November 26, 2024 5:50 pm

Meeting Bench

LANGUAGES – Poetry by Bei Dao

LANGUAGES Many languages are spoken, now, in this world. Soaring words, meet, meet, collide, they create sparks, sometimes hate, sometimes love. Higher the rise of rationality, but without sinking voice, with thoughts fragile and lightweight, bamboo tablets. A woven basket filled with blind poisonous mushrooms, those beasts painted on the rock we trample flowers galoppandoci above, but a head secret …

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LAVINIA FONTANA (1552/1614), ITALIAN PAINTER: The daughter of a painter, a woman who appreciated Parmigianino, Tibaldi and Veronese

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WHEN MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Pain in my heart, by Otis Redding

PAIN IN MY HEART Pain in my heart, she’s treating me cold, where can my baby be Lord no one knows. Pain in my heart just won’t let me sleep, where can my baby be, Lord where can she be. Another day, as again it is though, I want you to come back, come back, come back, baby, ’till I …

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BETWEEN ISLANDS AND ATOLL – The island of Madascar sailing

From April to November, we are in for a wonderful opportunity to travel (my old emotion), that are here, now, to tell you. I started from the island of Perfumes – near the coast of Madagascar – after a welcome drink, with the direction the archipelago of Mitsio (small islands and atolls, 30 miles north). The larger of those little …

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ROSALBA CARRIERA (1673/1757): ITALIAN PAINTER: Precious miniatures, almost on ivory, joyfully living and scrutinizing the faces

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SOFONISBA ANGUISSOLA (1535/1625), ITALIAN PAINTER: Shades of renaissance feminine, in the shadow of mannerism

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TAMARA DE LEMPICKA (1898/1980), POLISH PAINTER: Traveling in Italy, Switzerland and France, the creative talent come true color.

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WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Franco Battiato, “The Season of Love”

THE SEASON OF LOVE The season of love comes and goes, desires do not age almost never with age. If I think about how I misspent my time, that will not return, will not return. The season of love comes and goes, suddenly without realizing, the live, will surprise you. We have had occasions, losing them; not rimpiangerle not rimpiangerle …

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WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Franco Battiato, “And I come to you search”

AND I COME TO YOU SEARCH And I come to you search, just to see you or talk, because I need your presence, to better understand my essence. This popular sentiment, born from mechanical divine, a mystical rapture and sensual imprisons me to you. Should I change the object of my desires, not content with small everyday joys, make like …

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WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Franco Battiato, “The Cure”

THE CURE I will protect you from the fears of hypochondria from disturbances that will meet today for your street. Injustices and deceptions of your time, from the failures that your nature will attract. I will relieve you from pain and your mood swings, the obsessions of your delusions. Overcome the gravitational currents, space and light to not grow old. …

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