Georgien 2008

Georgien 2008
Visualizzazione post con etichetta Mitch Cohen. Mostra tutti i post
Visualizzazione post con etichetta Mitch Cohen. Mostra tutti i post

Curriculum















"To learn a foreign language,"
the teacher said, "is like trying
to kiss a girl: if you're too careful,
you won't."

And now I think of schoolboy
Spanish, my little Latin,
and upcountry Swahili -
then you,

and wish to review the whole
course, to freshen up the grammar
of our embrace, then whisper lost idioms
you taught me.




Imparare lingue straniere,
il maestro disse, è come voler
baciare: se sei timido,
non riesci.

E ora mi rivedo alunno
di spagnolo, il mio poco latino,
e di Swahili del nord -
poi tu,

e vorrei ripassare tutto
il corso, rinfrescare la grammatica
del nostro abbraccio, bisbigliare perduti idiomi
che mi insegnasti.






„Eine fremde Sprache lernen,“
sagte der Lehrer, „ist, wie der Versuch,
ein Mädchen zu küssen: Bist du zu vorsichtig,
wird nichts draus.“

Und jetzt denke ich an Grundschul-
Spanisch, das Kleine Latinum,
an Hochland-Suaheli –
dann an dich,

und ich möchte den kompletten Kurs noch einmal 
durchgehen, die Grammatik unserer Umarmung 
auffrischen, und archaische Wendungen flüstern,
die du mir beigebracht hast.















*



*

Northern good feeling (per chi non lo conosce)















Benessere nordico





Tutti i punti sono cardinali.
Al nord volto le spalle e inclino anche la testa,
all’indietro, al vento un po’ freddo
delle solitudini archetipiche,
degli interni caldi
circondati da distese vaste e silenzi,
dove il fuoco è uno unico
in vivo contrasto, incontrastato.
Altrove, sì, guardo, ogni tanto,
al rigoglioso sud;
o mi aggiro sfrondando
nei giardini variformi, variopinti
eppure sotto un unico sole,
di cui dicono nasce sempre a oriente
e viaggia a morire in occidente.
Io lo sento sulla pelle da dietro,
conciliante richiamo.
Dovunque mi trovi è unica la direzione verso l’interno,
antica, comune; e ce n’è tante quanti i nuovi punti,
lontani tuttattorno, quelli che solo sola
posso eventualmente occupare.
Non so la mia appartenenza
se non a questa posizione,
né mi curo d’altro.




Northern good feeling




Every point is compass true.
I turn my shoulder to the North and nod my head,
backwards, to the wind, the somewhat cold,
to the archetypical solitudes,
to the warm interior,
surrounded by vast plains and stillnesses,
where the fire is one
in living difference, undiffered.
Elsewhere, yes, I look, sometimes,
to the lush South;
or I roam, stripping leaves,
through gardens, protean, changing colors,
but under a single sun
that, they say, is always born in the East
and journeys to die in the West.
I feel it on my skin, from behind,
the reconciling call.
Wherever I am, the only direction is inward,
old, customary; and there are so many of them, like new points
worldwide, round about, those that only I alone
can possibly occupy.
I don’t know where I belong,
if not in this spot,
and nothing else worries me.




*

Bild
ovvero come venimmo a chiedere il significato.




Kiwi di un altro gusto, in Australia.
Il frutto nella terra d’origine,
assaggio in un uomo mille universi.
A compor vita la luce convoglia 

riverbero! Ovunque, sulla mia pelle,
sulle tele e i pigmenti. Ad un riflesso
mille concorrono. Ai bordi, verbosi,
secenteschi colori di Pontormo.

Si riversa sulla città notturna,
sarà un gas, è espanso, sarà dannoso...
di maniera è, e come inquietante.
Colore separato da materia.

Immagini irradiate. Non cielo
l'azzurro diuturno, come saprai,
immagine d'immagine; perlustra
da Plotino a Platone su Plutone

attraverso gli empiristi Saturno,
da Cezanne agli impressionisti, via via...
fra loro cercare, per noi, per stare, 
per patria, accorati, tutti i confini




Bild
how it simply came to ask about the meaning




Kiwi with its own flavor I ate in Australia.
In a man, I tasted a thousand universes.
To compose life, light set reflection!

Word-filled reflection on board the skin,
at the edge of an untouched cheek,
most likely a gas, but now touch after all.

Reflection thrown rearward onto its back,
on the nocturnal city, probably full of damage.
It’s manner. And so like exciting.
Color separated out of matter.

Appearing pictures. Not sky
of the day-long blue, one knows,
the picture’s picture, further, further…

Searching through from Plotinus to Plato Pluto,
through the Empiricist Saturn,
from Cezanne to Impressionists

among them, for us, to remain,
as a homeland, heart-moved, all borders.




*




Differenza assimi-labile





Toccato da sorte felice l'uomo,
- dev'esser successo, a quei tempi -
sentì cantare le donne in attesa,
tornò all'improvviso. Riferì agli altri,
da allora resta o va sol chi ne ha voglia.
Femminile ingegnera in America 
non trova, ancora, un consesso che canti.




Compatible (unstable) difference





Touched by a fortunate fate, the man –
it must have happened in that time –
heard the women singing, in expectation,
suddenly he returned. Told the others; 
since then, he who will goes or stays.
Finds a female engineer in America,
still, not a coming together that sings.




*

Landa desolata




Siccità aspetta un grido che laceri
l'afa. Ma tuona e fulmina senz'acqua.
Udrei il lungo sospiro: sto bene,
eppure, dopo tutto, finalmente.

Una speranza solo è naufragata,
non ho perso altro. Tanta paura.
Amara, ròsa da pena cocente,
rosolata. Frutto dell'esperienza.




Waste plain



The desert’s drought awaits a scream that would tear apart
the mugginess. But thunder and lightning come without water.
I would hear the long sigh: I’m doing fine,
anyway, in the end, finally.

Only a hope has failed,
I have lost nothing else. Such fear.
Bitter, gnawed by burning sorrow,
seared. Fruit of experience.



*

Di chiar' azione




Fu una sensazione particolare,
un fagiolo. Mi credevo malato,
sottoterra sforzavo la gravità,
dovevo solo nascere. Il calore
non era statico, chè trasformavo
in varco energie intorno transeunti.
Mi dico forte nell'attesa verde.

Ora so che qualcuno mi ha visto,
un dolce attimo memorabile,
la prima luce diretta, un paradiso.
La sorpresa che dovesse affondare
dentro tutto il mio essere, ascoso.
Il primo colpo di vento, crudele.
Mi dico debole, impressionata.

Sembra così semplice, vegetale,
il senso della fatica. Affioro
appena e capisco: nell'aria
un procedere diverso si prospetta,
altri lavori, sebbene fiorirò
queste stesse radici. Allo scoperto
sto uscendo, mi dico sottovoce.




De clar’ ation




It was a particular feeling,
a bean. I thought I was ill,
twisted under the earth the heaviness…
I was only supposed to be born. The warmth
was not static, since all around
I transformed passing energy into a gait.
I declare myself strong, in green waiting.

Now I know that someone saw me,
a sweet, noteworthy moment,
the first direct light, a paradise.
The surprise that it should sink,
deep within my being, hidden.
The first gust of wind, cruel.
I declare myself weak, impressed.

It seems so simple, plant-like
the sense of the effort. I emerge,
hardly, and understand: a different kind
of approach lays itself in the air,
other works, although I will bloom
from the same roots. I rise into open space,
declare myself in an undertone.



*


Conversione all’universo




Le speranze di vita
si sono trasformate
in fede nella morte.
E la carità è rara.

L’anima prepotente,
durevole esercizio,
le ho dato l’anima.
A Cesare... giustizia.

Dal mondo sensoriale
varchi, è necessario
come al bosco il mistero,
in zone temperate.

Le pensi o non le pensi,
per quel po’ che m’è dato,
sappia o no di pensarle...
emanano profumi.





Conversion to the Universe



The hopes of life
have transformed
into belief in death.
And brotherly love is rare.

The arrogant soul,
constant practice,
I gave it my all,
to Caesar… justice.

From the world of the senses
pass over, it is necessary
– as its secret for the forest –
in temperate zones.

Whether I think them or I don’t,
with the little that is given to me,
whether or not I know that I think them…
they exude fragrance.



*


Benedizione




Sorridenti a reciproche carezze,
inanellate, umide di odori,

trasfusioni di coraggio e fermezza
in tenebrosi sguardi infuocati.

Sì dolcemente tremando, tramando
esiti per rispecchiare il sorriso.




Blessing



Smiling to mutual caresses,
ringed, moist with scents;

Transfusions of courage and strength
behind bushy gazes, glowing ones.

So sweetly trembling, inciting
results to reflect the smile.



*


In omaggio a Mirò



La luna la maschera tragica ha indossato,
una guancia antica le ha sfumato il cielo.

Saltuarie osservazioni premestruali
i lineamenti, scarsi tratti scuri.
Eppur si muove, senza batter ciglio,
solleva a suo capriccio vaporoso
l'orlo, ad alterni passaggi, maree.

La dedizione ricorrente, il bel sonno,
attira all'alba canti di uccellini alacri.




Homage à Mirò



The moon put on its tragic mask,
heaven tinted one of its old cheeks.

Volatile premenstrual observations,
the lines of the face, sparse dark strokes.
And yet it moves, without batting an eyelid,
capriciously lifts the redolent
hem, while passages and tides shift.

The recurring devotion, the beautiful sleep,
lures the song of avid little birds at dawn.



*

Lucciole superstiti




Visioni d'interni, raro giubilo.
La membrana è poco permeabile.
E rara sia la rappresentazione.
Paesaggio delicato, porta stretta.

Viscerali residui sviscerati,
esseri indifesi, non resistono
l'esterna atmosfera rarefatta,
le intemperie accidentali del tempo.

Si disfa, si decompone, svanisce.
Battaglie nel mondo muscolare.
Pesce fuor d'acqua l'emozione senza
pensiero. Navigato resoconto.

In forme decenti riesce il trasporto.
Cura, fatica sia, non idolo.
Testimone profeta l'allusione,
augure messaggero il segno.

Invito ripetuto
l'involucro-finzione!




Surviving glowworm




Views of the interior, rare jubilation.
The membrane is hardly permeable.
And let the depiction be more seldom.
Delicate passageway, narrow door.

Interior remnants plumbed,
defenseless beings, don’t withstand
the outer, thin atmosphere,
the unforeseen inclemencies of the time.

It dismantles itself, dissolves, disappears.
Battles in the muscular world.
Fish out of water, feeling without
thinking. Seefarer’s report.

In fitting forms, the transport succeeds.
Let it be worry, effort, not idol.
Witness, prophet be the allusion,
augur, messenger, the sign.

Repeated invitation
the fiction of sheathing.




Giuria clemente


La mia bellezza - decreto inutile -
m'ha dato tante preoccupazioni
finchè queste, stanche, l'hanno abrogata.
Ora che saprei mostrarla, il processo,
ho solo rughe per sottolineare.
Missione compiuta se ne va a spasso.
Oggi allo specchio preferisco il sole:
non dimentica, nonostante gli anni. 


Mild jury

My beauty - useless decree –
has brought me so many worries
until these, tired, have abolished her.
Now I would know how to display, the process,
I have only wrinkles to underline, to stress her.
Mission accomplished, she wanders about.
Today to the mirror I prefer the sun:
It doesn’t forget, despite the years.



Note su elfi capre case e cammini, e italiano bentrovato
















Soul senza un sol, e blues in si be molle;
lullaby in la minore settima;
racconti pieni di re; narrazioni,
la favola in fa, in mi per il mito;
armonico dileggio in do maggiore. 



Dô continui in Dò maggiô
daffæ e travaggi in Fa
e lagrime ai euggi in La.
Solstiçio in te’n canto in Sòl
respia cian cianin in Re
mescciâ ben in Mi minô
scilençio do bòsco in Si



Ziege retten und rauchen
auf Zehenspitzen in C
durch die Finsternis in Fis
das rote Ahorn in A
die Elfen in E moll
gehen langsam in G
die Häuser haben in H
diese Dumme in D dur
in B Dich selbst begleiten



Sip cyder in C each time
go wandering out in G
eighty thousand veils in A
the daughters wear in D flat
to Farewell always in F
the Efforts fatigue in F
all Eve at New Year in E
aging still hunting in H








texts and ph salsel
with a little help of my friends









*


THE MUSE - La musa - Die Muse



ph william turner, the burning of rome 






I don't go to her, she comes to me, red
with unspeakable crimes and her hair
is a black wind annihilating worlds
to get at the door in my bed.

It takes forever to get her clothes off,
and I don't have forever.




La musa


Non vado io da lei, lei viene, rossa
di indicibili crimini e i capelli
un vento nero che annichila mondi
per giungere alla porta nel mio letto.

Ci vuole un eternità per spogliarla,
ed io non ho l'eterno.




Die Muse


Ich gehe nicht zu ihr, sie kommt zu mir, rot
mit unsäglichen Verbrechen,und ihr Haar,
ein schwarzer Wind, der Welten auslöscht,
um an die Tür in meinem Bett zu kommen.

Es dauert eine Ewigkeit, sie auszuziehen,
doch ich hab nicht ewig Zeit.




übersetzt von Mitch Cohen & Wolfgang Heyder





*

Every grass has its own scent, Mem and Zîn



Chapter 58, verses 2391-2408 from "Mem and Zîn", 
translation into English (from Feryad Omar's German translation) of the Kurdish national epic.

The lovers Mem & Zîn have died and been buried beside each other. From their graves grow two beautiful trees.
The villain Bekir, evil advisor to the Prince who is responsible for the lovers' deaths and who was killed in vengeful anger by Mem's friend Tajdin, has been buried between them, and from his grave grows a twisted, thorny tree that keeps the lovers apart even in death.
I especially like verse 2403


Every grass has its own scent
2391
The wisdom of the Highest has revealed to us
That Mem and Zîn arrived in the Eternal Palace.
2392
Their being and their character remained the same,
And there was nothing ever altered in their nature.
2393
It came to pass that on the grave of Mem and Zîn
There sprouted seeds of love, and soon the grave was verdant.
2394
Two lofty trees grew straight and proud out of this ground
And rose, exhilarated, reaching for the heavens.
2395
The one a cypress and the other one a pine,
They both were fresh and delicate, their shade refreshing.
2396
Their boughs, like loving arms, did tenderly entwine;
Their trunks were strong and straight, but tilted toward each other.
2397
But from the grave of evil Bekir grew one, too,
And this one looked much like a sour Saint Lucie cherry.
2398
Now see! This tree was twisted, disharmonious,
And, like the buried man, was full of thorns and prickles.
2399
It crowded both the other trees and strove for height,
Preventing them, in death as well as life, from union.
2400
It couldn’t stand in tranquil calm or grow up straight,
But kept on acting as the others’ adversary.
2401
It skulked and crept up to the lovers once again.
It twined around and choked the trees it took for rivals.
2402
And with its clinging roots and branches, it entwined
And fettered once again the trees that had been lovers.
2403
How can a man who’s rotten to the very core
Wash off his nature like mere smudges from a surface?
2404
If you grow colocynths* for all of forty years,
And douse the fields a hundred times with sweetest honey,
2405
And pamper them with sunlight and with tempered warmth
And make a point of using rosewater to spray them,
2406
And if you cultivate and daily care for them,
And never cease to irrigate with sugar water,
2407
No matter how much care and love you give to them,
They’ll never show you gratitude by yielding melons.
2408
Don’t fool yourself that when the colocynth is ripe
You’ll harvest fruits whose taste is sweet; they will be bitter.

*The colocynth – also known as bitter apple, bitter cucumber, or vine of Sodom – is a member of the gourd family. It grows in sandy soil and tolerates extreme aridity (and thus needs none of the pampering described in the poem). The fruit is poisonous and bitter. The seeds are sometimes harvested for use as medicine.

"Mem and Zin", 17th-century Kurdish national epic: è stato pubblicato dall'Institut fùr Kurdische Studien e.V.



ph: salsel, A buccia opaca - appena colta









ed è in vendita qui. A me è arrivato come stampa non raccomandata, chi lo vuole un libro? - in pochi gg con poca spesa.

*
another section of my translation, from the German translation, of the 17th-century Kurdish national epic "Mem and Zin" by Ahmet Xani.
The two lovers have died and been buried. The evil watchman cum vizier Bekir, whose plotting led to their deaths, has been killed by Mem's friend and gets buried between the lovers. The colocynth is a bitter, poisonous plant. I particularly like verse 2403.
Mitch Cohen
*
Chapter title:

Each plant has its own odor
2391
The wisdom of the Highest has revealed to us
That Mem and Zîn arrived in the Eternal Palace.
2392
Their being and their character remained the same,
And there was nothing ever altered in their nature.
2393
It came to pass that on the grave of Mem and Zîn
There sprouted seeds of love, and soon the grave was verdant.
2394
Two lofty trees grew straight and proud out of this ground
And rose, exhilarated, reaching for the heavens.
2395
The one a cypress and the other one a pine,
They both were fresh and delicate, their shade refreshing.
2396
Their boughs, like loving arms, did tenderly entwine;
Their trunks were strong and straight, but tilted toward each other.
2397
But from the grave of evil Bekir grew one, too,
And this one looked much like a sour Saint Lucie cherry.
2398
Now see! This tree was twisted, disharmonious,
And, like the buried man, was full of thorns and prickles.
2399
It crowded both the other trees and strove for height,
Preventing them, in death as well as life, from union.
2400
It couldn’t stand in tranquil calm or grow up straight,
But kept on acting as the others’ adversary.
2401
It skulked and crept up to the lovers once again.
It twined around and choked the trees it took for rivals.
2402
And with its clinging roots and branches, it entwined
And fettered once again the trees that had been lovers.
2403
How can a man who’s rotten to the very core
Wash off his nature like mere smudges from a surface?
2404
If you grow colocynths for all of forty years,
And douse the fields a hundred times with sweetest honey,
2405
And pamper them with sunlight and with tempered warmth
And make a point of using rosewater to spray them,
2406
And if you cultivate and daily care for them,
And never cease to irrigate with sugar water,
2407
No matter how much care and love you give to them,
They’ll never show you gratitude by yielding melons.
2408
Don’t fool yourself that when the colocynth is ripe
You’ll harvest fruits whose taste is sweet; they will be bitter.


from the Kurdish national epic "Mem & Zin", translated into English e distico finale in italiano


ph Dubuffet, Raisons complexes











L'autore del XVII sec. medita su ministri e governi deludenti:


Se in segreto non devii dalla vera via,
mai còmpito e prestigio di ministro avrai.



1981
There are some rulers – virtuous, intelligent –
Who nonetheless cannot distinguish good from evil.
1982
Naïve, they might as well be stupid and stone-blind;
Their hearts neglect to plumb the source and depths of speeches.
1983
Their hearts still hear, and yet their ears don’t hear their hearts;
Their eyes are backwards: eyeballs black and white their pupils.
1984
When evil people slyly whisper bad advice,
They give it all the credence due to truth and wisdom.
1985
No question in their minds if evil or if good,
Or whether truth is told or just a sly deception.
1986
Shortsighted, they lack wisdom and all common sense.
They’re quick to anger with no cause and have no patience.
1987
And many are conceited, thinking they are shrewd,
But most are far removed from prudence and from knowledge.
1988
This makes them prey for greedy, sly, and evil men.
The low, despicable, the kind who lack all honor,
1989
Insinuate themselves as friends and councilors,
Thus bringing scandal over ministers and rulers:
1990
Appointed posts in public office, where they scheme
And do not render service to the state, but damage.
1991
A prince who rules a state and is intelligent
As well as merciful and just, in short, a statesman,
1992
Will never delegate his power to a man
Who hasn’t been subjected to a thorough testing.
1993
He’ll test the man with rigor up to forty times
Before promoting him to posts that hold great power.
1994
If one is Prince, the other Minister of State,
Their stewardships will merely be an intermezzo.
1995
If, on this stage, the roles they play are both the same,
They’re clowns and villains who confuse the good with evil.
1996
If you don’t stray in secret from the path of truth,
You’ll never hold a minister’s prestigious office.










Chiara Adezati, Dialogue R / E tradotto in inglese da due amici



Dialogue R (-a(c)tional-me) / E (-motive-me)
About living in fluency







E: I want him. (... badly I want you, so bad ... Bob Dylan) I tell him what I'm really thinking, I feel very strongly that it works. I do not want to hold my tongue. I want “do what you feel, don't be stopped by fears” to become the primary goal in my life. I would be the abandoning one. So they call them. Those who know how to abandon themselves to someone. Those who seem scarcely independent but maybe they are more independent than the others. Cats?
R: But he does not care... Don't bother him anymore… at least for months.
E: It's not true. He loves us. With all his soul. Whenever I hear him, I feel it so. You can't deny it. The words we say reject our real feelings, very much! For confirmation, of course, because of the fear.
We tremble, continually scared. But it is foolish! As someone who hasn't had a mom. Have you not yet understood? It seems the kabuki theater of shadows.
Sometimes you are right, a little. We must give time to others as to ourselves. Sometimes it does not work that way. Do, spontaneously, what comes, what is natural.
R: Writing I'm already fine. And it is wise not to give up anything.
He has to live his life, if he feels that way. Let's let him live it, he would live it anyway. Then you will see, in the meantime, I love the Holy Mystery. Of those who have so much energy. Or do we spend it elsewhere? And where? In being ourselves. With all these little pieces? To hold together like a puzzle that we not even know completely. Hmmm, it's fun. Be protean.
E: I am that I am. And I'm also proud of that. I have nothing to reproach me, some improvements to be made ... not much. Unless when I feel like I’m dead.
R: We will solve this problem: goals are now practiced on a large scale and mechanisms are perfectly known.
E: Skilled manager! Wow!
R: There has never been a dialogue, really. Otherwise, you'd have understood before. With whom you're dealing.
E: I knew I had a force in the battlefield. Unrivaled. I had been told about that.
R: I did not count on you, if I have to be honest. That you were healthy, despite having lived in corrupt environments! Who would have thought that?
E: The storms, even the storms: sand, electricity, moods!
R: I'll finish the verse; even the storms leave something intact under the surface. Let's proceed then. What do you think of for a huge primary goal for our life, at the place of the small insignificant events for which we have struggled so far? Instead of the vain attempt to save the intervals you put together ten minutes of rest, for example.
E: It changes our life. But do not make yourself beautiful with statements that are only good economic rules. The measurement of time by watches is pure fiction. Time is not measured in hours but in seasons of nature and of the living. And are we not “living” as well?
R: To say it better, we are living when ... when we do not run as madmen behind the watches, when we follow our interior times. Life changes, then, changes, if it changes definitely. In this sense, it is worth going against the traditions. Even if almost no one understands it, at first, afterward, instead, something remains, something of what you sow grows, then they see it.
E: Help me to dream, you won't do like those who tell me to forget it because there is nothing worth …
R: That's a guarantee. I am within you, on your side. Only in another perspective. I grant that in the trouble of the sea you are not overwhelmed. Dreaming ... as far as dreaming is concerned, it is your own business.
E: Would it be enough to know where I am and what I want? I know who I am, forever. A pioneer of new ways of living. Without arrogance. I am not easily satisfied. A seeker of gold and bones. One that pursues Utopia, the place of nowhere. The one who lives for poetry and not for something else. Not for ethics but for poetics. Badly treated, however, I am poor and homeless, groping in the dark. The roof of a new culture, to seek. A roof... transparent to the sky, thin, fragile and indispensable, essential. Not more.
R: It's so much more than what we have.
E: You can bet on that! Otherwise what kind of work would it be?
R: It’s difficult, very difficult.
E: I feel born for this. Not a mission, no way. But, since our early age, we have been attracted only by the most challenging enterprises. We like risking as much as we can, otherwise we do not feel useful. Fate.
R: Now it's my turn to say that you must not make me beautiful with a simple rehash of other people's ideas, just now chewed and digested!
E: Yes, yes, from Plato to Plotinus, through Plautus, towards Pluto. I admit it. But it is more and more difficult to follow a thread, also in red in a tightly woven dense and compact web ... and then, told between us, it's always better Good stolen than Evil invented, isn't it?
R: Right. Your instrument is refined. Tuned. You know how to distinguish immediately a tone from all the others.
E: I am tuned! Well, yes. I sing. I'm dazed indeed. Singing for music itself.
R: I hardly see you ... at least two centuries back in time, in a nineteenth-century attic, Bohemian, writing on the bed as you are now.
E: And I hear the music. On the rooftops it pours. Lightning, thunder and the light of noon. How beautiful! The world is not ruined. Not at all when you look at its natural side.
R: For this we must live in the country: as they said, in contact with Nature.
E: Who said that? Philosophers or scouts?
R: Both. You silly one!
E: A moment of silence and recollection, then. Please, gentlemen! I do nothing but to quote what has already been said, and better. I do not want to show off. My task, a modest one, is to re-say, to translate into the language of my time those echoes that come to me from ancient times. From dawn to decadence.
R: I do not blame you, but I remind you that you keep citing, even yourself.
E: Inside me there can be only what is just in me.
R: Do you get irritated?
E: I'm not really that touchy. If anything: susceptible, very nervous, always vigilant. But you can also tell me I'm a whore; in any case, I don't believe it. Fly high. I'm not offended.
R: Let's go back to the origin of the speech! I find these exploratory cycles fascinating. Each time the diameter is different, but some points are in common. I often return to mathematical visions. Close to physics, astronomy and the exact sciences. You, bordering with me, are in the philosophical side and occupy the arts. Did you notice?
R: Well, well. Very well. Go ahead!
R: It's not ironic what you say. I am in perpetual waiting. For your permission, your passport, your nulla osta. For your incitement, finally. It depends on you.
E: And I depend on your flattery!
R: Let's give each other a little good time, now.
E: Gladly, my old smiling gourmet...
R: And a good eater.
E: Why, we would spend pleasant hours together, if only you too would take it easy. You always keep your control. You are a tax! Give up: you know what that means?
R: If we lose control, we will slow down, we will make time bigger indefinitely; it will not necessarily be very visible from the outside, but it will be a big investment. If we decide that this is the goal, we will be successful. There is nothing to gain, we just have to throw off ballast.
F-eed, D-rink, D-efecate, S-leep, X-press, D-stroy, N-joy... What do you think Rabelais wanted with Gargantua and Pantagruel and a couple on a trip like us? I-nstructive J-ollify, pulls out the wildcard from ... C-ock,  L-ick it, E-at it, F-eed yourself, see the thematic alphabet O-bnubilate, G-raze, Suck-ceed, Re-store, F-ool yourself, F-uck, R-oar, V-agina of Zebedee! The alphabet does not say Abstain, AssHead, Run, Dominate, Elevate, Fry ... The beauty of words is that you can make them tell what you want. You know. You know what you want. Eating, drinking, the various physiological needs, imaginative, secular and protestant. A great, great man ... Francois! Doctor and monk...
E: I did not expect this from you, all this stuff. You're dry, as usual, as an Englishwoman. And I am as wet as liquor cake. I would suck eighteen of them, always the same stuff: I do not need variety. Also the large amount gives taste. Or do you mean a single sample is equivalent to eating? I admit that it is good to stay in shape. But overflowing is not so foolish, at least in a metaphysical sense. Pull the edges sur ton cap, as the French say, your goal, furl and spread sails. Sur ton cap, it sounds good, it is music! In the language in which you learn, the good mother tongue, who licks everywhere. Hmmm!
R: “Te piace o' presepe”?
E: Yes, Philip, very much! It's so destructive doing without it. Why do these bigots inflict much on us? They haunt and annoy. I like what everyone likes. In nature and paying it with my own body. Love is repaid with love...
R: Attention! Just a moment! I think, irony of fate - not mine, then - well, until recently you were an elitist, lonely person on the road of the Alexandrians, weren’t you? But now you like to be the thing that appeals to everyone. I don't want to break your balls, but you are an evil being.
E: Exactly, and you know I like ambiguity.
R: I am for logic, exact logic.
E: Fuck you, you want us to split apart. It was from this point that we were divided, shit!
R: You like it, you like it.
E: Vox populi, vox dei. If all, many, a big crowd, people keep telling you ... that it must not be done, what do you do?
R: It must not be done. The night has to pass. Calm down. I understand that sometimes it is so, sometimes not. To quote another proverb: Life is good because it varies. Am I perhaps a fixed character of the Comedy of Art? Or don’t I help you instead with the things to do, a practical, shady dealer: not important, the things to do that you touch, put your hand there, take you, and transport you?
E: I'm always in the air.
R: Like the magic carpet. Where do you think I am? With YOUUU! Have to say it in Arabic? Arabian Nights!
E: The night has to pass …
R: Sing. Like a lullaby. You will fall asleep.
E: You know I cannot stop? It’s a vortex, a maelstrom. Liquid. Water and air cycles.
R: The passion is over. We didn't want it anymore. Fire and earth burning, volcanoes. Solid.
E: You know you're right? You have reasons to sell, my rational friend! Wow, I am dissipating that collection. I'm spreading. I am liquid!
R: You’re kidding me!
E: No, not at all. I cannot live without you. “An vedi come balla Nando... Are you not you sick of that?
R: I do not doubt. It is indeed almost certain. I say “almost” because in fact my motto is "I doubt therefore I am"... as you will remember. I will indeed remember you... I will remember you often. I will remember you, intelligent, dear girl.
E: I want affection, pure affection. Pampering, and I lose my mind with pleasure. Sweet.
R: Hey, you need a man, I tell you... Everything is clear now. Take him to bed, hold him tight.
E: Leave me alone.
R: So we have concluded. To leave one another.


The curtain falls.


*

Original version (italian text) you could always get here:
https://lottadiclassico.files.wordpress.com/2016/04/dialogo-r-e.pdf
and always: thanks for reading!