Join me for a quick look at Mother’s Day in Garbatella, where I attended the weekend market, tried to play soccer, experience a bit of nostalgia, and give my tips on where to stay (and why) while visiting Rome.
I have a newfound respect for vloggers…actually, for anyone who films and edits anything. Yes, indeedy, I do. Windows Movie Maker and YouTube Video Manager have occupied my soul for the past 72 hours. Although filming is fun, to be frank, it takes a whole lot of balls to pick up a camera, head outside and record yourself. 😉
Below is a playlist of videos on Garbatella, a neighbourhood that was developed just before the rise of Fascism and was later taken over by the Fascists who relocated people (many communists) they evicted from the historic center.
I welcome you to watch, and hope you will like them. Feel free to offer suggestions. Places you’d like to see, subjects you’d like discussed, etc.
Thank You So Very Much For Being There Even When I am Not Here!
It’s a wakeful morning, a bit too early. Yet still, it is not early enough for me to justify returning to sleep. I turn my mind to thoughts of my plans for the day, which inevitably leads me to broader thoughts about my plans for my life–I won’t get into that here though. It is about one of my thoughts, a simple plan really, upon which I would like to reflect today.
I’ve spent a great deal of time roaming the streets of Rome. From the very start, what appealed to me the most, beyond the monuments, was that I understood little of what was being said by those around me. I wanted to be lost in a crowd of people, with whom I did not have to share my thoughts and to whom I did not need to react.
Parlerò di te
Parlerò di te
che mi riconosci il passo
sui mattoni di cotto,
di te che rubi sulla mia pelle
pensieri rappresi, sospesi tra due cieli;
di te, dei tuoi spenti desideri
ormai chiusi in arcani pensieri.
Di te che ho voglia di dire
e di sentire curiosità sopite,
di te che mi sfuggi
come un sabato che se ne va.
Parlami, perché io varchi la tua soglia
sotto l’ibisco che accende lanterne rosa
tra giardini a mare.
Stringi tra le tue dita
di cristallo d’arte
queste mani che ti dicono
quale luogo profondo
hanno scavato tra le mie carni.
E tutto si perde
nella sofferenza dell’attesa,
nelle parole pronunciate e spente
a fil di labbra,
nella palude delle idee
dove ritrovare se stessi
è come avere un poker tra le mani.
Without knowledge of the meaning of all the words, I understood the poem. When I write “understood,” what I mean is that the poem connected with some core part of myself that allowed me to grasp its meaning. Whether reading it in silence or aloud, the poem (for me, at least) elicits a profound experience.
Ho letto il tuo urlo senza voce
e m’è caduto il cuore.
Mi dici che i morti in riposo,
sospesi tra due cieli bruciano
sullo scoglio vestito di sole.
Non saprò più immaginare
sulla cenere di ciò che fu.
Siamo inermi nel delirio
di chi non sa amare
ciò che l’alba del tempo
ha inciso per l’uomo.
Mario Tornello was a painter, a poet, and a writer. He was born on October 21, 1927 in Palermo and died on February 2, 2010 in Rome. He was all that I hope one day to truly label myself to be. At present, I am a bit of a lavori in corso (“work in progress)… but then again, aren’t we all.
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