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Pietro Metastasio. These are just songs

The mistreated (by critics not the waist) Metastasio inspired at the end Caproni and Fortini, in addition to having produced thousands of songs and opera librettos. But who said that his themes are empty and its metric stupid? I find it beautiful hendecasyllable the initial wave, and sliding on the next seven day ... Colloquial and the same time music.


The hero of China, 1752

Who Wants to be a sign of madness expressed
The
confide himself to doubt Tues of loving care, I see
Mintee first, then I condemn.

If all weaves
Love So lovely chains, is well put that heart
What
does not live in servitude.
Son delight even the penis
On a happy prisoner
When you join the empire
The beauty and virtue.

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Poets pain: Franco Fortini

If you think of Franco Fortini, he is remembered for his analysis of the relationship between literature and politics, or the bright contrast to Pier Paolo Pasolini on the role of the intellectual in society. I remember this sad and lyrical composition that I wanted to memorize. The scheme of a Baroque madrigal deconstructed with long verses, rhymes and other unrelated kissed, and a metric rare, strange sounds from slipping. Fortini has shown us a rough and stony road that perhaps we will never have the courage to take.

composites Solvantur (1994)

If I wanted more time these small words on paper
align (on paper that does not hurt)
the pain that the bones will

you would already too high, too similar to the acute
of birds in the morning fully closed, all silent on the very
magnolia vie

Here I write, dear children. I have no bone or tendon
not tell pitched voice: "I can no more."
Grand Imperial phosphorus, and make ash.

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Poets Expatriates: Pedro Salinas

visiting the beautiful blog Akiko ( http://Zebre.ilcannocchiale.it ) I was reminded Pedro Salinas. Madrilegno, poet fleeing the horrors of civil war, came to earth to die in exile in North America, in Boston. Obviously I have some sympathy with the exiles. For Salinas, poetry is an adventure to the absolute, I read somewhere, this makes me appreciate a lot. I had a book of his poems, an anthology dell'Einaudi. Now who knows how closed pack is yellowing, in Italy ...

SIN VOZ, Desnuda

Sin armas. Ni las dulces
Sonrisas, ni las llamas de la
Rapidase anger.
Sin armas. Ni las dulces
Sonrisas, ni las llamas de la Rapidase anger.
Sin armas. Ni las
waters of goodness bottomless
or perfidy, curved beak.
Nothing. No weapons. Sola. Upwind
in your silence.
'Yes' and 'no', 'tomorrow' and 'where' sharp break

of useless tips in your silence arrows

smooth without defeat and glory.
out!
kills you -cold, invincible, eternal
So, what saves you,
So, what saves you,
the edge of silence you sharp.

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Silence and Waiting: Cesare Pavese

Tu sei come
terra che mai detto nessuno has . Your non attendi

is non nulla the
parola
that pours forth from the bottom like a fruit in the branches.
There is a wind that comes.
things doubly dead and dried
t'ingombrano and go in the wind.
limbs and ancient words. You tremble
summer.

October 29, 1945