Guide E se covano i lupi (Italian Edition)

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I repeat, these women are recreating Friulan poetry—not as a male-female dialectic, but as the truth of all human consciousness es.


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This is my point: Cantarutti first and foremost, then Maria Forte, Buiese and Vallerugo, have all contributed, via their heightened sensibility, to the reshaping of our poetic language. Ultimately, they have made it the language of a people.

Ciceri Nicoloso, Scrittrici contemporanee in Friuli , cit. Colonnello, G. Mariuz and G. Pauletto, eds. Ultimo luogo. Cosa lo ha spinto? Last Place The last place in the world, the world a station if it has a station, however small, the name vanished, two tracks, the service track aside with cars sealed for centuries that, more from precaution than fear, no one opens.

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An eternity like this. One day he got lost in the desert going just beyond that bend where the tracks are burnished gold in the setting sun. What drove him? Who brought him back and laid him across the tracks? Yes, it was plain the desert moved, the tracks were covered again as quickly as the sand was swept away. A cola. Il sogno. Il marito si accorse in tempo. The Dream Maybe by now the snow outside has buried the earth melancholy Hiroshima landscape.

On the Sydney bridge the wind lifts your black hair loose from its pins. The ships pass slowly by, sounding their horns they head for open sea, gone already. Your pensive mother passes by in deep water. From that window the bridge is a single arc, a flight Before you my Regina stops her rush. She falls. She awakened among the dead. Her husband realized it in time.

E se covano i lupi

Veniva e viene ancora appeso alle travi del soffitto. Il suo nome varia da zona a zona e non ha un nome corrispondente in italiano. Being with you who are no longer with us is so much more than living among the busy lives who take away my breath that peace I need for being cursed the way I am. Being with you always grape by grape my aurec hung on my slender rafter in this room with the painted outside door where a famished child has not eaten the bunch clenched in his hands because the grapes are numbered It was and still is hung from the rafters in the attic.

The dried grapes were eaten in winter. Its name varies from place to place and has no equivalent in Italian. Here, the Aurec is my deceased grandmother. He teaches elementary school. Then, in collaboration with L. Vit writes in southern Friulan, the language of Bagnarola. But his insights herein transcend the socio-political causes of this oppression.


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His alliterations develop in relief: e. Walter Belardi and G. No sta vignimi dongia cuntralus. And that rivulet of light along the knee! When the sun ensnares itself in the thorns of the darkness, then whose will be the face that I caress? There are those who learn how to suckle from the white of the page, to whistle from a wind hidden deep within.

And how you can command, condemn, cudgel all humanity, right from there, from that white room, perched like a king on the throne of the latrine. He studied at the University of Bologna and now teaches in a lycaeum in Pordenone. He has published numerous critical essays on literature and aesthetics in journals such as Testo a fronte , Studi di estetica , Diverse Lingue , and Baldus which he also edits. The following essays of his have appeared in book format s : Diritto alla poesia , with A.

De Biasio and A. Lettura della trilogia di A. Publishing a few chap-books in Italian—e. His most important dialect works are Altro che storie! The texts anthologized come from Vose de vose. He has comprehended and assimilated European Symbolism and Surrealism. For him, they are overcome by their ineluctable fragility in an atmosphere of indistinct contours, all in suspension and expectancy. Searching for his own voice, he eschews his noble poetic tradition.

He writes viva voce , in dialogue, retracing old terms, introducing innovation, finding points where the old and the new meet. Brevini, Le parole perdute, cit. Colonnello, Mariuz and Pauletto, eds. For the autumn and animals left under the crystal of hours culling branches and earth for a den in a nook of the head.

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For the autumn metal sheet and the man who wakes up calling with hands full of fingers, with hair coiled on the brain, of the breed of autumn gulls in eternal earthward flight. Translated by Dino Fabris II. Translated by DinoFabris X. A rain eroding clay shoulders and finding us in the jaw of a November forever open in an lotus with luggage to manage the night, filled with leaves, peelings, signed papers.

Translated by Dino Fabris XI.

I TETRAONIDI: gli uccelli venuti dal freddo

A nylon cloth the clouds, and the man of glass takes on a hue of tar and rusty wire that binds the hours around his ribs. Spadoni and Luciano Benini Sforza are presently assembling an anthology of poetry written in Romagnol in the second half of the twentieth century. Visionary and descriptive passages alternate. His variegated repertoire of images is characterized by subtlety in design and by a cyclical sense of melody.

Notwithstanding traces of his literary tradition, Spadoni gives new life to his dialect that is virtually biological for its instinctive immediacy. Its affinities are clear from its settings everyday, humble objects and human types and its versification. The latter is characterized by a warm, colloquial vocality that lightens the sombre tone and mollifies the harshness of vision.

All clocks have stopped. People refuse to grasp that the moon doesnt know what to do about us. Le voglie. Shadows play hide-and-seek and the street-lights perforate the aura of squandered hours. Puoi fare di meno.

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That day comes when you grow weary, lace up your best shoes and go Come fili di tela di ragno. Nadiani and Cipriani also collaborated with Andrea Foschi on the essays in La parola ritrovata: la poesia contemporanea fra lingua e dialetto Ravenna: Long Editore, In , Nadiani co-founded the literary review Tratti. He is now its editor-in-chief.