Thursday, August 2, 2012

The massacre time

Hi there, I'm back!




- The massacre time -


How much blood
gathered from Italy's sewers?
How much longer
are we going to harvest it?

It's said,
that at every river's mouth
where it's lost in the great sea,
there, cherries are redder than ever,
lapped by that water
that carries within
the blood of our silence.






Thanks for reading and for your time!


Translation by Alessandro Zuliani. 



Thursday, August 25, 2011

Sorry

Sorry guys if lately I do not find the time to translate thoughts or poems or even check your blogs, but I'm crossing hard times. I promise to you all that soon I'll be back in activity.

Best wishes

Mauro.


Monday, August 15, 2011

About Candles

Here we go with a new thought that I find deeper and more painful than the previous one, read it carefully.

About candles, I was just analyzing the relationship between them and people.
Generally, as long as there is light you don't notice their presence, but when darkness comes, you notice their absence.
You will find them there, buried under still and grey dust, put aside into an old drawer.
Who really cared about them in the meanwhile? Nobody, like with the most useful 'things', you remember them only when the light vanishes.


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

About life

Life, as far as one knows or desires to know about, is nothing more than a clutter of verbs and words, dawns and twilights, seconds that were and will be.
It is futile to contemplate the present since we know less about it than the past or the future.

The future depends on dreams and plans regardless of their realization, the past is instead outlined by experiences that we remember. 

Contemplation of our present self is therefore a loss of past and future, or rather very precious thoughts.




Friday, August 5, 2011

Everywhere, always explanation

First of all: thanks to everyone for the 100 followers milestone!

As I promised now I'm going to explain the poem "Everywhere, always"

Let's start from the beginning, the title: everywhere, always means that most of the time we are subject to lose ourselves anywhere, and at any time.

First stanza:
Dangling feet
grazing November’s scrubs,
at the poppy's penumbra
a necropolis of desires.

Well, as you can read, here there is a man whose dangling feet are grazing scrubs, because he is hanged; he also represents the necropolis of desires because as Schopenhauer said as long as humanity exists their life will be filled with desires. At the poppy's penumbra because he is so small in front of the world that he can stay hanged from a poppy's stem.

Second stanza:
I could be dead or alive
what will the Universe feel?
I'm straw, dried straw
without lymph,
I only wait to parch
and become dull ash.

"I only wait to parch and become dull ash" means that when people dies the differences between one another fall apart: no more rich or poor, white or black, all without names and identity. 

Third stanza:
What am I holding in my fist?
Love, a mother
freedom, fleeting health
dreams and wishes,
the sky over my head
and a rope around my neck;

"Fist" when we own something we hold it in our hands, and the things that this man owns are what a man usually wants. But Death own him as well.

Fourth stanza:
I don't blame, I don't accuse
if today I'm writing here,
life is an unconscious gift,
a radio whispering
for who?
I don't know,
inside my fist
I've got everything
that a sane man will ask
ready to parch;

"I don't blame, I don't accuse if today I'm writing here" we cannot accuse anyone if we live in this world. "A radio whispering for who?" a radio generally doesn't whisper, but in this case it does because human life is as feeble as a whisper and most of the time nobody listens to us.
"I've got everything...ready to parch" one day everything we own will eventually come to an end.

Fifth stanza:
Ashes and dust
will fall as hourglass' sand
from my wrinkled hands,
unveiling that everything
is nothing:
where am I?

We can own everything, but without owning ourselves what do we really have?

So this is my explanation of the poem. I hope this will help you to fully understand it.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Everywhere, always

Here we go with a new poem, this one gave me a lot of trouble. It isn't an easy poem, has a lot of symbols inside like the human powerlessness in front of the Universe, the fleetingness of life and of the things that we "own", the sadness of losing yourself everywhere and anytime, that everything you got in your little life is nothing if you don't own yourself and that we aren't asked to live, but we have to... if we do not want to commit suicide. In my opinion this one is a painful poem, representing the slow descent in the oblivion.

Tomorrow I'm going to post an explanation of all the verses.

Start the video before reading.


I made this photo outside a Gothic cathedral in Nuremberg.


Everywhere, always

Dangling feet
grazing November’s scrubs,
at the poppy's penumbra
a necropolis of desires.

I could be dead or alive
what will the Universe feel?
I'm straw, dried straw
without lymph,
I only wait to parch
and become dull ash.

What am I holding in my fist?
Love, a mother
freedom, fleeting health
dreams and wishes,
the sky over my head
and a rope around my neck;

I don't blame, I don't accuse
if today I'm writing here,
life is an unconscious gift,
a radio whispering
for who?
I don't know,
inside my fist
I've got everything
that a sane man will ask
ready to parch;

Ashes and dust
will fall as hourglass' sand
from my wrinkled hands,
unveiling that everything
is nothing:
where am I? 



Lives of others - original sound track

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Lightyears of darkness



Hello There! I'm here with a new poem, it is called "Light-years of darkness". It's about stars and the long distance that divide us from them all. Sometimes when I walk trough my mind, trough the people or trough a square full of women and men I feel like an unknown stranger. They look at me lost in the deep of my own loneliness and they see their own gaze reflected on my face. Sometimes the more you do for a person, for your friend, for your parents, for your girlfriend or boyfriend, or even for a stranger, the more they fill and enlarge that distance between you and them with apathy. But the stars... the stars always watch over us...

Before reading this, start the video on the bottom, you will find the result so...hmmm, poetic.



Lightyears of darkness

It's dark
only the Moon
bursts the sheer lull.

How many bright eyes
watch over us
now,
now I can't but to ask myself...

Who watches over them?
Stars,
even Them need to
be, Loved.




The best pessimist - Walking with happiness