Friday, 23 December 2011 @08:36
"Listen. The trees in this story are stirring, trembling, readjusting themselves. A breeze is coming in gusts off the sea, and it is almost as if the trees know, in their restlessness, in their head-tossing impatience, that something is about to happen."
(Maggie O’ Farrell)
Listen. It’s the New Year, coming with a breeze, with the strongest of winds, ready to surprise us.
(Today's quote is the opening page of a book: "The Hand That First Held Mine", by Maggie O’ Farrell. And it's an invitation to listen. Listen to the trees, the wind, the sea; to our desires).
Friday, 16 December 2011 @09:28
i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere you go i go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
I want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
How wonderful, when you meet your fate, and your fate is love.
(Amazing verses, written in 1920 by Edward Estlin Cummings. An american poet, a painter, a man who knew how to find words for love).
Wednesday, 7 December 2011 @10:34
"In the storm of roses
wherever we turn
in the storm of roses
the night is light up
by thorns and thunder
rumbling at our feet"
Close your eyes and surrender to the storm of roses.
So there I was, in München, some weeks ago, in the upper floor of a brand new museum of modern art, Brandhorst Museum, lost in a tempest of roses. Roses painted by Cy Twombly, roses blue and tangerine; giant roses where the american artist, between the petals, wrote verses, he "stole" verses and made them travel around the world, as I try to do. And how I liked these words by the Austrian poet Ingeborg Bachmann, maybe because I never thought thorns could become light and lightning, too. Those roses were, fastidiously, blue, as objects lit up by a storm, in the blackest of nights.
And these are the original lines:
"Wohin wir uns wenden im Gewitter der Rosen,
ist die Nacht von Dornen erhellt, und der Donner
des Laubs, das so leise war in den Büschen,
folgt uns jetzt auf dem Fuß".
Friday, 2 December 2011 @08:18
"Then there are my bracelets. Each of my closest girlfriends has bought me a silver bracelet. There are eight of them – two of the girlfriends are dead now – and one of the bracelets has a broken latch at the moment. I wear them all the time – in the shower, in the bath, swimming. They’re about friendship".
A jewel. It shines and glitters so much, when it’s about love.
This is not a poem (it’s an interview to lawyer Helena Kennedy, read in the Financial Times), but I was so touched by these words: maybe because my previous boss, a very chic fashion editor, now over seventy, has a beautiful friendship-jewel. Golden shining intertwined rings, each for one of her girlfriends – and each friend has the same. Everytime I see her, and I see the shining ring on her hand, I wonder how much certain jewels mean to us. They’re about friendship, sometimes. Or simply about love: the bracelet which belonged to our mother, earrings from a grandmother we barely and nostalgically remember, a ring token of love. We wear them and it’s like a tight, warm embrace.
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.