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Dear friends, I intended to devote one page to a great sculptor, whose work, revised in many years, has opened my mind turning the motions with sincere feeling and admiration, almost a childlike wonder: a rare thing, which just happens to things " beautiful and holy. "
And I also thought, continuing to paraphrase Foscolo, I hope not in error and with the necessary humility, open that my scritterello with a kind of opening words, even from the Tomb "egregious things in mind the strong light ..." Yes, dear friends because intense emotion and feelings that these plaster models have aroused deep gave me comfort, as the illusion that my mind, per un attimo, potesse aver trovato lo stesso vigore del Poeta: pur restando ben consapevole della diversità, dato che laddove nel Foscolo ad accendere il sentimento erano state probabilmente la memoria, la riflessione, la grandezza del genio… qui invece aveva operato la forza dell’arte, quell’empatia che annullando del tutto il tempo c’illude in un essere universale alla cui “mensa” sublime ci è dato per un momento di partecipare.
Sì, cento cose vi sarebbe da dire, cento vie, pensieri diversi eppure coerenti vi sarebbe da seguire. Forse un giorno mi ci proverò. Anche se Libero Andreotti (è lui lo scultore capace di codesti prodigi) meriterebbe assai più e assai meglio di quanto io sia able. Certainly be the
extracted using the honors it deserves oblivion Of this tomb (although noble place), at least from the studies, not day, as usual, but the whole years. Was it perhaps Codest reflect that, besides the strength of feelings, 'he recalled the Foscolo monuments.
- Why not now? - He thinks a few friends. Unfortunately because the things of the day we put it all in calling them indecent, mephitic squalor (after all if we were able to stretch again and again and again the feeling of what is great and sublime would certainly conquered death). Instead of feeling seems almost to pull the edges or pockets of jacket, as if ghosts, these incattiviti yes, saying that they wanted to call things "good and holy" can expect that no one can remove them all (only maybe a little time 'the fatigue), whereas it is now time take off the dress and return to defile the noble mud and dust.
But now, if so, I do not want it to point tear, and even poetic, and I do not quite remember crying on the monument of Alfieri Italy, nor retrace saddened the aisles and complain at every step because of the confrontation, nor Finally, on the stone to stop poor poor reminiscent of the great Gentile dear (to him so no one "its" can take anything ...) No, I guess to get me the coat, they, the great: then and because of the many just me? No! Dear friends, my ghosts are other people, are all those poor, cheap and unimportant people who have died because they wanted a better Italy. All that ended in Gentucca pile of ossuaries, or who knows where, who was not able to develop noble concepts, but that his heart was burning, as the old woman who knew no prayers addressed to the Almighty and pray on their knees to "shoes and clogs "by the hour, even with tears in his eyes, he was so convinced his deep query. All those who now right now left ma ancora dapprima, da quando il piombo era austriaco ed ancora prima, sono morti per gli ideali della Patria, per quello in cui credevano,
oppure per sbaglio travolti da cose più grandi di loro si sono ammazzati fra loro nella guerra civile. Ma ci pensate amici cari a quei giovani di vent’anni, poco più poco meno, morti ad El Alamein; a quelli bruciati nei carrarmati dell’Ariete o congelati nelle steppe o sul Don? Oppure con donne vecchi e bambini fucilati proditoriamente nei nostri paesi, ovvero trucidati solo perché portavano una camicia nera. Non ci chiamano forse rivoltandosi nelle loro tombe per la spavalda, impudente cialtroneria di tutta la nostra cosiddetta “classe dirigente”? Per questa Poor Italy in the hands of a gang of scoundrels, the scoundrels of every kind and smart. But how could it be reduced?
for decades - I repeat, I know - we have come to believe that the right of honesty, trust the word, the handshake, values \u200b\u200bthat were worth spending something of himself. That our values, we firmly believe - and I continue to believe again - also worth the sacrifice unfair (remember the brothers Mattei, Ramelli, the Mantekas and many others) for decades we have watched with disgusted contempt the misdeeds of party politics, the swindles, tricks of the palace to the robbing, the partitions patronage, the waste of public money ... We have suffered exclusion, bullying ... And now here we are, our disgust, whose maximum leader, the "leader" has led his troops into the fray, the spirited madness of defeat: as in the Berlin bunker (but without a final suicide - unfortunately -) or reduced by the Valtellina ...
Almost incredible as possible: first - you know - all from just decided for the wedding with the Chevalier, and like the pied piper, has brought with him behind the topastri, then when they like it or not almost all are drowned, decided to reverse an ambiguous, no one knows what in the name of design, as he was the "world", la “via”, la “verità”, la
“vita”... lasciando i malcapitati nella non facile necessità di decidere se continuare ad affogare in un mare di (***), oppure fare retromarcia anche loro, continuando a seguire un (presidente della Camera) che non sa dove andare, ma che nel frattempo, da “uomo” di destra ha inverti il proprio linguaggio, e c’è da immaginare anche (se possibile) il proprio pensiero. Insomma seguire una sorta di Trans(politico), dove e come nessuno ha capito...
Hanno ragione i buoni italiani a rigirarsi incazzati nella tomba! A far tremare le lapidi degli ossari! Neppure alla corte di Papa Alessandro, che pure in congiura e tradimento era maestro, si era giunti a tanto. Ovvero, almeno lì un qualche disegno politico, fra ammazzamenti e festini, incesti e sevizie, il buon Machiavegli c’insegnava a trovarlo… In questo casino, perdonatemi, non c’è neppure codesto. Solo sempre più in basso, come presi da una cieca e folle volontà di distruggere ogni cosa, quasi maniacalmente a voler attizzare la rivolta, l’ottusa reazione delle viscere di qualcuno che forse colpirà assurdamente, come sempre accade. E come al solito, si dice: “pagherà il giusto per il peccatore”. Perchè in questo marasma solo ciò, purtroppo, c’è da aspettarsi. Altro che pacificazione nazionale! In un momento come questo, with many of our citizens without work, who do not know where to turn around, with companies that close, these people think of "maneuvers" or the "intrigues" of the building. All we need is a Marie Antoinette saying: The people have not bread? Let them eat croissants! What a disgusting spectacle
when the dog turns to the owner who has risen from the pound, and after
voluntarily followed the celebration, among yelping and jumping, wagging his tail and licking my hand, as it accords with overnight Melampus martens to carve the chickens ...
Now I do not know how else to go the sad "faces" of this country, I just hope that the dog is given a sound lesson and, as they say, once you hit rock bottom, you can not help but go back, though in truth I believe it just because I think with these characters you can not go anywhere, and I do not see others around. Unfortunately.
Stepic
Bruno San Martino, December 3, 2009 (St. Francis Xavier)
And I also thought, continuing to paraphrase Foscolo, I hope not in error and with the necessary humility, open that my scritterello with a kind of opening words, even from the Tomb "egregious things in mind the strong light ..." Yes, dear friends because intense emotion and feelings that these plaster models have aroused deep gave me comfort, as the illusion that my mind, per un attimo, potesse aver trovato lo stesso vigore del Poeta: pur restando ben consapevole della diversità, dato che laddove nel Foscolo ad accendere il sentimento erano state probabilmente la memoria, la riflessione, la grandezza del genio… qui invece aveva operato la forza dell’arte, quell’empatia che annullando del tutto il tempo c’illude in un essere universale alla cui “mensa” sublime ci è dato per un momento di partecipare.
Sì, cento cose vi sarebbe da dire, cento vie, pensieri diversi eppure coerenti vi sarebbe da seguire. Forse un giorno mi ci proverò. Anche se Libero Andreotti (è lui lo scultore capace di codesti prodigi) meriterebbe assai più e assai meglio di quanto io sia able. Certainly be the
extracted using the honors it deserves oblivion Of this tomb (although noble place), at least from the studies, not day, as usual, but the whole years. Was it perhaps Codest reflect that, besides the strength of feelings, 'he recalled the Foscolo monuments. - Why not now? - He thinks a few friends. Unfortunately because the things of the day we put it all in calling them indecent, mephitic squalor (after all if we were able to stretch again and again and again the feeling of what is great and sublime would certainly conquered death). Instead of feeling seems almost to pull the edges or pockets of jacket, as if ghosts, these incattiviti yes, saying that they wanted to call things "good and holy" can expect that no one can remove them all (only maybe a little time 'the fatigue), whereas it is now time take off the dress and return to defile the noble mud and dust.
But now, if so, I do not want it to point tear, and even poetic, and I do not quite remember crying on the monument of Alfieri Italy, nor retrace saddened the aisles and complain at every step because of the confrontation, nor Finally, on the stone to stop poor poor reminiscent of the great Gentile dear (to him so no one "its" can take anything ...) No, I guess to get me the coat, they, the great: then and because of the many just me? No! Dear friends, my ghosts are other people, are all those poor, cheap and unimportant people who have died because they wanted a better Italy. All that ended in Gentucca pile of ossuaries, or who knows where, who was not able to develop noble concepts, but that his heart was burning, as the old woman who knew no prayers addressed to the Almighty and pray on their knees to "shoes and clogs "by the hour, even with tears in his eyes, he was so convinced his deep query. All those who now right now left ma ancora dapprima, da quando il piombo era austriaco ed ancora prima, sono morti per gli ideali della Patria, per quello in cui credevano,
oppure per sbaglio travolti da cose più grandi di loro si sono ammazzati fra loro nella guerra civile. Ma ci pensate amici cari a quei giovani di vent’anni, poco più poco meno, morti ad El Alamein; a quelli bruciati nei carrarmati dell’Ariete o congelati nelle steppe o sul Don? Oppure con donne vecchi e bambini fucilati proditoriamente nei nostri paesi, ovvero trucidati solo perché portavano una camicia nera. Non ci chiamano forse rivoltandosi nelle loro tombe per la spavalda, impudente cialtroneria di tutta la nostra cosiddetta “classe dirigente”? Per questa Poor Italy in the hands of a gang of scoundrels, the scoundrels of every kind and smart. But how could it be reduced? for decades - I repeat, I know - we have come to believe that the right of honesty, trust the word, the handshake, values \u200b\u200bthat were worth spending something of himself. That our values, we firmly believe - and I continue to believe again - also worth the sacrifice unfair (remember the brothers Mattei, Ramelli, the Mantekas and many others) for decades we have watched with disgusted contempt the misdeeds of party politics, the swindles, tricks of the palace to the robbing, the partitions patronage, the waste of public money ... We have suffered exclusion, bullying ... And now here we are, our disgust, whose maximum leader, the "leader" has led his troops into the fray, the spirited madness of defeat: as in the Berlin bunker (but without a final suicide - unfortunately -) or reduced by the Valtellina ...
Almost incredible as possible: first - you know - all from just decided for the wedding with the Chevalier, and like the pied piper, has brought with him behind the topastri, then when they like it or not almost all are drowned, decided to reverse an ambiguous, no one knows what in the name of design, as he was the "world", la “via”, la “verità”, la
“vita”... lasciando i malcapitati nella non facile necessità di decidere se continuare ad affogare in un mare di (***), oppure fare retromarcia anche loro, continuando a seguire un (presidente della Camera) che non sa dove andare, ma che nel frattempo, da “uomo” di destra ha inverti il proprio linguaggio, e c’è da immaginare anche (se possibile) il proprio pensiero. Insomma seguire una sorta di Trans(politico), dove e come nessuno ha capito... Hanno ragione i buoni italiani a rigirarsi incazzati nella tomba! A far tremare le lapidi degli ossari! Neppure alla corte di Papa Alessandro, che pure in congiura e tradimento era maestro, si era giunti a tanto. Ovvero, almeno lì un qualche disegno politico, fra ammazzamenti e festini, incesti e sevizie, il buon Machiavegli c’insegnava a trovarlo… In questo casino, perdonatemi, non c’è neppure codesto. Solo sempre più in basso, come presi da una cieca e folle volontà di distruggere ogni cosa, quasi maniacalmente a voler attizzare la rivolta, l’ottusa reazione delle viscere di qualcuno che forse colpirà assurdamente, come sempre accade. E come al solito, si dice: “pagherà il giusto per il peccatore”. Perchè in questo marasma solo ciò, purtroppo, c’è da aspettarsi. Altro che pacificazione nazionale! In un momento come questo, with many of our citizens without work, who do not know where to turn around, with companies that close, these people think of "maneuvers" or the "intrigues" of the building. All we need is a Marie Antoinette saying: The people have not bread? Let them eat croissants! What a disgusting spectacle
when the dog turns to the owner who has risen from the pound, and after
voluntarily followed the celebration, among yelping and jumping, wagging his tail and licking my hand, as it accords with overnight Melampus martens to carve the chickens ... Now I do not know how else to go the sad "faces" of this country, I just hope that the dog is given a sound lesson and, as they say, once you hit rock bottom, you can not help but go back, though in truth I believe it just because I think with these characters you can not go anywhere, and I do not see others around. Unfortunately.
Stepic
Bruno San Martino, December 3, 2009 (St. Francis Xavier)
The works reproduced (badly photographed by hand in low light) are found in Libero Andreotti and Palazzo del Podestà in Pisces, which are well preserved, but seldom visited.
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