What is it a resurrection?

It’s springtime but the wood seems still sleeping
And the sun light can’t reach the soil
It’s Easter but the souls are still freezing
It’s not enough all that we’ve learned

We are waiting for a morning light
To wake up the consciousness inside

Saturday they say everything is going to die 
Sunday and the morning suddenly appears so bright 
What is it a resurrection? 
Our overturn the actions 

There is no peace for us if we believe the time 
Only steals power without giving us a smile 
We forget our being human 
Today we remember it once 

It’s everyday a fight against myself
And most times I will lose
And it is not a shame to admit I
Have not yet found my way

I am waiting for a morning light
To wake up the consciousness inside

Saturday they say everything is going to die 
Sunday and the morning suddenly appears so bright 
What is it a resurrection? 
Our overturn the actions 

There is no peace for us if we believe the time
Only steals power without giving us a smile 
We forget our being human 
Today we remember it once

Easter seems flawless

Nobody knows me
I've ever known this
Sometimes I've hoped to be wrong with that
But then I've learned it was a dream.. it's sad oh oh

I wrote a story
But it's so boring
I'm not that one to change to be loved
By others who remain strangers at last oh oh

It is all that I have found 
We all are atoms of sound 
That try with the voice to explain 
Who they are without any blame 

And so I feel I’m allowed 
To cry when there is a bound 
That I can’t climb if I don’t 
Admit that I’m totally wrong 

Easter seems flawless
Springtime is over
But this year I feel inside I am not
As pure as I have ever really thought

It is all that I have found 
We all are atoms of sound 
That try with the voice to explain 
Who they are without any blame 

And so I feel I’m allowed 
To cry when there is a bound 
That I can’t climb if I don’t 
Admit that I’m totally wrong

Venerdì santo

Sento i pensieri avvicendarsi
come vetri neri che s’infrangono
percepisco il rumore aguzzo
penetrarmi subdolo negli occhi:
le lacrime di vita non vissuta
con cui dipingo di colori tenui
l’acquerello di un venerdì santo.

(La pioggia non sa colorare il buio
e i miei respiri si fanno ombre
alla ricerca di un calore nuovo)

Prima notte di primavera

Come è triste la mia vita
coperte fredde pensieri afosi
squarci di cielo intravisti
notti immense e microscopiche.

Sogni di vetrate sull’oceano
e lenzuola bianche al vento
sono ormai mitologie stanche
in attesa d’antropopoiesi.

Interstizi

Mi sono accorto che il tempo
è in realtà soltanto luce
disincarnata e sospesa
al di là delle colline ad est.

Ricopro i miei occhi di stracci
trapuntati di lettere nere
e nell’assenza di ogni senso
scopro interstizi d’eternità.

Stralci di metafisica

Ultimo giorno di lezione
la mente diviene liquida
apre i cancelli dell'anima
e sa innalzare ponti
da Israele alla Grecia
dall'Africa fino all'India
 rendendo i confini soltanto
stralci di pura metafisica.

Religious atheism

I’ve told you many times
That the rain is tears of God
You’ve answered you can’t find
That kind of love

So let me know why
You can stay here alone
Standing up all the times
The things go wrong

People talk to me, and I don’t really hear 
As I walk far, from my oldest fears 
And I don’t really know whether 
Well I will fall or not on pavement oh 

I can call this, religious atheism 
While God’s not in, the religious things 
Because He is just everywhere 
The sky is sacred as the land oh 

How do you feel inside
Under the immensity
Of the pure winter sky?
No, you cannot lie

To walk now is to climb
Roads are faces of stone
Fox can destroy the bind
That keeps strong the wall *

People talk to me, and I don’t really hear 
As I walk far, from my oldest fears 
And I don’t really know whether 
Well I will fall or not on pavement oh 

I can call this, religious atheism 
Though God’s not in, the religious things 
Because He is just everywhere 
The sky is sacred as the land oh 

* Nehemiah 4:3 Tobiah the Ammonite, who was at his side, said, "What they are building--even a fox climbing up on it would break down their wall of stones!" 
 * Neemia 4:3 Ora Tobia l’ammonita era al suo fianco, e diceva: “Anche ciò che edificano, se una volpe salisse [contro di esso], certamente demolirebbe il loro muro di pietre”.
Nella foto: particolare della Badia di Frassinoro (Mo)

Sacred waters

Sacred waters
I still have your power in my veins
On the days when the sleeping was good
And my thoughts are not heavy as the
Days before

Sacred waters
I still have your power in my eyes
On the days when I am not so blind
And among shadows I can recognize
The magic

Sacred waters
I still have your power in my voice
On the days when I can sing alone
And the poetry comes out with no strain
From my mouth

Sacred waters
I still have your power in my hands
On the days when I can really create
A reality built on my faith
With a prayer

Sacred waters
I still have your power in my head
On the days when I can fill it of
Purity and whispers from the gods
And that’s all

Now Sophia

Stasera San Giovanni in Monte, sotto questa pioggia battente e senza tregua, mi fa pensare agli antichi monasteri medievali che qui a Bologna, un po’ come in tutta Europa, hanno formato una cultura secolare e straordinaria. Dopo le cinque, le lezioni, qui, nel cuore del dipartimento universitario di storia culture e civiltà, sono ormai poche e tra le aule attorno al chiostro centrale del piano terra si diffonde un certo silenzio. Sento le parole disperdersi negli spazi antichi, tra i colonnati e le ampie scale che salgono al piano superiore. Intravedo, oltre i vetri delle porte, i ragazzi prendere appunti, intenti ad ascoltare racconti provenienti da ogni parte del globo e a fissarli sui propri taccuini, esattamente come i monaci di tanti secoli fa. Tutto è cambiato eppure nulla cambia davvero in certi luoghi. Al primo piano, la biblioteca è un intrico di scaffali, tra i quali in silenzio i ragazzi cercano di comprendere cosa potrebbe diventare il loro futuro. In questi ambienti dagli alti soffitti a volte, la luce non è mai troppo forte, né troppo debole. Io osservo la mia immagine riflessa su una gigantesca pozzanghera, proprio accanto alla porta di uscita. Sono orgoglioso di essere qui, mi sento parte di una cultura millenaria; ma mi sento anche fuori posto, come se, in fondo, tutto ciò fosse inutile. Tramandare la conoscenza e cercare di conoscere quante più visioni del mondo possibili, rende un uomo migliore? Eppure mi ferisce il qualunquismo di chi parla senza sapere. E solo la conoscenza è in grado di difendere la dignità dell’essere umano. Quando smetterò di venire qui, mi ricorderò di questa serata. Una perla di luce in un mare nero. Mentre tutto intorno la pioggia annega questa città millenaria. “Now Sophia, I'm wounded by dust”. 

Bologna, 8 marzo 2015 

La parti in inglese sono tratte da “Sophia” di Laura Marling

Winter without

Winter is going away so softly
And sometimes it seems already springtime
Violets appear near the last snow
Every time I scent them I think of you
Walking along the woods and the fields
It’s still the closer thing to me to eternity

A winter without the cold 
A winter that found me alone 
My hands again in the druidry 
It’s where I was born and I will be 

The rain is the only song 
That teaches to pray and to love 
So I learn my notes just hearing to 
The falling of the drops on the wood 

Clouds and sun in this part of the year
They stop once to compete, they become friends
In the wood I connect with myself
The realest part of me and with the land
Sacred stones have the opportunity
To show the human beings their power

A winter without the cold 
A winter that found me alone 
My hands again in the druidry 
It’s where I was born and I will be 

The rain is the only song 
That teaches to pray and to love 
So I learn my notes just hearing to 
The falling of the drops on the wood