DEATH
the thought of death at times
When it arrives, and in a small provincial newspaper, the news of the death of someone that maybe I have
known long ago, I am always surprised to feel surprised in the face of death.
(I also think of the woman who talks to the dead, no, not the book, the one I met: because for her death is
a pause, a rest, between a death and a re-birth).
Anyway, I searched my blog archives. Finding these two things.
April 2006
On the street a cat, white and red.
Next to him, on the asphalt, a large stain of blood.
It would seem lying down, as cats do when they sleep, but the head is erect, it seems detached, not belonging to the body.
Gaze into the void, majestic.
It looks unreal, carved, of stone.
Wait up.
It rains just barely.
A little over a year ago in a small town on the border of two provinces it doesn't matter where a young woman died.
He was 39.
We journalists use to write “he was only 39 years old”.
She was killed by an incurable disease: in journalism it is customary to write like this.
For a piece of news like this, just a short one, or nothing.
It depends on the newspaper, on the editor-in-chief, on the other news: which, if there are any, they end up in the trash can.
And instead there was much talk of this woman.
A particular woman.
The day before he died he texted his friends.
Then he contacted the funeral home.
And he dictated the text of his manifesto listed in mourning and including his photo.
He dictated:
I announce my death to you.
Now
Death is a bad thought. Or maybe not. Thinking about it, at least sometimes, you realize that the weather is big
way, it can be divided into two categories: the lost one, and the not.
Remo Bassini
in http://www.remobassini.it/blog/?p=1016
DEATH
'A level
Every year, on November 2nd, there is the custom
for the dead go to the Cemetery.
Everyone ll'adda makes chesta crianza;
everyone adda kept chistu penziero.
Every year, punctually, on this day,
of this sad and sad occasion,
I go there too, and with some flowers adorned
the marble niche 'and zi' Vicenza.
This year it happened to me 'navventura ...
after having made the sad homage.
Madonna! yes I think, and what a fear !,
but a little 'made an anema and cure.
'Or fact is chisto, listen to me:
closing time approached:
I, tomo tomo, was about to leave
taking a look at some burials.
"Here the noble Marquis sleeps in peace
Lord of Rovigo and Belluno
bold hero of a thousand deeds
died May 11, 31 "
'O coat of arms cu' a curona 'ncoppa at all ...
... under 'a cross made' and light bulbs;
three clubs' and roses cu 'na list' and mourning:
cannele, cannelotte and six tealights.
Just right 'a grave' and stu sir
nce lay 'n' ata piccerella tomb
abandoned, without missing a flower;
pe 'sign, sulamente' na crucella.
And as soon as he took a cross,
"Esposito Gennaro - garbage man":
look at her, what she did to me
stu die without even nu lumino!
This is the life! 'ncapo me penzavo ...
who has had so much and who has nothing!
Stu poor Maronna expected
was he beggar even at the atu munno?
While I was fantasizing stu penziero,
it was already done almost midnight,
and he remains locked up in prison,
died 'and fear ... nnanze' and cannelotte.
All of a sudden, what veco 'far away?
Ddoje shadows approached 'apart from me ...
Penzaje: stu done to me mme seems strange ...
Stongo scetato ... I sleep, or is it fantasy?
Ate what a fantasy; it was' o Marquis:
c'o 'tubbo,' a candy and c'o 'overcoat;
chill'ato opened a bad tool;
all stinking and which they hide.
And who certainly is Don Gennaro ...
'omuorto puveriello ...' or scupatore.
'Int' a stu done i 'nun ce veco clear:
I am dead and if they withdraw at ch'ora?
Putevano is' 'to me quase' nu palm,
quanno 'o Marchese se fermje' and bang,
s'avota and tomo tomo .. calm calm,
he said to Don Gennaro: "Young man!
From you I would like to know, vile carrion,
with what daring and how you dared
to have you bury, to my shame,
next to me who am emblazoned!
The caste is chaste and must be respected
but You lost sense and measure;
your body was, yes, buried;
but buried in the garbage!
I cannot bear even further
your stinking closeness,
it is necessary, therefore, that you seek a ditch
among your peers, among your people "
"Mr. Marquis, it's not my fault,
i'nun made you chistu tuorto;
my wife has been in ffa 'this nonsense,
i 'che putevo fa' did I die?
If he were alive I would make you happy,
took 'a casciulella cu' and qquatt'osse
and just mo, obbj '...' nd'a stu mumento
mme transesse a n'ata pit ".
"And what are you waiting for, oh ugly ill-created,
that my anger reaches the surplus?
If I hadn't been a titled
I would have already given an edge to violence! "
"Let me see ..- take this violence ...
'To tell the truth, Marché, mme so' scucciato
'and you feel; and he lost himself in patience,
mme I forget about I die and I blow blows! ...
But who do you think you are ... nu ddio?
Ccà dinto, 'o vvuo bosses, ca simmo equal? ...
... Muorto si'tu e muorto so 'pur'io;
each comme a 'na'ato is such and such ".
"You filthy pig! ... How dare you
compare you to me who was born
illustrious, most noble and perfect,
to make Royal Princes envious? ".
"You here Christmas ... Pasca and Ppifania !!!
T'o vvuo 'put' ncapo ... 'int'a brains
that being sick is still fantasy? ...
'A morte' or ssaje ched''e? ... is a level.
'Nu rre,' nu maggistrato, 'nu grand'ommo,
trasenno stu canciello has made the point
has lost everything, 'for life and pure' or nomme:
tu nu t'hè still chistu cunto made?
Therefore, listen to me ... nun fa''o restivo,
suppuorme near-what do you carry?
Sti ppagliacciate 'and ffanno sulo' and lives:
nuje simmo serie ... we belonged to death! "
Tot ', Antonio De Curtis
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