Friday, 28 October 2011 @08:20
in the spring of 1992,
everything is possible:
you go stand in a bread line
and end up in an emergency room
with your leg amputated.
Afterwards, you still maintain
that you were very lucky."
The unpredictable map of war. And luck. After Bosnia, it’s Palestina, Lybia, Syria, Yemen… Bread and bombs.
Today's verses, written back in 1992 by the Bosniac poet Izet Sarajlić, have been translated by another poet, the world-famous Charles Simic, who was actually born in Beograd. I like this wry sense of humor, which reminds us painfully how great it is to be alive.
Friday, 21 October 2011 @09:51
"On that clear October morning,
I was only behind a double espresso
and a single hit of anti-depressant,
yet there, on the shore of the reservoir
with its flipped-over rowboats,
I felt like I was walking with Jane Austen…"
We were walking and talking about love.
(Today's poetry is from "Ballistics", by Billy Collins, american, born in 1941: one of my favourite poets).
Friday, 14 October 2011 @08:59
"Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in my life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."
When Steve Jobs died, last week, a friend of mine wrote on Facebook: "My iPhone is sad". And my iPhone was sad too: as well as my iPod, or the MacBook where I'm writing now... So thanks to Steve Jobs for creating these tools, these beautiful tools, which are so much part of our life now. And thanks to him for the words of the Stanford commencement speech: that remind us why death teaches us to live.
Friday, 7 October 2011 @10:37
"I don’t have the strength to shut the door you half opened."
I don’t have the strength to let you go. Love is a magnet, a knot made of silk, an invisible ring I’ll wear forever. And I can’t leave, not now. I’ll sit here for a while, by the door, waiting.
(It was only a night, in 1945, in Moscow. When a fifty years old Akhmatova, and a young Isaiah Berlin, met. But sometimes a single night is velvet deep, and bright, and rich enough, to last for a whole life).
Saturday, 1 October 2011 @14:22
"She fell in love the way intelligent women always fall in love: like a fool".
Foolish love, yet how splendid when it dazzles and shimmers and bewitches us.
(And how true this sentence by the Mexican writer Angeles Mastretta).
Yes, I write. Yes, I believe in the magic of words. That’s why you’ll find me here, every Friday: Lisa “globish”!
I believe in the magic of words, and I believe Piazza Unità in Trieste, where I was born, is the most romantic square in the world. (And yes, it’s in Italy, proudly facing the sea). I love roses in every form. And, of course, I do love my blog, expecially now that I can carry it around on my iPhone.