
sem uma necessidade,
a flor é inesperada
preta em ramos de árvore do inverno morto,
a flor em vão
sem uma esperança,
desesperadamente as flores florescen
sem um sorriso,

eles desabrochan como se fosse a última vez,
no solo árido

as flores são lindas

e coloridos,
apenas para um beijo de abelha
firmemente florescen,
Nunca cuidando de si mesmas.

As flores desabrocham,
seus espinhos picam dentro de mim
deixando a impressão de veludo de uma pétala,
a raposa e o rapaz estãn sorrindo
e fazendo florescer minhas rosas
nunca cuidando como fazê-lo.

Non si prendono cura i fiori

rose

Non si prendono cura i fiori.
I fiori sbocciano
selvaggi
violenti
inaspettati.

Le Rose pungono,

spine mi pungono dentro finché non le tolgo:
c’è sempre qualcuno per cui si scrive
anche se qualcuno non leggerà te,
perché scrivere è
un altro modo di amare.

La volpe imprigionata nella gabbia
guarda le rose
e mi osserva
nel profondo dei occhi.
Io vedo un piccolo ragazzo che sorride:
nel suo cuore è intrappolata la volpe,
il piccolo ragazzo sorride furtivo,
la volpe si riflette nei suoi occhi,
le mani del piccolo ragazzo tremano

come se volessero volare via.
I fiori sbocciano
anche se nessuno li attende.
Non si prendono cura i fiori di sbocciare,
succede.
Ecco, improvvisamente sbocciano,
o di notte,
o al mattino per poche ore,
i petali sgualciti
poi nuovamente richiusi,
sbocciano per niente,
sbocciano dopo anni di silenziosa veglia,
inutilmente fioriscono,
senza una ragione,
fioriscono con delicatezza,
senza una necessità.

un fiore inaspettato
nero sui rami dell’albero inverno morto,
un fiore invano
senza una speranza,
disperatamente un fiore
senza un sorriso,
un fiore come se fosse l’ultimo,
un fiore colorato

nato in un suolo arido
soltanto per il bacio di un’ape.
I fiori fermamente sbocciano

senza di se prendersi cura,
i fiori fioriscono,
spine di rose mi pungono dentro
lasciando l’impressione di un velluto di petalo:
la volpe e il piccolo ragazzo

lievemente sorridono

e fanno fiorire le mie Rose

senza prendersene cura.

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