Our time has come.
Our own end in this strange fairy tale.
The greatest story ever told.
Dissimilar masks recite for the accomplishment of the same great work.
Tragedy and comedy.
Essence and existence.
Understanding and misunderstanding.
Elements of an orchestra too large to be understood by mere mortals.
Our time has come.
Guilty, innocent.
Actors, listeners.
Saints, sinners.
All together on the same path of stars.
If the word love is
a filthy rag,
if I have no other language to say what
I love, if the soul is now a hindrance
and the sky a place like any other
if we sleep and sleep
if my song is crushed in the canton
if my song or yours, if my song
if all the words of the wise are too much
slow for this ride on the pieces, if even
the beasts in their dying beaten
they don't even reveal themselves
if there is a cough if there is one
cough that encrusts the sky
and then spits it out
if we have enemies inside our heads
and broken cars
if the hand is grumpy to the hand
surly breaks the wave and the branch
breaks the wing and beak
if we have out of tune psalms
if the rubble on tired faces
make the weight of the whole story
if then no one comes
no one gets up from the soaked tombs
to deliver us a bunch, a cup
an oath to the light
if if if
if there is a thirst that makes us sick
if there is a sip for those who are thirsty
if it really really moves the sun
if it moves the sun and the other stars
if his great power, his great
power of ancient Love,
if our heart is immense
if our heart
sometimes it is immense, if the
stars are born, if it is true that they are born
even now, if we are powders at the
disruption, loose chains,I bless every inch of Love every
minimal splinter of Love
every vein or whirlwind of Love
every table and bed of Love
Love I bless
that of each of us in the chain
it makes flesh that shines
Love that you are my destiny
teach me that everything will fail
if I don't bow to your blessing
A wonderful classic that teaches and talks about a life in solitude. An Arturo protagonist in his narrating self, an Arturo who becomes a star among his animals and a star will also become a star for the reader who will not easily forget him. Arturo orphan of his mother, grows up with an absent and practically misogynistic father. Arturo tries to grow and while he tells the story his maturity reaches the reader, because even when he is a child, the young man already has to do it himself when he is a child. Elsa Morante, immense and poetic, calls him several times a forastic Arturo and it is precisely the idea and flavor that this reading emanates. The human essence made clear and wild before the blessed reader. Genuine, atavistic, sincere. Arturo is loved, but so is Nunzia, also Salvatore and even Wilhelm and all the protagonists; everyone has a role, everyone is part of the Moor, as is his Oriental Tent. The island of Arturo was awarded the Strega Prize in '57 with its story that leads the reader to a job in search of himself, following in the footsteps of Arturo in his difficult oedipal overcoming of his father. Immense and stellar. A masterpiece that leaves its mark.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 