Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato: era il rivo strozzato che gorgoglia, by Eugenio Montale (). From "Cuttlefish bones" ().con con the del
Per il primo incontro cosa mi metto? Ho sbirciato su Facebook, sulla rete, in cerca di informazioni e di immagini. Se io appartengo a una famiglia, per esempio, significa che ne faccio parte, ad essa mi riferisco quando voglio dire, agli altri ed a me stesso, chi sono. Fino a ieri — dicevo loro — io non vi conoscevo, e voi non conoscevate me. Appunto, costruire.
I just got sick of reading about the author's view of himself as being, essentially, the coolest person in the world because he took an interest in nothing excepting art - though I found his definition of art so poorly-constructed as to subvert his own arguments, if they can be called that, about aesthetics. Aloofness is not necessarily the hallmark of a formidable intellect. Especially when one's own supposed intellect is the focus of one's entire attention. Pessoa's love of himself, his love of his own sadness and banality, wore thin. Glorying in how pathetic one is really does nothing for this reader. I might have seen some of myself in him, perhaps wallowed with him in gothic misery I've been known to do that from time to time , but my reaction to these boring, self-centered ramblings was to simply walk away and move on to better things.
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on the road in italiano
Photo: Joshua Navarro. Photo: Renee Maurer. The music room was recently installed with modern European works from the collection. The paintings featured are by artists who were either born in France or immigrated there to work in Paris during the first half of the twentieth century. A destination for artists of all nationalities, many spent time in the lively Parisian neighborhoods of Montmartre and Montparnasse and experienced thriving and unparalleled creativity. Chatou, France, —d.
Sotto la torce fumicosa sbanda sempre qualche ombra sulle prode vuote. The swallow brings there blades of grass, it would that life not wane. But along the banks, at night, dead water erodes the stone. Under the smoky glow slips forever a shadow on the deserted piers. In the circle of the plaza the masses stir to the whirr of the paddle-wheels. This light, as in the poem, Lindau, draws travellers from the safe path.
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EUGENIO MONTALE - Spesso il male di vivere
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I've often come up against the bad part about living. (English translation of ' Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato' by Eugenio Montale). I've often come up.
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