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Pampeago, namely: what I really wanted to write the last one that I posted something on the blog, but I have not had the courage to do

Yeah, what I really wanted to write is that I was good at Pampeago . What is a place of three choices for skiers, two lifts, a shop and four parking lots near Tesero in Val di Fiemme (A22-Neumarkt Now, the direction of Val di Fiemme, Cavalese after you step on the left to stave and then you come to the Alpe di Pampeago). The hotel - which shall remain nameless for pietistic sense - was not all that must be a hotel, so willingly omit any comment.

Beyond the Desk of meals eaten in some excellent pastures, what really struck me was the absolute silence , heard in some special occasions. I was on the chairlift with Cynthia and Matthew, and between a pylon and the other, with the sun lit up the valley and the top, and made every highlight color that God had put on that part of land that showed in my eyes, we Listened to nothing, emptiness. Not even a hum, not a word, not a sound in the distance. Nothing at all. Even breathing seemed to have stopped. And so to think of the city, to the background noise that does not leave you alone and to accompany your life. Everywhere, everywhere.

why I love the mountains, because I seem to have a clean look and sincere the world, because I can feel myself thin, inner, part of everything that surrounds me. Why I can talk softly and make me feel, without having to shout or raise the tone. In the evening, a couple of times, me and Matt we got on the porch with the blanket pulled up to below his chin, watching the moon and the stars. No lamp post, no lighted house, no car. Although the hotel was 'off', but partly illuminated by the light of night. Beautiful light nights.

A little 'peace, sometimes, it takes. Returning, stunned by the stimuli I receive every day, I spent the first day ever stunning. Then I recovered, I started to grind and e-mail, telephone calls and newspapers. Lie on the grass, watching the sky and clouds that move, do not feel anything but blue and white, and green and gray. As if his eyes were a window from which to view the infinite, what is 'basic' has always existed in nature. Unsurpassed.

The photographs accompanying this article are in order of appearance: # 1: © re.bel, No.2 & 3: © cynthia t.

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Wonder Chabon, or not

I met Michael Chabon to Festivaletteratura Mantova Saturday September 8, 2001, at 18:45, at the Diocesan Museum. It was presented by Beppe Severgnini, who joked on the fact that they had put beside - him low, gray and 'wrong' - this American healthy, tall, strong, handsome. I also did some autograph thing, now I can not find. Three days later, the twin towers collapsed, and we wrote some e-mails about.

I had discovered by reading Wonder Boys because I had really enjoyed the movie with Michael Douglas, Robert Downey Jr. and Tobey Maguire. The book was well written, funny, profound features that I found even in Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay , who perhaps had just in Mantua.

I just finished instead become Men: a book of short stories in which Michael tells his son to the father (4 times) and husband (2 times), opening the box of memories and her heart with the utmost sincerity. And 'here that I found myself thinking whether it is right or not estimated that a successful writer put in place much of themselves, especially certain aspects of their lives - use of soft drugs, for example - do not agree. Not so much because "you should not do" or "should not have to prove certain experiences, but because I put myself in the shoes of a happy player - or the father a reader young - that the flowing lines of his stories, he meets more often the subject of soft drugs, consumed - in fact - lightly. It does not seem to have read a mea culpa due to maturity, rather: Chabon seems to understand that they do still use (and its sacrosanct freedom to do what he wants, while respecting the freedom of others, of course, but Chabon in my opinion - along with many others - should reflect on the fact that, being beautiful, famous, happy and successful - all deserved, frankly - is held up by many as an 'example').

said this - and who knows who cares moralizing of these lines, but there you are: I downloaded the consciousness - the book is beautiful. There are important steps, deep, others a little 'less interesting perhaps because of its remoteness from my experiences. Chabon talks about the passing of time, being become a man. He remembers his first wife, mistakes, moments of ordinary and extraordinary intensity of his large family in 6 places. But the best thing to do is read it to understand what his life is shared by many, thus establishing a fraternity - rather than a camaraderie - which helps to better understand oneself.

course, is not a book for men only, despite the title, because even women can read and enjoy it - I read too many songs my wife - to get closer to our universe. After Philip Roth and Jonathan Franzen - to name a few - continue, as part of American literature , the phase of introspection, the 'first person singular': a time when it seems that the authors they wanted to stop and look within, to take stock of himself. A recovery of memory, which is probably just a coincidence, the result of random readings encountered. But if the case does not exist?
some time I also feel, strongly, the need to be in 'first person ', and I hope it comes out something sooner or later.

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Medersa Shot in 2009 in Marrakech.

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reader

Fernanda Pivano *

E ' was my father taught me the love of books. I was a little more than a child, but every Saturday afternoon took me in his precious library ten thousand volumes and a small ceremony quarter of an hour they choose one of Fedor Dostoevsky, Anton Chekhov and Leo Tolstoy, Gustave Flaubert and Guy de M aupassant, Thomas Mann, Alfred Doblin, Ljos Zilahy and Ferenc Körmendi (fashionable at the time), or the prose of Italian art such as America bitter Emilio Cecchi. I explain what ra and asked me what I thought of the book that gave me the Saturday before.

I did read a magazine arrived in his tiny hands on the streets of anti, " Culture " , which had kept copies of the early thirties and where Cesare Pavese had written articles on Sherwood Anderson and John Don Passos, and especially Edgar Lee Masters: articles, in that atmosphere of "cultural self-sufficiency," he had helped to dismiss the "principle of Italian" and address the "plutocracy decadent" and "democracy Judeo-Masonic" which were called the Anglo-Saxon civilization.

E 'was even him to give me the first copy of Moby Dick , translated by Cesare Pavese in 1932 and published ancient Frassinelli , the glory of publishing anti-fascist Turin. Cesare Pavese The same would be my alternate high school Italian Massimo D'Azeglio of Turin . In his lectures there was talk of Francesco De Sanctis and Benedetto Croce , one day I came home and I asked my father, who called himself the father, if he knew these authors. And he, without saying anything, took me in his library and showed me their books. You should have seen the face of this unusual Pavese professor the next day when I took them in the classroom. Pavese I saw him in 1938 after his confinement in Calabria. And 'he really introduced me to understand the difference between European literature and American literature, then unknown in Italy.

In 1941, Franklin Delano Roosevelt made his famous speech on the four freedoms: freedom of speech, of worship, from want and fear. Freedom is at all levels : Do not be afraid, be free, without dictatorships. This was the basis of the American dream and its literature, literature that I'm in love. For me, America represents freedom in a time when there was no freedom in Italy. fact shortly after the war broke out, and with my family to we were forced to evacuate in Mondovi, in a hotel guarded by the Nazis . In that tiny room I translated The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper with my mother who helped me at the typewriter. I dreamed that Uncas came to liberate us.

I had already translated 's Spoon River Anthology and since then I have translated several other books with the hope of making them known in Italy. I do not think I could do anything else because this is my passion. When freedom arrived in our country, I went to America to try one by one these famous authors are not yet among us, because for me it is essential to know who is the writer, who attended, from where it is: why wrote what he wrote. All my lyrics are only love letters, whether from indifference shake someone and cause him to be interested in at least one of the books described and the author have achieved their goal.

Today, many, many years later, the authors thank all Americans who have loved and I say to you thank them, one by one. Every time you make love with a guy who is not your husband, or with a girl who is not your wife, say thanks to Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac, Gregory Corso. Say thanks to my writer friends . And do read their books that do not support the corruption, not fear, not violence that sustain freedom.

* Introduction to "Free the reader" (2010, Knopf), the book containing the 'love letters' Fernanda Pivano (18 July 1917-18 August 2009) to 'his' American authors.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Nanda, the Victorian-Beat girl
Interview with Julia Santerini Fernanda Pivano

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Marrakech # 2

This video does not do well, but almost. It was August 4, 2009 and we left to discover Marrakech Essaouira , Portuguese city on the shores of the Atlantic. We started at 8 am from the city center, just outside the walls. After 15 minutes, but perhaps not, here is the landscape that was outlined to us by the bus windows. A plain, flat, desolate, populated by ghosts of houses, of men and cattle. The road was heated by the sun and difficult journey because of roadworks. The background noise of the video, shot with a digital camera 'antique', is perhaps the best soundtrack.

E 'was like being on a world hung tough, charming, which took place before our eyes. A terrible sight, beautiful, rocky, uneven and broken stones, rusty cars, workers, herds in search of a tuft of yellow grass.

us on the road to Essaouira We stopped to visit a women-only cooperative engaged in the production of argan oil . In practice these 'berries' (which must pass before being processed in the intestines of goats) is extracted an oil that has some extraordinary benefits for your skin. The cooperative employs many women, and is a good sign in a world where the "weaker sex", it is still .

Then we arrived in Essaouira, but that's another story. What I would like, in front of the video, is the taste of this country, Morocco, primitive but true. beautiful land of North Africa , that if I close my eyes I can still feel the sun beating down on my head, and the warmth that I pervades the whole body. The scents and colors, sandy roads, the voices of the people, the fumes that rise above Djema el 'Fna, the silent night, the stars and the moon over the Kotoubia.

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Pilgrimage to become Bonora

My faith has 'thirst' for moments like the one we experienced yesterday: the rosary began under the Rock of Montefiore Conca and then entered the Sanctuary of the Madonna di Bonora with Mass. There is no question of 'matrix', but 'truth' of what you perceive: and yesterday was a real moment, heard, participated. The beautiful songs to the memory of Rita, I do not know - still an extraordinary example - from the pilgrimage Mass at the Shrine. With C., slowly, expectant mothers.

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Men, Michael

How long since I read a book by Michael Chabon ? According to the list of books read in the last five years, I would say a century. Accompanying my wife in the library, here check among many other volumes. I am curious, turned the pages, the title would catch me. I just started reading it, but I can already say that it is beautiful. Chabon speaks of himself as a husband, father son, a man in a series of short stories or anecdotes or reflections related to specific episodes. The title is in Italian 'Men become' but in English, 'Manhood for amateurs' had something more: Literally 'Becoming men, manual for amateurs'. Bello.

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With these words of thine eyes

I've seen things you people Would not Believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion . I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All Those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain . Time to die.

I've seen things you people would not believe. War ships on fire off the Ramparts Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. It 's time to die.

Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) uttered these words just before he died, after battling with Deckart Rick (Harrison Ford), Blade Runner special police team, engaged in 'withdrawal' of the Nexus-6 replicants that colonies outside world, had returned to Earth. A push in this suicidal action was the desire to find answers to some questions that were put: Who are we? Where we come from? As we still have to live?

Surrogates Nexus-6 had indeed been built to work on the colonies outside world and were therefore have a special strength and endurance. Scientists speculated that, despite their surrogates, in a short time would have been able to develop emotions and feelings. They therefore engaged in them 'remember', to give concrete support to their 'conscience' that was not just waking up, but they form. physical superiority to man, to avoid 'complications', had been fitted with an end after 4 years after release, would be 'dead'. Their return to Earth is a desperate attempt to prolong their life, who have learned to love.

group Nexus-6, illegally returned to Earth after a ship attacked and massacred about thirty passengers, two die trying to climb an electrified net that protects the palace of the Tyrell Corporation, the place where were created. Deckart, unleashed surrogates on the trail of the four survivors, find and kill Zhora after a long chase in the crowd. Rachel, Tyrell's secretary, also a replicant, ("an experiment" reveals how the same Tyrell) kills Leon while those going to slaughter Deckart. There remain two

: Pris, who was killed by Deckart after a fight, and Roy Batty, the leader of the replicants. Batty kills all those who prevent him from getting to Tyrell. In front of its creator - that's called 'father' in a sort of parable of the prodigal son anything but redeemed - asks whether it is possible to go back, changing structure, and prolong their lives . When he realizes that there is hope, kills him. Back in the house where he found refuge Pris discovers that his girlfriend is dead. Here begins the hunt for Rick Deckart, which ends with the words mentioned in the beginning.

During combat Batty has the best . Deckart is about to fall on deaf ears but the surrogate, without explanation, saves him. It dies, dying, falling asleep, bowing his head without life in the rain. Why saved? Maybe because in that moment when he felt his life slipped from his hands - in the words of the voiceover (of Deckart) went in the film in theaters in 1982 - he loved life more than anything else. Not only his, to anyone. And then also to Deckart.

Ridley Scott's film (1982) short story by Philip K. Dick " Do android dream of electric sheep ?" brings in the gloom scenarios drawn from fantasy author, nell'innumerevole series of murders, however, a positive message. Regardless of whether we are Nexus-6 or human beings, the question of the meaning of life is present in all and is unquenchable. And time, which is given to us, short or long, should be used to the fullest. In his last breath, Batty Deckart to save his life, and I think it redeems. A final act of mercy and love, came to the end of the voyage, able to redeem his short, bitter, intense life.

PS. I suggest the director - my wife - a hypothesis really fascinating . And if Roy Batty, knew that even as Deckart was a replicant, leaves it in life to make him understand " how it feels to live in terror "? This, of course, it drops all the romance in the air above. No redemption. No act of piety. Rather, a full-scale revenge. Served cold. cold.

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Shoes

Today
'm nasty I do not deserve
I do not deserve.
the foot of the bed
digging up a strip of felt
thought spells
feared madness.
E 'useless to play the guitar if
August sky
has a pair of shoes
for me.

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