POETRY LIBRARY / SICILY

Everyone loves to travel, but not everyone loves to travel the same way. All you have to do is have the time in your life. Meeting Benches. The way to make the world a better place is easy. Choose a bench, where you can publish what you have painted or written, a review of a book that you’ve read, or the story of a journey that you have made. Past and Present are here and now. Our proposal call any web-traveler to sit into Meeting Benches info@meetingbenches.com to share emotions, observing new creative horizons, also reading Italian poems and books.

The standard of the Sicilian school, had combined many traits typical of the Sicilian and Latin, Provençal and to a lesser Apulian. It is the so-called “Sicilian school”, that flourished under Frederick II in Palermo (Sicily), the earliest written record of Italian poetry, dates from the 1200s. During the early part of the thirteenth century, he attracted poets to his court from many parts of the Italian peninsula, but with his death, the cultural center slowly began to shift away from Palermo. The main inhibiting factor on Sicilian poetry, was the political censorship imposed by Frederick II. The standard of the Sicilian school, combines many traits typical of the Sicilian and Latin, Provençal and to a lesser Apulian. So, as you can read, it comes as no surprise that Sicilian literature is a reflection of Sicily’s cultural identity over the centuries. The modern Sicilian language, may not be as poetic as its medieval precursor. With different shades, for visitors to Sicily, two poetic parks come to mind: those dedicated to Luigi Pirandello https://www.amazon.com/One-Hundred-Thousand-Eridanos-Library/dp/0941419355/ref=la_B000APUH62_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1473685834&sr=1-12 and Leonardo Sciascia https://www.amazon.co.uk/Day-Owl-Leonardo-Sciascia/dp/1847089259

LAST TRAVEL – Poetry by Ignazio Buttitta

I am at the last of my travels. I think about it and say, it can’t be, if I’m at the sea shore with the sun in my face and hope in my heart. But one day Ignatius will take himself a trip on a white chargerthat will fly off and never stop. If it does stop, it’s dead. Death does exist. There can’t be birth if there is no death. But I’m happy that I was born into a world that was so big that it’s always getting smaller. And there’s no doubt that other bigger worlds will be found over the centuries more beautiful than this one. Peopled by men more intelligent and women even more beautiful. Tomorrow, were you to meet me you’d say: Ignatius you were right and life’s getting better than before.

ALWAYS AN ANIMAL – Luigi Pirandllo

Without doing anything a lion is a lion. But hapless man must brave death to have the honor of being compared with that animal, strong, without limit. Nourished by the soaring thoughts of an afflicted soul, if one reaches an apex. A grand prize awaits. Then it is said you truly fly like an eagle. Write a sublime poem, that sings in silken rhyme of your innermost intense feelings, and they’ll say you sing like a nightingale. What must a man do to not be likened to an animal? can he simply do nothing? Without feeling anxious or troubled? People would then take him for a jackass.

TWENTY YEARS OLD – Poetry by Federico Vaccaro

That’s when I loved life! When I awoke in the morning with the sound of Rosa’s voice singing, as she went to the fountain for water. And her song stayed in my head and it never left me for the entire day. That’s when I loved life, when during August nights, we all gathered in the square, bragging about conquests of girls never seen. And the winner of of this fantasy was he who could recount the greatest fantasy. That’s when I loved life, when with a thousand lire in my pocket, I felt like a baron, when i smoked without the hint of a cough and I thought I had the strength of a lion. Then at twenty years of age, when I awoke in the morning with the sound of Rosa’s voice and I knew nothing about pain, life was sweet. What it is now, God only knows!