tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51778496385069743442024-03-14T10:19:07.491-07:00I Poeti MaledettiDadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-33931255606672010032011-05-07T15:06:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:15:49.430-07:00I Poeti Maledetti: sempre un fascino<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Perché questo tema dei poeti maledetti? Perché rappresentano ancora oggi un vero fascino nella società attuale. Erano forse la miglior espressione del male di un secolo, delle angoscie umane, delle cose che non vanno bene in questo mondo... Hanno offerto una soluzione di poesia senza sotterfugi, onesta con la realtà dura della vita però hanno mostrato, provato, che c'é bellezza in tutte cose.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Allo stesso tempo, soffrivano per questa vita, non erano capaci di vivere con la speranza che riuscivano ad insufflare nelle loro poesie e che era, è ancora oggi e sempre sarà utile ai loro lettori.</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Maledetti... per aver tentato di guarire il mondo in mancanza di aver saputo guarirsi loro stesso.</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBkGis4Qev6E3Cc1YnyUeELDfmIdyRgQVxPkk4N4vJ2KgiKSga6f3XScw7Si3fK5thYUi63yx5b4Xxmr6NSZz-JST9-O9U1VNd4ZHrakQy47TqJVMHaTYJT7S-9GsZyRAIx-C_N8WPlCv/s1600/cursed+poets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBkGis4Qev6E3Cc1YnyUeELDfmIdyRgQVxPkk4N4vJ2KgiKSga6f3XScw7Si3fK5thYUi63yx5b4Xxmr6NSZz-JST9-O9U1VNd4ZHrakQy47TqJVMHaTYJT7S-9GsZyRAIx-C_N8WPlCv/s400/cursed+poets.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-2911611631138811482011-05-07T15:00:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:16:49.500-07:00Le radici<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> La prima imagine di un poeta incompreso e la nozione di maledizione si può trovare nell’opera <i>Stello</i> di Alfred de Vigny, un poeta francese, in cui dice “[…] du jour où il sut lire il fut Poète, et dès lors il appartint à la race toujours maudite par les puissances de la terre…” “[...] dal giorno in cui egli seppe leggere fu Poeta, e d’allora appartenne alla razza sempre maledetta dalle potenze della terra...”. Attraverso questo, De Vigny fa riferimento al talento e l’intelligenza di questo tipo di uomini (i poeti) che gli escludono dal resto del mondo.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> La prima definizione di questo termine viene semplicemente del nome di un libro di Paul Verlaine: « Les Poètes Maudits » che dà una spiegazione del poeta maledetto.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikl8JHCYuQ-DbkawCRwmvIPdBTs9LN2WJZI8Rd74du2xJA32PhTnC5MgDDWmrSsLPRh6dJEjxvcFnYc3l4-RRytUMDedq3_XEZn2nKD76CtnXE0D2eh1Fk8Ml1OFplBGzawUQKBHRYupp/s1600/poetes+maudits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikl8JHCYuQ-DbkawCRwmvIPdBTs9LN2WJZI8Rd74du2xJA32PhTnC5MgDDWmrSsLPRh6dJEjxvcFnYc3l4-RRytUMDedq3_XEZn2nKD76CtnXE0D2eh1Fk8Ml1OFplBGzawUQKBHRYupp/s400/poetes+maudits.jpg" width="277" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Infatti, nella sua opere, Verlaine definisce per la prima volta ciò che è un poeta maledetto: li considera come poeti assoluti, assoluti nella loro immaginazione, assoluti nella loro espressione, li paragona a i Rey-Netos (Re assoluti) di Spagna… Ma in un modo maledetto, perché il loro potere, il loro assolutismo, si trova nella loro intelligenza, sagezza che in questa epoca di solito non piaceva ai dirigenti e rimaneva incompreso dalla massa populare.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Verlaine cita una serie di poeti che lui considerava come poeti maledetti: Tristan Corbière, Arthur Rimbaud, Stéphane Mallarmé, Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, Villiers de l'Isle-Adam, Pauvre Lelian (Anagramma di Paul Verlaine).</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Dopo, altri poeti sono stati considerati come « maledetti » come : Charles Baudelaire, Edgar Allan Poe, John Keats, Gérard de Nerval...</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWN29g2vTrwfoE-CJwUbcC3k_OFZDAbNnfI5OyJND2WqCuqQcs-H2ZoPWSPUQ0_dCzu53OQPwr_iRXF9R8dheUrcnq9xmtFYiaj9gGdl1Eif_LOych5Eh_8UOPyJNv-9ooxo2HC-tAZjXf/s1600/vigny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWN29g2vTrwfoE-CJwUbcC3k_OFZDAbNnfI5OyJND2WqCuqQcs-H2ZoPWSPUQ0_dCzu53OQPwr_iRXF9R8dheUrcnq9xmtFYiaj9gGdl1Eif_LOych5Eh_8UOPyJNv-9ooxo2HC-tAZjXf/s400/vigny.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Alfred de Vigny</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvejuU4Cjq9iyp3EA3iDUS7XPjm8ySZZoM6u3VIH2WWhLDGc4WIDWljqki5qGlrGZJqAd4nsajJmIV6AoZ4S235bW4Eh0FLwoG3-JAH6J15bu5BSeiF9UM0qpEphOo7EkGja5BFLR8cTxB/s1600/stello.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvejuU4Cjq9iyp3EA3iDUS7XPjm8ySZZoM6u3VIH2WWhLDGc4WIDWljqki5qGlrGZJqAd4nsajJmIV6AoZ4S235bW4Eh0FLwoG3-JAH6J15bu5BSeiF9UM0qpEphOo7EkGja5BFLR8cTxB/s400/stello.bmp" width="246" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-76199578843436269712011-05-07T14:55:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:21:57.725-07:00Il decadentismo<div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I poeti maledetti fanno parte del decadentismo, quindi nelle loro opere appaiono i caratteristiche di questo movimento. Come nel decadentismo, i poeti maledetti osservano la decadenza di una società e la descrivono di maniera diretta senza sotterfugi, negano i valori morali correnti per concentrarsi soprattutto sull'estetismo, la natura e il suo estetismo naturale con una visione sincera sulla morte, la decadenza... I poeti maledetti sono qualificati di decadenti come gli altri artisti del decadentismo.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Anche se fanno parte di questo movimento di decadenza, i poeti maledetti sono visti come i decadenti assoluti perché portano gli eccessi all'estremo. Eccessi nella loro vita pero anche eccessi nella loro scrittura. Descrivono la decadenza della società, su realtà nera, dura, non sempre interessante e tentano di fare qualcosa di bello con questo, qualcosa di superiore al semplice aspetto primero. Fanno del Bello con il Brutto, o come Baudelaire lo diceva transformano il fango in oro...</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsc8aVhw-i-ikl7AjSqTvRumOJNsHuB1ynzeKC7txv2qfH0hean7quFWLh5J4jBUq1sFYrvSVAy50N5hspsjldnsqRzTbpe4sFXa7Csq9C4m7THewPXtt9JBsnFBD3KfZrw-EfexEldKF/s1600/poeta+maledetto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsc8aVhw-i-ikl7AjSqTvRumOJNsHuB1ynzeKC7txv2qfH0hean7quFWLh5J4jBUq1sFYrvSVAy50N5hspsjldnsqRzTbpe4sFXa7Csq9C4m7THewPXtt9JBsnFBD3KfZrw-EfexEldKF/s400/poeta+maledetto.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-76015354525374333122011-05-07T14:50:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:26:20.957-07:00Il poeta in sé<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Di manera più comune, l'immagine del poeta maledetto si può definire così: è un poeta con una vita fuori delle norme, spesso autodistruttrice, e spesso il poeta muore senza aver conosciuto una vera e propria gloria. Sono più riconcosciuti dopo la loro morte che durante la loro vita. Molto spesso hanno una vita di eccessi, con un uso abondante delle droghe.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Le droge più comuni assimilate ai poeti maledetti e che ancora oggi appartengono a tutta una cultura fantasticata erano l'oppio, il laudanum, e i suoi derivati. C'erano anche l'alcol, i liquori come l'assenzio che aveva la reputazione di essere un alcol che rendeva la gente pazza, e per molto tempo fu vietato in diversi paesi d'europa.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hv07wJ6ALeFbDMqgaoOPu0xKz0UZTXIsR5EbJ8wyIRCD1hyWXVhWE6SxXuMAVK3_BmE5qM2i5T3xPSJEn3QL2lAzQfO2VY2OVhBi20VT4nkT522HquD4UPWAQresAzP8z2LZ6fKa9Cev/s1600/opium1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hv07wJ6ALeFbDMqgaoOPu0xKz0UZTXIsR5EbJ8wyIRCD1hyWXVhWE6SxXuMAVK3_BmE5qM2i5T3xPSJEn3QL2lAzQfO2VY2OVhBi20VT4nkT522HquD4UPWAQresAzP8z2LZ6fKa9Cev/s400/opium1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oppio</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1Dofaq_zkVh0ih8HUfoKN_YtxmhLTWbWgzk9kT14hZ-2Q7T_se2nhUUVapCx_BH7YUuIlDEYhibRiEWLv4t1Zms5T2La6EJsx4O1sgwSs6Xpr4tJ4LwbBY2oYPtpeHuXSMfOMKDcsfBS/s1600/laudanum1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1Dofaq_zkVh0ih8HUfoKN_YtxmhLTWbWgzk9kT14hZ-2Q7T_se2nhUUVapCx_BH7YUuIlDEYhibRiEWLv4t1Zms5T2La6EJsx4O1sgwSs6Xpr4tJ4LwbBY2oYPtpeHuXSMfOMKDcsfBS/s320/laudanum1.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Laudanum</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUP2xdOaJsv5oNlWm0xzw30hsoakfKH4iKlWyj4leLxjIPy2FkX7zuhdxbIoTynjF1mMh4zy7uq02CSuC64DY5umZPz7SG0jZ12atch0_o7UsBJTBTGi4CpoBnJsl8Umj41W29Jxe3er9/s1600/assenzio1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUP2xdOaJsv5oNlWm0xzw30hsoakfKH4iKlWyj4leLxjIPy2FkX7zuhdxbIoTynjF1mMh4zy7uq02CSuC64DY5umZPz7SG0jZ12atch0_o7UsBJTBTGi4CpoBnJsl8Umj41W29Jxe3er9/s400/assenzio1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Assenzio</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Nella loro vita, molti poeti maledetti spesso conoscono una fine tragica, infatti la loro disillusione della vita si transformava spesso in una depressione.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Nella sua opera, il poeta maledetto descrive la società in cui vive, che è spesso una società urbana, piena di vizi, di difetti, abitudinaria e con questi elementi decadenti, comuni fanno della poesia, delle rime, delle cose belle, intriganti, e quindi questo contrasto era per molto scioccante. E questo spiega perché i poeti maledetti non erano apprezzati dalla gente e per la gran maggioranza le loro opere sono state riconosciute solamente dopo la loro morte.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLER6Me_3kXqIWZ8R9As-_VTl9qoZ8m_x5o2kiSwJFZ43D4k4w1UtXhMxE9tE2kpU595WJT8PEYXfp_2KDW_XVRyKJ7RwXouJR-2JCmMbWBvvsvesSKoidEXFtS3mhV1q3puNSYlYokS_-/s1600/poeti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLER6Me_3kXqIWZ8R9As-_VTl9qoZ8m_x5o2kiSwJFZ43D4k4w1UtXhMxE9tE2kpU595WJT8PEYXfp_2KDW_XVRyKJ7RwXouJR-2JCmMbWBvvsvesSKoidEXFtS3mhV1q3puNSYlYokS_-/s320/poeti.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-37977886429926965812011-05-07T14:45:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:39:04.841-07:00I poeti maledetti<div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Il fenomeno dei poeti maledetti ha cominciato in Francia, quindi i poeti francesi erano predominanti tra i poeti maledetti, hanno formato come un modello per altri poeti europei di questo periodo. Rappresentavano la maggior parte del gruppo dei Maledetti, pero rapidamente altri poeti europei hanno fatto parte di questo gruppo.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I poeti maledetti più famosi sono: Paul Verlaine, Tristan Corbière, Arthur Rimbaud, Stéphane Mallarmé, Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, Villiers de l'Isle-Adam, François Villon, Thomas Chatterlon, Aloysius Bertrand, Gérard de Nerval, Charles Baudelaire, Lautréamont, Petrus Borel, Charles Cros, Germain Nouveau, Léon Deubel, Emile Nelligan, Antonin Artaud, Jacques Prevel, Olivier Larronde, John Keats, Edgar Allan Poe.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTV9wcYKsZ0VEdUHSeHuBqizc5TZyH_X8TEkDYCrwc3C2D0tPZsAImWGnc2IZpWsxQO41l_u9eenfKvhRfWOGkn3EGlOdpNWFm2mEkb3uniSRW855aH_NXeNBuWXzcrMuYO5YB7HXJCPds/s1600/baudelaire200hy0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTV9wcYKsZ0VEdUHSeHuBqizc5TZyH_X8TEkDYCrwc3C2D0tPZsAImWGnc2IZpWsxQO41l_u9eenfKvhRfWOGkn3EGlOdpNWFm2mEkb3uniSRW855aH_NXeNBuWXzcrMuYO5YB7HXJCPds/s320/baudelaire200hy0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Charles Baudelaire</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnxWBjnbT1WFbGXXtd-sFOki8ZivHmHyeYbVBJISzeN_XK5JfD_zYui5xIDKTyofSMU46SR5Rnd16fOhkl8UukqFPVCSn3IyehXv_Wx_VqtEEiIR2TWNGivIGa3_d1BORFq7RAbi7QMUy/s1600/corbiere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnxWBjnbT1WFbGXXtd-sFOki8ZivHmHyeYbVBJISzeN_XK5JfD_zYui5xIDKTyofSMU46SR5Rnd16fOhkl8UukqFPVCSn3IyehXv_Wx_VqtEEiIR2TWNGivIGa3_d1BORFq7RAbi7QMUy/s1600/corbiere.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tristan Corbière</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikU233VD3zihyphenhyphenuGPtzQ6jgSiBarl9KHWMRVt1n0icGkglM3tqIfF3U1wBDIlyfwPDPaGV9a7ReFmL_DyTYQ5ORaIvMIomEdIGhLC1l6k-VOgd3BdA4DHEaGw2TBUPO819ZG05O8C5QWKAW/s1600/rimbArthur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikU233VD3zihyphenhyphenuGPtzQ6jgSiBarl9KHWMRVt1n0icGkglM3tqIfF3U1wBDIlyfwPDPaGV9a7ReFmL_DyTYQ5ORaIvMIomEdIGhLC1l6k-VOgd3BdA4DHEaGw2TBUPO819ZG05O8C5QWKAW/s1600/rimbArthur.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Arthur Rimbaud</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nkY4q8atQGzmc9XNLY-Sa0b6maEXoWjS9qqQvX-HVLRMrP-naD-Wqat2eLlrn-VxO6tq3n8T30dV6jHFm7GgqMhbxjHRuRlrxrsB2ZcI0K1TgO05t_EVuf-yubMcnQIYy_C4fYhbTg4R/s1600/stephane_mallarme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nkY4q8atQGzmc9XNLY-Sa0b6maEXoWjS9qqQvX-HVLRMrP-naD-Wqat2eLlrn-VxO6tq3n8T30dV6jHFm7GgqMhbxjHRuRlrxrsB2ZcI0K1TgO05t_EVuf-yubMcnQIYy_C4fYhbTg4R/s320/stephane_mallarme.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stéphane Mallarmé</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtq7oNW1wDzkkSIUHf7cv1uv1ojdugaIC13DPB-6gnjt90f5xWSM3uUwtGjXoXXR8wTECQF1phDVWk8EjPlkQS0ma2e01YBXpoZL4HHnTn7TPErc2WhjDZ8-IVtcYoYW40CD7opEFUnxFV/s1600/paul-verlaine.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtq7oNW1wDzkkSIUHf7cv1uv1ojdugaIC13DPB-6gnjt90f5xWSM3uUwtGjXoXXR8wTECQF1phDVWk8EjPlkQS0ma2e01YBXpoZL4HHnTn7TPErc2WhjDZ8-IVtcYoYW40CD7opEFUnxFV/s1600/paul-verlaine.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Paul Verlaine</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZD5v6PJ5Oa6nNAUct4bXoMII5N8CQEuPPRIsxGTbQXMBGOb_kx_K04guX4cN1WE0ZFBhGBdAOh5EHtwEAJKCxv5vJ1IgxpcU9RnZ0qrPOFTb1epgULKzbZu3uztmj75EENNbIgMVuj-CI/s1600/edgar-allan-poe_20080317_010312_intro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZD5v6PJ5Oa6nNAUct4bXoMII5N8CQEuPPRIsxGTbQXMBGOb_kx_K04guX4cN1WE0ZFBhGBdAOh5EHtwEAJKCxv5vJ1IgxpcU9RnZ0qrPOFTb1epgULKzbZu3uztmj75EENNbIgMVuj-CI/s320/edgar-allan-poe_20080317_010312_intro.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Edgar Allan Poe</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
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<div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i><b>In Italia</b></i></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> In Italia in particolare, il decadentismo si era propagato anche, e il fenomeno dei poeti maledetti ha influenzato la creazione di un movimento di « Maledettismo » con artisti che si ispiravano dai poeti francesi e che respingevano le regole e la morale comune per vivere nell'eccesso e la decadenza. Il gruppo più rappresentativo di questo fenomeno era la « Scapigliatura » con artisti originali, diversi, chiaramente fuori delle regole e alcuni dei suoi poeti erano considerati come poeti maledetti perché cercano di vivere lo stesso modo di vita che quello dei maledetti famosi come Baudelaire.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZ39eJfOBlkPAGVU7M2gxvGluliExEZYraORKX94CRC0K1dq0tUdZKyb1b4ymIRgtk1EdZSFb7f1aaOA1yz-cDrEaQ4pnJBKOlkAygtrSQrTJmkuGk3XyWbT0uOPWU2nJKGw5tYLUGsu2/s1600/scapigliati.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZ39eJfOBlkPAGVU7M2gxvGluliExEZYraORKX94CRC0K1dq0tUdZKyb1b4ymIRgtk1EdZSFb7f1aaOA1yz-cDrEaQ4pnJBKOlkAygtrSQrTJmkuGk3XyWbT0uOPWU2nJKGw5tYLUGsu2/s400/scapigliati.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I Scapigliati</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Tra i scapigliati considerati come poeti maledetti, possiamo citare: Emilio Praga, Vittorio Imbriani, Giovanni Camerana, Iginio Ugo Tarchetti, Carlo Dossi ed Arrigo Boito.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEnbfSfCDZco6BYtCDAliR71XTVkspFm70hTJqIax43I3uviri-m2eB05-lrrjkaZWVHGX0IzzLwDZLXkIfBTBHJOgjk0b0ncw9qVOP4sZewnkRmkETVzyRK3xbJQVd0RvXhRuqCWm6a7/s1600/praga.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEnbfSfCDZco6BYtCDAliR71XTVkspFm70hTJqIax43I3uviri-m2eB05-lrrjkaZWVHGX0IzzLwDZLXkIfBTBHJOgjk0b0ncw9qVOP4sZewnkRmkETVzyRK3xbJQVd0RvXhRuqCWm6a7/s320/praga.gif" width="270" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Emilio Praga</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqB7R7mAwTX9IC0bDkke_bUmFbtApi38nNMoOfAB4r_AtShoyHpzhVt5YG3lpP-YyX2FPubO79xbMIbG2T_GdouypY-hBQ99Mvbjol_cE1CHUl9-NvekAK1DfoUz5kLOIKRNL4vQrrGvhg/s1600/imbriani.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqB7R7mAwTX9IC0bDkke_bUmFbtApi38nNMoOfAB4r_AtShoyHpzhVt5YG3lpP-YyX2FPubO79xbMIbG2T_GdouypY-hBQ99Mvbjol_cE1CHUl9-NvekAK1DfoUz5kLOIKRNL4vQrrGvhg/s1600/imbriani.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Vittorio Imbriani</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibR1NK0I8rVR03AKUClHdl5KJukErIWtz5Fm1wP10Bt2FaTtXmcA0XT_hNRTc5ysfST4AS4w1Yo_Whr4xGoK_MHu720q5ch1udWiQfVrAXHE3x6pQ3kNGmx9_VqNbW9pdYcE0YAQqGWD_g/s1600/giovanni+camerana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibR1NK0I8rVR03AKUClHdl5KJukErIWtz5Fm1wP10Bt2FaTtXmcA0XT_hNRTc5ysfST4AS4w1Yo_Whr4xGoK_MHu720q5ch1udWiQfVrAXHE3x6pQ3kNGmx9_VqNbW9pdYcE0YAQqGWD_g/s1600/giovanni+camerana.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Giovanni Camerana</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbswyl4OlPiJCfdGLGKYuei19prKfVfCJXSFNZxNtGGLT5k9f9Kl3UVzuQu1aN4LwFBqxkxpTaKgyYbInxD7hz-uuPtBty6fxy1zwQsqNh_2IfnLmqt1isBtkDzYJVyOF_xUI8f_s5jiK/s1600/Tarchetti%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbswyl4OlPiJCfdGLGKYuei19prKfVfCJXSFNZxNtGGLT5k9f9Kl3UVzuQu1aN4LwFBqxkxpTaKgyYbInxD7hz-uuPtBty6fxy1zwQsqNh_2IfnLmqt1isBtkDzYJVyOF_xUI8f_s5jiK/s1600/Tarchetti%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Iginio Ugo Tarchetti</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWe0TcIkX8lnttjPUJuYW8ldqmvT-cAL2dW0esrobt8_QQT1faZzC9hOF62dDSv73nbwAg0nxcFY410fasGUIoZoGR_R4zq1rub4roHk4V1Tt6OtU_RVy-WSUUIoMt1GNHGz-6-j2ct8Rd/s1600/carlo+dossi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWe0TcIkX8lnttjPUJuYW8ldqmvT-cAL2dW0esrobt8_QQT1faZzC9hOF62dDSv73nbwAg0nxcFY410fasGUIoZoGR_R4zq1rub4roHk4V1Tt6OtU_RVy-WSUUIoMt1GNHGz-6-j2ct8Rd/s1600/carlo+dossi.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Carlo Dossi</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7nW7ZpU7Rys9Q6bt8uvkv5gQAwGpsoDANvZ5CYnlvDpSTWYeTGj1vopmQU3BOyBFT_kbwxOGPIpbjaMI9HDBju-uTwKNCgOR6zYKehuoSsuA00y1rtwn92IhUAvea-tlVEJk6yyuIs1v/s1600/boito.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7nW7ZpU7Rys9Q6bt8uvkv5gQAwGpsoDANvZ5CYnlvDpSTWYeTGj1vopmQU3BOyBFT_kbwxOGPIpbjaMI9HDBju-uTwKNCgOR6zYKehuoSsuA00y1rtwn92IhUAvea-tlVEJk6yyuIs1v/s1600/boito.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Arrido Boito</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div></div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-51844512606097066732011-05-07T14:40:00.000-07:002011-05-08T13:14:50.165-07:00Grandi figure<div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i><b>Charles Baudelaire: maestro tra i maestri</b></i></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4CGgOTxw1V7OnPc7QW0kbYoSELTIxownqgjH47oP_fJbNwqEk5IRgEiLSIJj99jAYQ74E0FVk3xEC2thji8wMadqNeYfP3fI-nY2tqY2hvlsKFgYWR02fD-pMBT0WjzSSo8jm_eSeK0X/s1600/baudelaire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4CGgOTxw1V7OnPc7QW0kbYoSELTIxownqgjH47oP_fJbNwqEk5IRgEiLSIJj99jAYQ74E0FVk3xEC2thji8wMadqNeYfP3fI-nY2tqY2hvlsKFgYWR02fD-pMBT0WjzSSo8jm_eSeK0X/s400/baudelaire.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Charles Baudelaire</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Charles Baudelaire è considerato come il maestro dei maestri tra i poeti maledetti. Era il più moderno, originale ed inventivo anche se era allo stesso tempo forse il più maledetto dei maledetti. Era un poeta francese, è nato a Parigi nel 1821, ed è morto a Parigi nel 1867. Il suo lavoro maggiore fu « Les Fleurs du Mal » « I Fiori del Male », un libro de poesie. La sua opera fu riconosciuta solamente dopo la sua morte, durante il ventesimo secolo, infatti nell' epoca di Baudelaire, la sua opera era vietata e le critiche non erano buone.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXUNm1qB4A78nhh8X-waTqZoEr533OGVmxccb8CDHI7BEWdupV3c7MFt-DneWqWF-5t3zzKbbuLN9Oc7dyeAGIrhF6RTBozAfORjGILvdt6D_WaVoiiCVehHOGMxYFvOKBQsnDuPLayYQ/s1600/fleurs+du+mal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXUNm1qB4A78nhh8X-waTqZoEr533OGVmxccb8CDHI7BEWdupV3c7MFt-DneWqWF-5t3zzKbbuLN9Oc7dyeAGIrhF6RTBozAfORjGILvdt6D_WaVoiiCVehHOGMxYFvOKBQsnDuPLayYQ/s400/fleurs+du+mal.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunhmKklR3rVgsV1rZcqgJ6CuPSDYrVt322E5YcP0I6VElfmaQ1rlVh01ow5nu1SY45v2okvxsf8hxzcoCvV8MWawMFJfmqV3GLXf9LonfohQEfQRN3cHf97F2g1Dp8O9DmeYOR4mTDiH5/s1600/fuori.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunhmKklR3rVgsV1rZcqgJ6CuPSDYrVt322E5YcP0I6VElfmaQ1rlVh01ow5nu1SY45v2okvxsf8hxzcoCvV8MWawMFJfmqV3GLXf9LonfohQEfQRN3cHf97F2g1Dp8O9DmeYOR4mTDiH5/s400/fuori.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In addizione con le sue poesie, Baudelaire era un fervente ammiratore di Edgar Allan Poe (un altro Poeta maledetto) ed era il primo traduttore dello scrittore e poeta americano in Francia.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyT3Dgkm_2nxaXEFcsbZFNJU-yjC42lkd9h6m23VidLKnrThM5bp3SUM6P_juHsOY8jpUINPkwaLbw4ERTOsGL-sRAOogLEd1oXBlpXlio3RpP43nvMvMCpEsriOkHc5oyzHsXIDHH9yW/s1600/edgar-allan-poe_20080317_010312_intro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyT3Dgkm_2nxaXEFcsbZFNJU-yjC42lkd9h6m23VidLKnrThM5bp3SUM6P_juHsOY8jpUINPkwaLbw4ERTOsGL-sRAOogLEd1oXBlpXlio3RpP43nvMvMCpEsriOkHc5oyzHsXIDHH9yW/s400/edgar-allan-poe_20080317_010312_intro.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Edgar Allan Poe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Nella sua opera, Baudelaire cercava di esprimere il suo spleen, la sua malinconia della vita e della sua decadenza, e cercava anche di esprimere un nuovo estetismo nella poesia. Considerava che era troppo facile fare una bella poesia con bei elementi, con belle cose e quindi cercava di estrarre la bellezza dall'orrore.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Una citazione di Baudelaire sul suo lavoro era : « J'ai pétri de la boue et j'en ai fait de l'or » « Ho impastato del fango e ne ho fatto dell'oro ».</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ecco le sue due opere poetiche principali:</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXUNm1qB4A78nhh8X-waTqZoEr533OGVmxccb8CDHI7BEWdupV3c7MFt-DneWqWF-5t3zzKbbuLN9Oc7dyeAGIrhF6RTBozAfORjGILvdt6D_WaVoiiCVehHOGMxYFvOKBQsnDuPLayYQ/s1600/fleurs+du+mal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXUNm1qB4A78nhh8X-waTqZoEr533OGVmxccb8CDHI7BEWdupV3c7MFt-DneWqWF-5t3zzKbbuLN9Oc7dyeAGIrhF6RTBozAfORjGILvdt6D_WaVoiiCVehHOGMxYFvOKBQsnDuPLayYQ/s400/fleurs+du+mal.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaVeSpgsTFoTO2aypgc91zDY7rhwaxW_HG-Z1i5hXt45njhOmMoP1wUBsduQ92FuxPWXjYHruRFysZAOuw-mUZ42zB_C6P8Xxcd6zZcxRpDgvShbYBpF_NAlQPh6T_9tfsoRcz16XycxT/s1600/le+spleen+de+paris.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaVeSpgsTFoTO2aypgc91zDY7rhwaxW_HG-Z1i5hXt45njhOmMoP1wUBsduQ92FuxPWXjYHruRFysZAOuw-mUZ42zB_C6P8Xxcd6zZcxRpDgvShbYBpF_NAlQPh6T_9tfsoRcz16XycxT/s400/le+spleen+de+paris.bmp" width="236" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i><b>Emilio Praga: dignitoso allievo del Maledettismo</b></i></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7M8OrVp7qlpmGVzNWNnSj7zY8XgCQUJ1G8E-bpAmPEAvpM09a7CHvIc8p_5RuLoBElf4zxIFLRszJNinIT9L0gy_NmgfE_hsMkP7N-8UatzsExMyfKvos5NBLfCGXTfcan00uuzHz2T0/s1600/praga.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7M8OrVp7qlpmGVzNWNnSj7zY8XgCQUJ1G8E-bpAmPEAvpM09a7CHvIc8p_5RuLoBElf4zxIFLRszJNinIT9L0gy_NmgfE_hsMkP7N-8UatzsExMyfKvos5NBLfCGXTfcan00uuzHz2T0/s400/praga.gif" width="337" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Emilio Praga</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span> </div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">È </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">un poeta italiano nato a Gorla nel 1839 e morto a Milano nel 1875. Faceva parte del movimento della Scapigliatura e tra i scapigliati era quello che viveva più autenticamente il modello del maledettismo incarnato da Baudelaire. Ha conosciuto una vita di eccessi ed una fine tragica come nella « tradizione » dei maledetti. Nella sua opera si puo osservare anche gli elementi del maledettismo con riferimenti agli eccessi come il peccato ed i vizi in generale (come la dissolutezza sessuale, le orgie, l'alcol, le droge), la degradazione della vita... Questa provocazione scandalizzava il pubblico.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ecco le sue opere poetiche:</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4UqK5Jlx1AuwKsdQb_BtLvIJLCBvlsuC2V188-uLGApeyD8o4Wlbuuf8aZa_OfhsOnDTBS8TCK3q13-sC3X0hkyDwpbOsaGvyvrfxHzCktWHO2tFyM1DxccGXmS6hVprdV9GwamQsLX0/s1600/tavolozza+praga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4UqK5Jlx1AuwKsdQb_BtLvIJLCBvlsuC2V188-uLGApeyD8o4Wlbuuf8aZa_OfhsOnDTBS8TCK3q13-sC3X0hkyDwpbOsaGvyvrfxHzCktWHO2tFyM1DxccGXmS6hVprdV9GwamQsLX0/s400/tavolozza+praga.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfgPmg0HxLU5xWos30mInXkUtwSWvyc7eD6NMiqySY2Cx_96BfSJe1gzvADMj4a4n_Jp_xEh3prsW4-9AaUNpdfM-8yI4DVGv5fXmgoFAGT9h4_S4rUomuQetLv-C29InXoeOgbjhGLbL/s1600/penombre+praga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfgPmg0HxLU5xWos30mInXkUtwSWvyc7eD6NMiqySY2Cx_96BfSJe1gzvADMj4a4n_Jp_xEh3prsW4-9AaUNpdfM-8yI4DVGv5fXmgoFAGT9h4_S4rUomuQetLv-C29InXoeOgbjhGLbL/s400/penombre+praga.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCAy4lwjfeD_chyphenhyphenMTG14yn9OCnAnSrlsxcSYpsP-Ush7f5TP1zKtJL6l69dm69HZ29WouWdpMq1L4llyYzG6VS68abNStn-5AEkASuSilV7raAlIKUGktD6SVyQO8wT7KtF1DO0FHZMtP/s1600/fiabe+e+leggende+praga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCAy4lwjfeD_chyphenhyphenMTG14yn9OCnAnSrlsxcSYpsP-Ush7f5TP1zKtJL6l69dm69HZ29WouWdpMq1L4llyYzG6VS68abNStn-5AEkASuSilV7raAlIKUGktD6SVyQO8wT7KtF1DO0FHZMtP/s400/fiabe+e+leggende+praga.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9tSnfq7hKwD-Li1v6zSUxj8e1PSydaI7DTajg9m3SpNkdlLCEZQBwFZKjsaGdfE8QL3n0_34BfW0fgzsJqAoCR2usdnRZHKq65kLunLCEyVaPB60b2mtapsZLiquujBflA7GRsFx8Wfi/s1600/trasparenze+praga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9tSnfq7hKwD-Li1v6zSUxj8e1PSydaI7DTajg9m3SpNkdlLCEZQBwFZKjsaGdfE8QL3n0_34BfW0fgzsJqAoCR2usdnRZHKq65kLunLCEyVaPB60b2mtapsZLiquujBflA7GRsFx8Wfi/s400/trasparenze+praga.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"></div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-87474759361238467072011-05-07T14:35:00.000-07:002011-05-07T18:01:33.380-07:00XXIX - Une Charogne<div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkJwEch_0B_uEOsjMLtWv1Tw3aSbozUGNYTLjK5u4HmMY46pkforLnvF5YMibBdpTmofFJYCOikx6ZxOzNqjlJI_u6Kv1RwipT_i_CdrsTa0kBq8NldHle8hdLwIoJ_hd1vO4Cb6ni_rN/s1600/charogne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkJwEch_0B_uEOsjMLtWv1Tw3aSbozUGNYTLjK5u4HmMY46pkforLnvF5YMibBdpTmofFJYCOikx6ZxOzNqjlJI_u6Kv1RwipT_i_CdrsTa0kBq8NldHle8hdLwIoJ_hd1vO4Cb6ni_rN/s400/charogne.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>XXIX - Une Charogne</b></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Rappelez-vous l'objet que nous vîmes, mon âme,<br />
Ce beau matin d'été si doux:<br />
Au détour d'un sentier une charogne infâme<br />
Sur un lit semé de cailloux,</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Les jambes en l'air, comme une femme lubrique,<br />
Brûlante et suant les poisons,<br />
Ouvrait d'une façon nonchalante et cynique<br />
Son ventre plein d'exhalaisons.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Le soleil rayonnait sur cette pourriture,<br />
Comme afin de la cuire à point,<br />
Et de rendre au centuple à la grande Nature<br />
Tout ce qu'ensemble elle avait joint;</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Et le ciel regardait la carcasse superbe<br />
Comme une fleur s'épanouir.<br />
La puanteur était si forte, que sur l'herbe<br />
Vous crûtes vous évanouir.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Les mouches bourdonnaient sur ce ventre putride,<br />
D'où sortaient de noirs bataillons<br />
De larves, qui coulaient comme un épais liquide<br />
Le long de ces vivants haillons.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Tout cela descendait, montait comme une vague<br />
Ou s'élançait en pétillant<br />
On eût dit que le corps, enflé d'un souffle vague,<br />
Vivait en se multipliant.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Et ce monde rendait une étrange musique,<br />
Comme l'eau courante et le vent,<br />
Ou le grain qu'un vanneur d'un mouvement rythmique<br />
Agite et tourne dans son van.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Les formes s'effaçaient et n'étaient plus qu'un rêve,<br />
Une ébauche lente à venir<br />
Sur la toile oubliée, et que l'artiste achève<br />
Seulement par le souvenir.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Derrière les rochers une chienne inquiète<br />
Nous regardait d'un oeil fâché, <br />
Epiant le moment de reprendre au squelette<br />
Le morceau qu'elle avait lâché.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>- Et pourtant vous serez semblable à cette ordure,<br />
A cette horrible infection, <br />
Etoile de mes yeux, soleil de ma nature,<br />
Vous, mon ange et ma passion!</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Oui! telle vous serez, ô la reine des grâces,<br />
Apres les derniers sacrements,<br />
Quand vous irez, sous l'herbe et les floraisons grasses,<br />
Moisir parmi les ossements.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Alors, ô ma beauté! dites à la vermine<br />
Qui vous mangera de baisers,<br />
Que j'ai gardé la forme et l'essence divine<br />
De mes amours décomposés!</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="margin-left: 1.25cm; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Les Fleurs du Mal – Charles Baudelaire)</span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XXIX - Una Carogna</strong></span></span></em></div><em><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></em><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Ricordi, anima mia, quel che vedemmo</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>un bel mattino dolce d'estate</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>dietro quel sentiero? una carogna infame,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>su un letto sparso di sassi:</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>zampe all'aria, come una laida donna,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>ardente e trasudante veleni,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>spalancava il ventre indifferente e cinico</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>tra tante esalazioni.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Batteva il sole su quel putridume</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>come per cuocerlo a puntino,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e ridare così centuplicato alla Natura</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>quel che lei aveva messo insieme.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>E il cielo guardava quella gran carcassa</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>che si dilatava come un fiore.</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Che fetore immondo! Temevi</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>di svenire là sull'erba.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Come ronzavano le mosche su quel putrido ventre!</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e come sbucavano a battaglioni</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>nere larve! colavano come denso liquido</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>lungo quei brandelli vivi.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Scendevano e salivano come un’onda,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>o brulicando s’avventavano;</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>sembrava che quel corpo, gonfiato da un respiro vago,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>si moltiplicasse in tante vite.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Di lì sorgeva una strana musica</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>come l’acqua corrente e il vento,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>o il grano che agita e rigira ritmicamente</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>nel suo ventilabro chi lo vaglia.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Le forme si cancellavano riducendosi a puro sogno:<br />
schizzo, lento a compiersi,<br />
sulla tela (dimenticata) che l’artista<br />
condurrà a termine a memoria.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Dietro le rocce una inquieta cagna</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>ci guardava con irato occhio,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>spiando il momento di riprendere allo scheletro</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>i brandelli che erano rimasti.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>-E tu? Anche tu un giorno sarai quel letamaio,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>quella peste orrenda,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>stella dei miei occhi, sole della mia natura,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>tu, mio angelo e mia passione!</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Sì, anche tu sarai così, regina delle grazie,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>dopo gli estremi sacramenti,</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>quando sotto l’erba e le piante grasse</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>ammuffirai tra le ossa.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>E allora, mia bellezza, di’ pure ai vermi,</em></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>che ti mangeranno di baci,</em></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>che ho conservato la forma e la divina essenza</em></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>dei miei amori decomposti!</em></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">(I Fiori del Male - Charles Baudelaire)</span></span></span></span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> In questa poesia, Baudelaire parla del suo amore per una donna e le fa una dichiarazione d'amore però in un modo originale, usando l'orrore della carogna per esprimere un amore assoluto.</span></span></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Descrivi la realtà della carogna, dice alla donna amata che sarà come questa carogna quando morirà. È orribile pero è la realtà, la verità. Baudelaire afferma che anche quando sarà cosi, lui la amerà, per quanto i vermi la mangeranno non potranno prendere l'amore che lui le porta. </span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> È il perfetto esempio della voluntà di Baudelaire di creare un bel messaggio, della poesia, con qualcosa di brutto, vero, duro, orribile « del fango ». E la carogna rappresenta anche la perfetta immagine di una decadenza, con la degradazione fisica del corpo.</span></span></div></div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-79188559159639692632011-05-07T14:30:00.000-07:002011-05-07T18:07:06.055-07:0037.Vendetta Postuma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDv7kqN2hi1CCW0zXf4PKXN__ZZHxjW0YmLiLRed6MVWC2RQhZjPM9sM7c5NQWshgiG821O4DFPLYF1y2tXXn19jBfkIviJcK6DYByyJObHwwwMQ6MkbgtV01eg5kHObz7IbVcphQhQIFi/s1600/photo-mort-4-femme-cercueil1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDv7kqN2hi1CCW0zXf4PKXN__ZZHxjW0YmLiLRed6MVWC2RQhZjPM9sM7c5NQWshgiG821O4DFPLYF1y2tXXn19jBfkIviJcK6DYByyJObHwwwMQ6MkbgtV01eg5kHObz7IbVcphQhQIFi/s400/photo-mort-4-femme-cercueil1.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><div lang="fr-FR"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>37. Vendetta Postuma</strong></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quando sarai nel freddo monumento<br />
immobile e stecchita,<br />
se ti resta nel cranio un sentimento<br />
di questa vita,<br />
ripenserai l'alcova e il letticciuolo<br />
dei nostri lunghi amori,<br />
quand'io portava al tuo dolce lenzuolo<br />
carezze e fiori.<br />
Ripenserai la fiammella turchina<br />
che ci brillava accanto;<br />
e quella fiala che alla tua bocchina<br />
piaceva tanto!<br />
Ripenserai la tua foga omicida,<br />
e gli immensi abbandoni;<br />
ripenserai le forsennate grida,<br />
e le canzoni;<br />
Ripenserai le lagrime delire,<br />
e i giuramenti a Dio,<br />
o bugiarda, di vivere e morire<br />
pel genio mio!<br />
E allora sentirai l'onda dei vermi<br />
salir nel tenebrore,<br />
e colla gioia di affamati infermi<br />
morderti il cuore.</em></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">(Penombre - Emilio Praga)</span></div><div lang="fr-FR"><br />
</div><div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> In questa poesia, Praga usa anche i vermi e l'immagine della morte, quindi una decadenza, per rivolgersi alla donna amata. Le dice che quando lei sarà morte, ripenserà al loro amore, però qui possiamo sentire come un rimprovero alla fine, e come l'indica il titolo, una vendetta... Quando la insulta, « Bugiarda », si può sentire attraverso il rimprovero come un rimpianto, un dolore. È come se si rivolgesse a una « ex » morta che lui amava e la rimpiange.</span></span></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Anche se le due poesie hanno diverse significazione, tutte due parlano dell'amore con l'uso della morte, dell'orrore, dei vermi, per portare questo sentimento d'amore e cio che gli autori vogliono esprimere all'estremo, nell'assolutismo, e allo stesso tempo, ancorare questo amore nella realtà del mondo, una realtà materiale, fisica.</span></span></div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-67501286607264310102011-05-07T14:25:00.000-07:002011-05-07T18:21:32.884-07:00LXXVIII - Spleen<div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1qo6sXkvNkHC279Brssg5rJRvOr7Cs4qZeLF_ZySEA5-GINlb7mbayuduG85P9CKU-dbNZdncMT9QxEI5OoXeGhgLOhX2Hqd9ikg1LlJKqUiAsFABsrTSZ1-T8mbzVLCJWlKje0mgscH/s1600/ciel+bas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1qo6sXkvNkHC279Brssg5rJRvOr7Cs4qZeLF_ZySEA5-GINlb7mbayuduG85P9CKU-dbNZdncMT9QxEI5OoXeGhgLOhX2Hqd9ikg1LlJKqUiAsFABsrTSZ1-T8mbzVLCJWlKje0mgscH/s400/ciel+bas.jpg" width="372" /></a></div><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>LXXVIII - Spleen</strong></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quand le ciel bas et lourd pèse comme un couvercle<br />
Sur l'esprit gémissant en proie aux longs ennuis,<br />
Et que de l'horizon embrassant tout le cercle<br />
II nous verse un jour noir plus triste que les nuits;</em></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quand la terre est changée en un cachot humide,<br />
Où l'Espérance, comme une chauve-souris,<br />
S'en va battant les murs de son aile timide<br />
Et se cognant la tête à des plafonds pourris;</em></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quand la pluie étalant ses immenses traînées<br />
D'une vaste prison imite les barreaux,<br />
Et qu'un peuple muet d'infâmes araignées<br />
Vient tendre ses filets au fond de nos cerveaux,</em></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Des cloches tout à coup sautent avec furie<br />
Et lancent vers le ciel un affreux hurlement,<br />
Ainsi que des esprits errants et sans patrie<br />
Qui se mettent à geindre opiniâtrement.</em></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>- Et de longs corbillards, sans tambours ni musique,<br />
Défilent lentement dans mon âme; l'Espoir,<br />
Vaincu, pleure, et l'Angoisse atroce, despotique,<br />
Sur mon crâne incliné plante son drapeau noir.</em></span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Les Fleurs du Mal - Charles Baudelaire)</span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>LXXVIII - Spleen</strong></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quando, come un coperchio, il cielo pesa greve <br />
Sull'anima gemente in preda a lunghi affanni, <br />
E in un unico cerchio stringendo l'orizzonte <br />
Riversa un giorno nero più triste dell notti; <br />
<br />
Quando la terra cambia in un'umida cella, <br />
Entro cui la Speranza va, come un pipistrello, <br />
Sbattendo la sua timida ala contro i muri <br />
E picchiando la testa sul fradicio soffitto; <br />
<br />
Quando la pioggia stende le sue immense strisce <br />
Imitando le sbarre di una vasta prigione, <br />
E, muto e ripugnante, un popolo di ragni <br />
Tende le proprie reti dentro i nostri cervelli; <br />
<br />
Delle campane a un tratto esplodono con furia <br />
Lanciando verso il cielo un urlo spaventoso, <br />
Che fa pensare a spiriti erranti e senza patria <br />
Che si mettano a gemere in maniera ostinata. <br />
<br />
- E lunghi funerali, senza tamburi o musica, <br />
Sfilano lentamente nell' anima; la Speranza, <br />
Vinta, piange, e l'Angoscia, dispotica ed atroce, <br />
Infilza sul mio cranio la sua bandiera nera.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">(I Fiori del Male - Charles Baudelaire)</span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5cm; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Qui Baudelaire dà la perfetta spiegazione dello « Spleen », questo sentimento di malinconia, questo male di vivere che era talmente caratteristico dei poeti maledetti. Questa poesia permette capire il fenomeno, la loro visione disperata con cui tentavano di fare qualcosa di bello. Alla fine della poesia, possiamo sentire anche la nozione di maledettismo che pesa sulla loro vita, sul loro cuore, sulla loro anima.</span></span></div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-27311220649253870642011-05-07T14:20:00.000-07:002011-05-07T18:41:52.557-07:00Armonie della sera<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazlpw2mwxCedDVkEDehoAbLjcYWW6geankeLe7KH2CnO34wRny1WFQuYgaSUFzqH1McmvGTt3-gwldH4IgDPDFjjBQAYMtb8djWmgxBaTp4ZeVrwYqbUhG8cWfvyXOnXShRQ_t9LSrwIB/s1600/86378_A_Dark_Starry_Night_Wallpaper_by_s3vendays.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazlpw2mwxCedDVkEDehoAbLjcYWW6geankeLe7KH2CnO34wRny1WFQuYgaSUFzqH1McmvGTt3-gwldH4IgDPDFjjBQAYMtb8djWmgxBaTp4ZeVrwYqbUhG8cWfvyXOnXShRQ_t9LSrwIB/s400/86378_A_Dark_Starry_Night_Wallpaper_by_s3vendays.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Armonie della Sera</strong></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>La notte piombava dai campi celesti,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e gli uomini onesti - russavano già.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Il cielo era un buio germoglio di stelle;</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>s'empìa di fiammelle - la negra città.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Le serve ridevano di sotto alle porte;</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>furtiva la Morte - salìa l'ospital.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Curvavansi in chiesa devoti e capoccie</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>sull'ultime goccie - dell'acqua lustral.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Cantavan nell'ampie caserme i tamburi.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Nei vicoli oscuri, - coll'ansia nel cor,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>i giovani imberbi battevan le traccie</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>di pallide faccie, - di squallidi amor.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>L'astronomo, insetto dell'atomo errante,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>giungeva anelante - sull'ermo manier;</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e i bracchi annebbiavano, davanti ai camini,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>gli sguardi indovini - di un sonno legger.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Il giuoco accendevasi nei turpi ridotti;</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e maghi e sedotti,- con strana virtù,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>già ungean nella bile dell'anima immota</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>la rapida ruota - del meno e del più.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Le madri, frattanto, cadean ginocchioni,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e in lunghe orazioni - chiedevan pietà...</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>La notte piombava dai campi celesti,</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e gli uomini onesti - russavano già.</em></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Penombre - Emilio Praga)</span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> La importanza della notte, della luna o del crepuscolo è un tema ricorrente per i poeti maledetti. Di notte, le cose sono più realistiche, vere come se la notte, che già provoca angoscie e paure nel cuore degli uomini, rivelasse questi uomini e loro segreti alla luce del sole, ironicamente più che il giorno ne è capace.</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Baudelaire anche aveva parlato di questo aspetto, insistendo sul crepuscolo nella sua poesia in prosa: « Le Crépuscule du Soir » « Il Crepuscolo della Sera » (Les Fleurs du Mal).</span></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdLYn7WCi5WjroAZrWW-VooxjoZngQi3ZfgfobWcbKb0R9RzQjdJHa1Osr1kG_VDWMos9AyjtLYLsoexteu3DfaK1TABmURhE6y9RDligkRvtR49RbiCUrk1Ksu4TnTfKfGvqBYPFe_Ip/s1600/paris-crepuscule-soleil-panorama03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdLYn7WCi5WjroAZrWW-VooxjoZngQi3ZfgfobWcbKb0R9RzQjdJHa1Osr1kG_VDWMos9AyjtLYLsoexteu3DfaK1TABmURhE6y9RDligkRvtR49RbiCUrk1Ksu4TnTfKfGvqBYPFe_Ip/s400/paris-crepuscule-soleil-panorama03.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Le crépuscule du soir</b></span></div><div align="justify" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; padding-bottom: 0cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Voici le soir charmant, ami du criminel ;<br />
Il vient comme un complice, à pas de loup ; le ciel<br />
Se ferme lentement comme une grande alcôve,<br />
Et l'homme impatient se change en bête fauve.<br />
<br />
Ô soir, aimable soir, désiré par celui<br />
Dont les bras, sans mentir, peuvent dire : Aujourd'hui<br />
Nous avons travaillé ! - C'est le soir qui soulage<br />
Les esprits que dévore une douleur sauvage,<br />
Le savant obstiné dont le front s'alourdit,<br />
Et l'ouvrier courbé qui regagne son lit.<br />
Cependant des démons malsains dans l'atmosphère<br />
S'éveillent lourdement, comme des gens d'affaire,<br />
Et cognent en volant les volets et l'auvent.<br />
A travers les lueurs que tourmente le vent<br />
La Prostitution s'allume dans les rues ;<br />
Comme une fourmilière elle ouvre ses issues ;<br />
Partout elle se fraye un occulte chemin,<br />
Ainsi que l'ennemi qui tente un coup de main ;<br />
Elle remue au sein de la cité de fange<br />
Comme un ver qui dérobe à l'homme ce qu'il mange.<br />
On entend çà et là les cuisines siffler,<br />
Les théâtres glapir, les orchestres ronfler ;<br />
Les tables d'hôte, dont le jeu fait les délices,<br />
S'emplissent de catins et d'escrocs, leurs complices,<br />
Et les voleurs, qui n'ont ni trêve ni merci,<br />
Vont bientôt commencer leur travail, eux aussi,<br />
Et forcer doucement les portes et les caisses<br />
Pour vivre quelques jours et vêtir leurs maîtresses.<br />
<br />
Recueille-toi, mon âme, en ce grave moment,<br />
Et ferme ton oreille à ce rugissement.<br />
C'est l'heure où les douleurs des malades s'aigrissent !<br />
La sombre Nuit les prend à la gorge ; ils finisssent<br />
Leur destinée et vont vers le gouffre commun ;<br />
L'hôpital se remplit de leurs soupirs. - Plus d'un<br />
Ne viendra plus chercher la soupe parfumée,<br />
Au coin du feu, le soir, auprès d'une âme aimée.<br />
<br />
Encore la plupart n'ont-ils jamais connu<br />
La douceur du foyer et n'ont jamais vécu !</em></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; padding-bottom: 0cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; padding-bottom: 0cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Les Fleurs du Mal - Charles Baudelaire)</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://dissociata.wordpress.com/2007/02/26/il-crepuscolo-della-sera/"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><strong>Il Crepuscolo Della Sera</strong></span></span></a><br />
<br />
</div><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Ecco la sera incantevole, amica al criminale;<br />
arriva come un complice, a passi di lupo; il cielo<br />
si chiude lentamente come una grande alcova,<br />
e l’uomo irrequieto si tramuta in bestia feroce.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>O sera, amabile sera, desiderio per l’uomo<br />
le cui braccia, senza mentire, possono dire: Oggi<br />
abbiamo lavorato! – E’ la sera che allevia<br />
gli spiriti che divora un dolore selvaggio,<br />
il sapiente ostinato a cui pesa la fronte,<br />
e il curvo operaio che spegne la sua luce.</em></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Frattanto, insani dèmoni nell’aria<br />
si svegliano pesantemente, come uomini d’affari,<br />
e contro imposte e tettoie volando danno di cozzo.<br />
Nel chiarore dei lumi che il vento tormenta<br />
la Prostituzione si accende lungo le strade;<br />
come un formicaio lei apre le sue uscite;<br />
si muove nel seno della città di fango<br />
come un verme che deruba l’Uomo di quello che mangia.<br />
si sentono qua e là le cucine sibilare,<br />
i teatri guaire e le orchestre ronfare;<br />
i ristoranti anonimi, dei quali il gioco fa la delizia,<br />
si riempiono di puttane e scrocconi, loro complici,<br />
e ladri che non hanno né tregua né riposo<br />
si preparano anch’essi al loro lavoro,<br />
porte e casseforti forzare dolcemente<br />
per vivere un po’ di giorni e vestire l’amante.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em><span style="color: black;"><br />
<span style="color: black;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Raccogliti, anima mia, in questo momento profondo,<br />
e chiudi l’orecchio a un tale ruggito.<br />
E’ l’ora che ai malati i dolori s’inaspriscono!<br />
La buia Notte li prende alla gola; loro finiscono<br />
il proprio destino e vanno verso il gorgo comune;<br />
l’ospedale si riempie dei loro sospiri. Più d’uno<br />
non verrà più a cercare la zuppa profumata<br />
accanto al fuoco, la sera, vicino a un’anima amata.</span></em></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>E quanti di loro non hanno mai conosciuto </em></span><br />
<div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding-bottom: 0cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>la dolcezza di una casa, non hanno mai vissuto!</em></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding-bottom: 0cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding-bottom: 0cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(I Fiori del Male - Charles Baudelaire)</span></div></span>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5177849638506974344.post-28419120304741048822011-05-07T14:15:00.000-07:002011-05-07T18:45:53.337-07:00Tutti in Maschera<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsB97pmJ6vSbMHBbw2zxTpZ-5tADEzptw761UbqVI9RP7Hb-azMMLpb8rqwA5z16vFPraPX6AVv28LPdg-zijX2vwHeonon9XCvMsVq0uOGT-GNcPQG-ywqLeUIyZz-ZD_HGpG9kr4Ymz0/s1600/maschera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsB97pmJ6vSbMHBbw2zxTpZ-5tADEzptw761UbqVI9RP7Hb-azMMLpb8rqwA5z16vFPraPX6AVv28LPdg-zijX2vwHeonon9XCvMsVq0uOGT-GNcPQG-ywqLeUIyZz-ZD_HGpG9kr4Ymz0/s400/maschera.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Tutti in Maschera</strong></span></span></div><div lang="fr-FR" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Uom, tu che nasci in maschera,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>e mascherato muori,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>osi insultar, se incognito</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>è anch'esso il Dio, che adori?</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Vorresti tu conoscerlo</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>ed affisarlo ignudo,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>come una compra femmina,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>o il conio di uno scudo?</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Ma tu, da culla a feretro</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>lasci un sol dì il mantello?</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Ardisci mostrar l'indole</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>del cuore e del cervello?</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Dio che a ragione, o tanghero,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>di te più furbo è assai,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>t'acqueta, la sua maschera</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>non lascerà giammai.</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>E tu in ginocchio pregalo</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>che ci lasci la nostra,</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>perché sarebbe orribile</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>l'anima messa in mostra!</em></span></span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Tavolozza - Emilio Praga)</span></div><div align="left" lang="fr-FR" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="fr-FR"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> Praga fa come un rimprovero a</span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">ll' essere umano, mettendolo di fronte alla sua condizione di essere bugiardo che recita una sorta di ruolo, quello della sua vita. Non vogliamo vedere la realtà e quindi preferiamo vivere con maschere, perché è più facile così che ammettere i nostri errori, affrontare gli orrori del mondo. Però allo stesso tempo, Praga affronta la religione e Dio, affermando che anche in questo campo, ci sono maschere che tentano di nascondere la verità. Questa azione di rimettere la religione tradizionale in questione è anche un tema tipico dei poeti maledetti che tentano di mostrare che la decandenza si trova anche in questi aspetti della società. La provocazione serve per far reagire i lettori e accettare la loro realtà.</span></span></span></span></span></div>Dadouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195229347607090800noreply@blogger.com1