3gp Milena Velba Indir

Periferia Pavese International suicide

Quest 'summer in Spain I bought a number of "Camp de L'arpa" in November 1979 dedicated to Cesare Pavese. Articles by G. Mario Golodoff, JE Ayala-Dip, Robert Saladrigas , Macel Choen etc ... flipping the pages, I thought of what he wrote in his Wislawa Szymborska optional reading: "Europe is a small continent, divided into small states, for more. We can say that with every step you encounter a boundary. This is now the specificity of our Europe, this is its unique beauty ... "And besides
then ... Chinese and Hindi together make 1,100 million speakers. The most common Western languages, English and English, along even 700. L’ Arabo lo parlano 220 milioni, il Bengali, 190 milioni; il Portoghese, circa 180 milioni, Francese, 180 milioni, Russo, 170 milioni, Giapponese, 127, Tedesco, 100, Coreano, 78, Vietnamita, e Italiano 70 milioni, Polacco, quasi 50 milioni.
Sento spesso dire in giro che l’Italia è un paese minore. “Minore, minore… minore per forza” dico io. Le stime pubblicate da «Veranstaltungsskript von Christian Lehmann» e da «Ethnologue» nel 2005 parlano chiaro. Demograficamente parlando la struttura dell’immaginario dovrebbe conformarsi nel futuro secondo tutt’altri canoni rispetto a quelli cui siamo abituati. Le masse spaventano la reazione,: bisogna consolidare il canone; but then perceiving that the usual form of replication is the farce, all too happy to pass Latin, from cheese to skyscrapers. The soft version, the "wonder" and "possession" and then, step by step towards a desirable "negotiation," to refer to three key words of Stephen Greenblatt.
Imagine compare with empirical methods, the literature of the last three countries in the list above, Vietnam, Poland, Italy. A kind of humanist dialogue as a "relic." Three intellectuals who discuss the values \u200b\u200bfor the new millennium and of their history and their countries in recent decades, putting at stake in a personal way, presenting e parlando dal crollo delle ideologie, delle utopie, della rivoluzione francese, dello stato costituzionale, del dialogo interreligioso, dei valori estetici, del Novecento, della morale sessuale, di quello che preferiscono insomma, così, a braccio, magari in forma breve, quasi aforistica… Ne verrebbe fuori un libro se non altro curioso per i tre rispettivi bacini.
E splendido bersaglio per i critici dei rispettivi paesi attratti da un boccone di così facile lettura: è nel contratto dover spiegare ad “altri” che non sanno o in ogni caso e per forza di cose sanno meno. Una bella tentazione per ogni scrittore di quel genere di fiction che è la saggistica. […] Andando più in giù nella lista di «Ethnologue», the lower levels, all languages \u200b\u200bof Africa, the continent also linguistically mangled. I think particularly the Hausa, which has a very interesting literature. But when I find time to read the masterpieces of distant and unknown: who will publish (or has released) and Garzo Muhammadu Abubakar Imam, Abubakar Tafawa Balewa and Zaynab Alkali. Or the poetry of Okot p'Bitek and Sa'adu Zungur? And above all, more importantly, I'll listen? Reflect on what the end Italy will feel "better" than Vietnam and Poland. The bookmaker would all be in favor of world champions, the richest state, but how many times we contract? With regard to the province
Universal, Poland, Spain and my "Camp de L'arpa" carry-over from last Ellipse Imperfecta a poem by Jaroslav Mikolajewski, a poet born in Warsaw in 1960, translated from Polish by Lorenzo Pompeo and Piotrowska Eliza. The title is "Cesare Pavese" and of course the writer is born in early September ninety-nine years ago in Santo Stefano Belbo. No gossip, said the last time. And for another year go well.

Cesare Pavese "

Hill, vines and thick dust of the road
that increasingly tough dissolves in the mist of the morning.
A man with the glasses down on the edge
dead and lives under a recollection
the landscape hidden behind the damp clouds. Raise your head
only when the buds that dry tickle the nape
are warm and the sun has swept away the fog from the road and hills.
Everything has remained the same, only the light is different
remember a boy of the same land
watching animals and people on the fields.

breathing the scent of smoldering leaves
man walking towards the city behind the hill. Those around which passes
not get distracted by work, do not look
from the road. Even if women do
the sky and discover the hips in the sun, like clusters of grapes
absorb the afternoon.

when in the suburbs
feel underfoot the hard asphalt,
man thinks of himself as a sea, which does not generate anything,
where the future is already dead and buried.