"Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt"

18 de noviembre de 2012

▪ Understanding Inner Worlds

  
  
Ma se è tutto qui il male! Nelle parole! Abbiamo tutti dentro un mondo di cose; ciascuno un suo mondo di cose! E come possiamo intenderci, signore, se nelle parole ch'io dico metto il senso e il valore delle cose come sono dentro di me; mentre chi le ascolta, inevitabilmente le assume col senso e col valore che hanno per sè, del mondo com'egli l'ha dentro? Crediamo d'intenderci; non c'intendiamo mai!

(...)

Lo so bene anch'io che ciascuno ha tutta una sua vita dentro e che vorrebbe metterla fuori. Ma il difficile è appunto questo: farne venir fuori quel tanto che è necessario, in rapporto con gli altri; e pure in quel poco fare intendere tutta l'altra vita che resta dentro!

Sei personaggi in cerca d'autore, Luigi Pirandello
   
  
 
¡Pero si el mal está todo aquí! ¡En las palabras! Todos tenemos adentro un mundo de cosas: ¡cada uno su mundo de cosas! ¿Y cómo podemos entendernos, señor, si en las palabras que yo digo pongo el sentido y el valor de las cosas como son en mi interior; mientras tanto, el que las escucha, inevitablemente las asume con el sentido y el valor que tienen para él mismo, pertenecientes al mundo como él lo tiene dentro? Creemos entendernos; ¡no nos entendemos nunca!

(...)

También yo sé muy bien que cada uno tiene una vida propia adentro y que quisiera expresarla. Pero lo difícil es justamente eso: hacer expresar lo que es necesario, en relación con los otros; y sin embargo, en ese poco, dar a entender toda la otra vida que queda adentro.

Traducción de Roberto Raschella


 

10 de noviembre de 2012

▪ Let Us Go



A LEAVE-TAKING

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
         She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
         She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
         She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
         She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
         She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
         She would not see.


Algernon Charles Swinburne
 
 
 
  

3 de noviembre de 2012

▪ What you Waiting for?

 
 
COUPLES

Mais pourquoi me fais-tu attendre? a demandé Babey. Je suis pressée, pressée de vivre. Mon temps est compté. Pourquoi m'imposes-tu toute cette attente? Qu'est-ce que tu attends pour te rapprocher de moi? Tu es trop intérieure. Tu n'as jamais touché à la surface. Marc fait erreur à ton sujet. Tu n'es même pas encore incarnée. Je vais te tirer à la surface. Tu te jetteras comme moi dans la rage de vivre, de profiter de tout, tout de suite. Pourquoi ris-tu? Gala, je parle sérieusement.

La Passion selon Galatée, Suzanne Jacob