Per ripensare, Victor

_kcdey-mhepiujvxkvd1atrwli3fg6e0difkixkqmp954tm1to9r-ah70qlumyrggdn5s85Victor Hugo, 26.2.1802-22.5.1885, Single of the Day

 

 

Rileggere i classici per riordinare la mente.

“Toujours en ramenant la plume”

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La brume, dessin par Victor Hugo

per approfondire: http://www.revue-ballast.fr/victor-hugo/

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Il genio che guardava oltre

images-1Franz Kafka, 3.7.1883 – 3.6.1924, Single of the Day

 

 

“Non significa confutare il presentimento di una liberazione definitiva se, il giorno dopo, la prigionia rimane immutata o si inasprisce o se addirittura è dichiarato espressamente che non dovrà cessare mai. Tutto ciò può essere piuttosto la necessaria premessa della liberazione definitiva”. Da I Diari.

Grazie per essere stato lungimirante, Mr Kakfa, ed aver acceso una luce nel buio.

 

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On the road again

Canned_Heat_1970Canned Heat, 1965, Single of the Day

 

 

Siamo di nuovo sulla Strada. Cominciamo a camminare, insieme.

Well, I’m so tired of crying, but i’m out
on the road again.
– I’m on the road again.
Well, I’m so tired of crying, but I’m out
on the road again.
– I’m on the road again.
I ain’t got no woman
Just to call my special friend.
You know the first time I traveled out
in the rain and snow,
– In the rain and snow.
You know the first time I traveled out
in the rain and snow,
– In the rain and snow.
I didn’t have no payroll,
Not even no place to go.
And my dear mother left me when
I was quite young,
– When I was quite young.
And my dear mother left me when
I was quite young,
– When I was quite young.
She said “Lord, have mercy
On my wicked son.”
Take a hint from me, mama, please
don’t you cry no more,
– Don’t you cry no more.
Take a hint from me, mama, please
don’t you cry no more,
– Don’t you cry no more.
‘Cause it’s soon one morning
Down the road I’m going.
But I aint going down that
long old lonesome road
All by myself.
But I aint going down that
long old lonesome road
All by myself.
I can’t carry you, Baby,
Gonna carry somebody else.

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Virginia, writing as a faith act

220px-Virginia_Woolf_1927Virginia Woolf, 25.1.1882 – 28.3.1941, Single of the Day

 

 

 

 

(…) But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh. This opportunity, as I think, it is now coming within your power to give her. For my belief is that if we live another century or so—I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals—and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting–room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky. too, and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton’s bogey, for no human being should shut out the view; if we face the fact, for it is a fact, that there is no arm to cling to, but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women, then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare’s sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down. Drawing her life from the lives of the unknown who were her forerunners, as her brother did before her, she will be born. As for her coming without that preparation, without that effort on our part, without that determination that when she is born again she shall find it possible to live and write her poetry, that we cannot expect, for that would he impossible. But I maintain that she would come if we worked for her, and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worth while.”  (A room on your own)

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La biblioteca per il mondo

manuzio Aldo Manuzio (Bassiano, 1449 – 6 febbraio 1515), Single of the Day

 

 

 

” anche se la sua biblioteca è chiusa dalle anguste pareti di casa, Aldo ha intenzione di costituire una biblioteca la quale non abbia altri confini che il mondo stesso. (…) Chi restituisce la letteratura caduta in rovina – e questa è un’impresa più difficile che produrre la letteratura stessa – innanzitutto si accinge a qualcosa di sacro e immortale”. Erasmo da Rotterdam

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Dalla fronte al fronte, sempre guerra è

Paolo Rumiz, single del giorno

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Prima lo chiamavano “la fronte”. Poi venne D’Annunzio, che all’assalto con la baionetta non c’era andato mai, e lo ribattezzò “il fronte“.

E ora eccola lì quella cosa obbligata a esser maschio dai poetastri di retrovia e dai gerarchi del regime.

Mi arriva addosso tutto in una volta, in un dedalo di montarozzi spelacchiati, paludi e risorgive tra il castello di Duino e Monfalcone.

Sono sceso a piedi dall’Hermada, e il viaggio cambia subito scala, ma non nel senso che entra in qualcosa di incommensurabile.

Qui è l’esatto contrario: gli spazi si restringono.

Come avere Maratona, Cheronea e le Termopili concentrate in un sobborgo di Atene. Il paradigma dell’inconcepibile.

 

da “Appunti di viaggio” di Paolo Rumiz