Fabrizio Ulivieri's Blog, page 42

Introducing Claudia - being forgotten

 

-      Father died a day like today. Do you rememberthe year? Maybe 2017? It was February, I remember. Oh, I remember well. It washis birthday. The 10th. It was snowing...do you remember? Do you remember hesaid it was snowing too when he was born? Isn't that strange? He died the sameday he was born and it was snowing like when he was born... Many years havegone by... What will be of us Silvia?

 

Silvia seemed not to hear her.

 

-      Silvia, do you hear me?

-      Why look back? - She replied.

-      Why? There is no why. Or…maybe there is. It iswarm today. It’s his birthday…that’s why…many things…that apparently havenothing in common…but they have. I know that they have. They are asking for aform, they ask to be shaped and come to light…like memories…

-      It’s nonsense, Claudia.

-      What?

-      What you say has no sense, Claudia.

 

Claudia had never been enamoured of intensity and greatnessand rash in life. She had lived in fear. All her life. She had lived a normallife in fear. A diminished life as she liked to think.

She was forty-eight now. She had lost much of her life on plans at once narrowand promiscuous.

She had kept a stabile ground, though: philosophy. She had that interest keptenclosed, as a hard habit, which maintained her in a state of concern that hadsalvaged her many times from a life without quality.

Wasn’t she interested in knowing how many other Silvias had been before her?

Wasn’t she interested in understanding that She, Silvia, could be a combinedexistence of all those other Silvias?

In consistency she ought to have done, Silvia ought to have thought about thatquestion.

I'm tired of all this snow, she thought.

She felt radiant and that snow outside, beyond the window,was a hazard for her soul.

She sensed she wastemporary, she felt true she was soon going to die and remembered in one flashall the dead people she remembered, and she believed she had forgotten, but shedidn't.

 

Her father was deeply engravedin her memory. She had memories of when she talked to him over the phone. Itwas during the pandemic of 2020, she tried to recall, when she was locked downin her apartment. What terrible memories!

How come that theentire world was locked down?

 

The father’s support duringthose days, three months, had been a great solace for her.

I’m beginning to forgethis face.

Even so, she tried hardto remember his face.

People won’t remember meeither. I’ll be forgotten! She thought again indismay.

 

Had the being forgottenthe same consistency of hereditary sin? Once you are born it weighs on you,this evil that you can never escape.

She enjoyed, that washer thinking, the well-meant honour of being forgotten as the entire human raceenjoyed it, as a present everybody receives from the very moment you are born. Atevery moment, the individual is both himself and the being-forgotten.

Oh philosophy! Oh, solaceof our souls!

All that is mortal willbe absorbed by life.

We are pilgrims on thisearth, we are not of this earth, for this reason we will be forgotten by thisearth.

Introducing Claudia

 

- Father died a day like today. Do you remember the year? Maybe 2017? It was February, I remember. Oh, I remember well. It was his birthday. The 10th. It was snowing...do you remember? Do you remember he said it was snowing too when he was born? Isn't that strange? He died the same day he was born and it was snowing like when he was born... Many years have gone by... What will be of us Silvia?

Silvia seemed not to hear her.

- Silvia, do you hear me?
- Why look back? - She replied.
- Why? There is no why. Or…maybe there is. It is warm today. It’s his birthday…that’s why…many things…that apparently have nothing in common…but they have. They are asking for a form, they ask to be shaped and come to light…like memories…

- It’s nonsense, Claudia.
- What?
- What you say has no sense, Claudia.

Claudia had never been enamoured of intensity and greatness and rash in life. She had lived in fear. All her life. She had lived a normal life in fear. A diminished life as she liked to think.She was forty-eight now. She had lost much of her life on plans at once narrow and promiscuous.She had kept a stabile ground, though: philosophy. She had that interest kept enclosed, as a hard habit, which maintained her in a state of concern that had salvaged her many times from a life without a quality.How many me were born before me? That was the philosophical question that had been withholding her far from a lack of a certain spiritual life ill-matched with the meanness of her otherwise unqualified life.

Creatures

 

His countenance likes me notSuch a deal of manIs a true God's creature?

King Lear is a madman whose mad energy imbues his daughters with his madness and deforms his kingdom

King Lear is a victim of himself, of his insanity.
When he asks himself "Who is it that can tell me who I am?" the fool adequately responds: "Lear's shadow".
The moment he gave up his King's role for a suppos'd quieter life he denied his identity and became the shadow of himself. A king is a king forever, if you try to deny it you deny your person. Every person who denies his identity becomes a shadow of himself.
Of course, Goneril is cruel, disloyal, and scheming...but her contempt towards her father is unavoidably born from the violent proximity to an act of a madman who commits the madness of denying his own identity by his asking her to flatter him with a prìonunciation of her love for him which is contrary to her nature.This is an act of folly which is transmitted from the father to her daughter (proximity).Like Macbeth who has his Folly generated by his proximity to the death he witnessed and took part in during the battle against the Norwegians.And his wickedness, as well, is brought to light from the proximity and propinquity to the witches who put an immaterial woodworm in his heart and soul.And this folly entered, by proximity and propinquity, from the immaterial into the material world where everyone has rapidly become a shadow of him-/her-self.
--------------------
"Blasts and fogs upon thee!  Th' untented woundings of a father's curse  Pierce every sense about thee!—"
These are the words of Lear to his daughter Goneril. Words of a curse: energy of the immaterial which is intentioned into the material by proximity and intentionality.
--------------------
Goneril with a letter will convey her hatred for his father to his sister, she will convey her malicious and hateful intention through a letter. That same hatred that Lear himself unblocked from the beginning will be the daemon that will keep the play alive and finds in Goneril its multiplier center.
  Gon.  How now, Oswald!  What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
  Osw.  Ay, madam.
  Gon.  Take you some company, and away to horse:  Inform her full of my particular fear;  And thereto add such reasons of your own  As may compact it more.

Demoni

Nei suoi occhi per un attimo

sei arrivata inannunciata

imprevista ti ho conosciuta.

Un attimo - tutto è passato.

Ma eri tu, tu hai parlato

I tuoi occhi ho guardato

poi tutto è scivolato

chi ti portava passava

il suo demone, inseguiva.

Daemon suus unicuique

Nei suoi occhi per un attimo

sei arrivata inannunciata

imprevista ti ho conosciuta.

Un attimo - tutto è passato.

Ma eri tu, tu hai parlato

I tuoi occhi ho guardato

poi tutto è scivolato

chi ti portava passava

il suo demone, inseguiva.

Aktuelle Überlegungen - Beim Lesen von „La Gerusalemme Liberata“ von Torquato Tasso

Während ich „La Gerusalemme Liberata“ von Torquato Tasso lese, wird mir klar, dass sein Gedicht durchaus ein Vorbild für unsere Zeit ist.

In diesen Zeiten, in denen es scheint, dass der Antichrist bereits angekommen ist, in Zeiten des Krieges, Zeiten, die wahrscheinlich im Dritten Geheimnis von Fatima vorhergesagt werden, müssen wir erneut ein Modell des wahren Christentums vorschlagen, bei dem Gott im Mittelpunkt steht.

Mittelpunkt, der hoch oben am Himmel [ne la parte più del ciel sincera] liegt und nicht mit dem saeculum des Menschen vermischt ist

"[...]da l’alto soglio il Padre eterno,

ch’è ne la parte più del ciel sincera,

e quanto è da le stelle al basso inferno,

tanto è più in su de la stellata spera,

gli occhi in giù volse, e in un sol punto e in una

vista mirò ciò ch’in sé il mondo aduna"

Die große Lektion des Theaters für einen Schriftsteller

 

Was mich an den Theaterkomödien von Pirandello, Ibsen, Strindberg und Shakespeare überrascht, ist die Möglichkeit, die menschliche Seele eingehend zu erforschen und es auf nur wenigen Seiten zu erlangen, eine tiefgreifende menschliche Tragödie darzustellen, die direkt in die Essenz des Lebens eindringt.

Lost in essence

 

Do any of you here know me?—This is not who I believe
Do I walk thus? Do I speak thus? Do I look and think - thus?What is what am I?
My notion weakens, my discerning mars away 
Paralyzed methinks my essence.—Ha! 
Who is it that can tell me who am truly I?

La donna che amo

 

la tua forma invisibil oro cinge

e mortal come procedi

di umane membra appari, 

umana ti fingi, ma di celeste vita

 tra angelo e femmina composta vivi

e di raggi, il biondo crine, confini.