POETRY

Today it is easy, even for a woman to talk about sex and femininity, but have the courage to express their intimate existential anxiety in the early years of the twentieth century, it was a challenge, and a Portuguese poet named Florbela – an illegitimate daughter, born and died in the same month and day, 8th December – had took …

The silence penetrates into the rock a song of cicadas.       The first snow! Just to fold the leaves of asphodel.       Traveling, sick the way of my dreams on a marsh drained.     The old pond! The frog dives – The sound of water.           (Matsuo Bashō – 1644/1694)

“Old tin a frog plunges. Sound of water. “ (Matsuo Basho) Mario Chini, a painter and designer Italian lover of words and mentally exotic latitudes, has left us his curious collection of poetry – The Moments – which leaves wonder inside our eyes and emotions, that he has condensed in a concise and essential writing – usually of eleven syllables …

“Who only drinks water has a secret to hide. What there is of boring love, is the fact that it is a crime in which you cannot do without an accomplice. The most beautiful makeup of the Devil lies in convincing us that does not exist. Art is the creation of a magic suggestive that welcomes both the object and …

“The desire is taciturn. Seems wise, but in the end to the eyes it hatching the violence of his wild heart. Love is deaf struggle, it is very tough test for those who love him, and many foolish impulses pounced, who look good and evil is. This she learned that her eyes wandered behind his dreams, and laughing now, but …

…………………………….”And what is my beauty, the one that you are not tired of praising, I’ll spend later in your contentment: Joint gently at your side, the lighthouse you can enjoy the delights of love, | when you are very close to my the left side; And what delight that I could go, that you might call for happy, and advantage, …

“I closed my window because I do not want to hear the crying, but behind the gray walls that crying is heard no more. There are very few angels that sing, a few barking dogs; one thousand violins come in the palm of my hand. But the weeping is an immense dog, crying is an immense angel, the weeping is …

“A lover is his backyard, the one where he hangs his heart, because he wants to win the favor of all. Having him for anybody, to hand the flame, until he is the dog house, he strives to please.” Naive and flirtatious with Moliere and Marivaux, the seductive woman also well had known and interpreted the roles offered to her …

He was convinced that in men – and women in par – a passion that is not without scary, and also of seriousness of the fatalistic necessity one that manifests itself in the tragedies. Love, in truth, it brings, as always, a bandage and a quiver full of arrows. But these darts are pretty winged deadly sharp, and the little …

“And here we leave as we came | goodbye brother sea | I harbor a bit ‘of your gravel | a bit’ of your salt blue | a bit ‘of your infinity | and a little bit of your light | and misery. | We’ve been able to say a lot of things | on your destiny sea | here …