Pasquale Napolitano, Fragments of fire , AljonEditrice, 2008.
"The book refers to a single book: that of our reading. Having read it, we will not share anything, but we kept everything for granted everything we or without compensation. According to the example of God's overwhelming
“Come leggere una pagina già bruciata in un libro che brucia, se non facendo appello alla memoria del fuoco”, diceva un saggio.
E aggiungeva: la traccia lasciata da un libro, forse, è soltanto un persistente odore di istanti bruciati . Il tempo necessario a un mucchietto di cenere, per finire di consumarsi, varia secondo la sua durata.
Diceva ancora: La fiamma si ricorda solo della fiamma. Così il patto col libro non è che il patto segnato dal fuoco. Il nome muore per primo.”
Nella prova di vivere profondamente la vita di questa raccolta di poesia di Pasquale Napolitano, Frammenti del fuoco, edito da Aljon Editrice, queste parole iniziali di Edmond Jabès rappresentano certo, nella loro dark need to occur not so much to make himself understood, but how to be heard fully in us, we begin a good exercise for the share. Then
Napolitano's book welcomes us into his world of paper and signs in his life that shines through the journey of the eye.
and every moment of the book is there on the page, but unknown that awaits visitors always welcome in order to live the way that the soul feeds.
is a wonderful book because it reflects a life and a path.
is a book that feeds the spirit and the word is always loaded with a mystery, never obscure, but revealing of the here and now, the same and always different, knowing that if you look with your heart the world can not do himself ... We read:
That
Tibetan lama, or, perhaps, Monaco or guru Trappist
hymalaiano,
gave no answers, but
said
"Brothers are part of the game. Among the many
I embarked on a door to keep alive the path
of accepting things as they are. "
“Come leggere una pagina già bruciata in un libro che brucia, se non facendo appello alla memoria del fuoco”, diceva un saggio.
E aggiungeva: la traccia lasciata da un libro, forse, è soltanto un persistente odore di istanti bruciati . Il tempo necessario a un mucchietto di cenere, per finire di consumarsi, varia secondo la sua durata.
Diceva ancora: La fiamma si ricorda solo della fiamma. Così il patto col libro non è che il patto segnato dal fuoco. Il nome muore per primo.”
Nella prova di vivere profondamente la vita di questa raccolta di poesia di Pasquale Napolitano, Frammenti del fuoco, edito da Aljon Editrice, queste parole iniziali di Edmond Jabès rappresentano certo, nella loro dark need to occur not so much to make himself understood, but how to be heard fully in us, we begin a good exercise for the share. Then
Napolitano's book welcomes us into his world of paper and signs in his life that shines through the journey of the eye.
and every moment of the book is there on the page, but unknown that awaits visitors always welcome in order to live the way that the soul feeds.
is a wonderful book because it reflects a life and a path.
is a book that feeds the spirit and the word is always loaded with a mystery, never obscure, but revealing of the here and now, the same and always different, knowing that if you look with your heart the world can not do himself ... We read:
That
Tibetan lama, or, perhaps, Monaco or guru Trappist
hymalaiano,
gave no answers, but
said
"Brothers are part of the game. Among the many
I embarked on a door to keep alive the path
of accepting things as they are. "
As I do not try to say what I want, but what happens to me. And I am infinitely in what happens to me because I'm here and now: the past no longer exists today is consumed in the spelling of the breath of the moment, tomorrow does not exist yet.
Each poem Napolitano is something more private moments when we deliver. As in this poem page. 23:
You go looking for a
tune with the changing season,
with the marks left by others, with the vast
ways of looking at life:
a lantern hanging on the branches a pear, a wheelbarrow
adapted to flower, a vegetable garden
striped staff.
The latest joust a windmill
ears and our daughter Paola says:
"I want Daddy
catch the wind."
Of course, my sweet.
From here Confucius say:
"E ' need to know the point where you stop, the point at which to arrive. Knowing you have the peace of mind. Having the peace of mind, you get it peaceful. Achieve peace, we can make decisions. Being able to make decisions, you can do. "
is an air of peace in this book of poetry. A peace
searched everywhere eyes do not look distracted.
Measured with the sense and flavor of things.
Never run. Even
hold. No forcing
in accepting.
But just breathed in the shadow of a great moral stature.
And then the encounter with the poetry. Well, a lesson of life and harmony in the singing of the page. But it is always
the flower of the soul to open. It brings confidence, certainty, wisdom.
A P.. 39 we read, write
the poems that I wanted to read. From Pablo
poems that I wanted to live. Only experienced
write.
writing. Reading. Life. A great poet Neruda.
"Readability - Jabès still seems - has its limits. Only in our eyes, we can rely on our intelligence, for groped to understand what the script contains, and only through the unbearable limits of a word read can approach infinity of a word to read. So that is always a word against impossible that bump, and to which we sacrifice our own. "
And what is the word impossible, as if not one that departs from a pure silence, listening to a breeze that brings out the vibrations, the rhythms, the wrists of things?
Napolitano writes that his experience that is never ordinary.
The clamor of the world does not stifle his inner voice. He sees with his eyes and his heart. Able to grasp the aura of the dying people and places. He learned to live knowing that this lesson would be useless if not appesantisse his soul. With still
Confucius say:
"I know that the rule can not be explained. Men elevated beyond it, the undeserving are unable to understand it. It is not it not true that all people can eat and drink, but only few can understand what it taste? "
There is a poem I really love these fragments in the fire and the one page. 24. Reads:
tune with the changing season,
with the marks left by others, with the vast
ways of looking at life:
a lantern hanging on the branches a pear, a wheelbarrow
adapted to flower, a vegetable garden
striped staff.
The latest joust a windmill
ears and our daughter Paola says:
"I want Daddy
catch the wind."
Of course, my sweet.
From here Confucius say:
"E ' need to know the point where you stop, the point at which to arrive. Knowing you have the peace of mind. Having the peace of mind, you get it peaceful. Achieve peace, we can make decisions. Being able to make decisions, you can do. "
is an air of peace in this book of poetry. A peace
searched everywhere eyes do not look distracted.
Measured with the sense and flavor of things.
Never run. Even
hold. No forcing
in accepting.
But just breathed in the shadow of a great moral stature.
And then the encounter with the poetry. Well, a lesson of life and harmony in the singing of the page. But it is always
the flower of the soul to open. It brings confidence, certainty, wisdom.
A P.. 39 we read, write
the poems that I wanted to read. From Pablo
poems that I wanted to live. Only experienced
write.
writing. Reading. Life. A great poet Neruda.
"Readability - Jabès still seems - has its limits. Only in our eyes, we can rely on our intelligence, for groped to understand what the script contains, and only through the unbearable limits of a word read can approach infinity of a word to read. So that is always a word against impossible that bump, and to which we sacrifice our own. "
And what is the word impossible, as if not one that departs from a pure silence, listening to a breeze that brings out the vibrations, the rhythms, the wrists of things?
Napolitano writes that his experience that is never ordinary.
The clamor of the world does not stifle his inner voice. He sees with his eyes and his heart. Able to grasp the aura of the dying people and places. He learned to live knowing that this lesson would be useless if not appesantisse his soul. With still
Confucius say:
"I know that the rule can not be explained. Men elevated beyond it, the undeserving are unable to understand it. It is not it not true that all people can eat and drink, but only few can understand what it taste? "
There is a poem I really love these fragments in the fire and the one page. 24. Reads:
Are not these verses of tomorrow, those
still sailing
in other inks,
to other sheets,
brought perhaps
by other hands. These are not
the clouds to come, those
still sleep in the mouth of the fish, and waves
know that salt.
Present and future are gathered here. Everything is alive here. This is not seen and what you see. What is happening and what will happen.
The poet seems to suggest: I'm here and there around the world, so we're of the same sea. We are that sea. In wave when we can pretend to be something else, but never stop being that sea.
Even the work of Francesca Rizzuto, random paths, published on the cover of the book fails to capture fully in the mystery of this meeting of souls, worlds, like to reiterate the strength and greatness of the sea that contains everything and the opposite of everything, because the meaning of life is outside and inside of us, in the heart of an internal event that is born equal and different, lives, dies, is reborn as the spirit, the pure capacity witnesses in humans, rises above the mind and its body condition.
Finally, to paraphrase Blanchot, if we deem useful to summarize in a few essential features of the power of poetry and art by Pasquale Napolitano Francesca Rizzuto, we might be content to say that there's this word in their future and this look, and impersonal more to come, where, in deciding on an emerging language, we are still talking intimately about what we prepare the next and most immediate fate. It is the ultimate song of foreboding, the promise of renewal and change - not that that Napolitano Rizzuto express what will be tomorrow, or that in their ci sia rivelato con chiarezza un avvenire felice o infelice , ma soltanto il collegamento, nello spazio del presentimento della parola, dell’immagine al loro corso per trattenere con fermezza la nascita di un orizzonte più vasto.
L’avvenire è raro ed ogni giorno che viene non è un giorno che inizia.
E ancora più rara è questa parola poetica, che nel suo silenzio è riserva di una parola a venire e ci volge sia pure nel momento supremo di una fine, verso la forza dell’inizio.
Bonifacio Vincenzi
The poet seems to suggest: I'm here and there around the world, so we're of the same sea. We are that sea. In wave when we can pretend to be something else, but never stop being that sea.
Even the work of Francesca Rizzuto, random paths, published on the cover of the book fails to capture fully in the mystery of this meeting of souls, worlds, like to reiterate the strength and greatness of the sea that contains everything and the opposite of everything, because the meaning of life is outside and inside of us, in the heart of an internal event that is born equal and different, lives, dies, is reborn as the spirit, the pure capacity witnesses in humans, rises above the mind and its body condition.
Finally, to paraphrase Blanchot, if we deem useful to summarize in a few essential features of the power of poetry and art by Pasquale Napolitano Francesca Rizzuto, we might be content to say that there's this word in their future and this look, and impersonal more to come, where, in deciding on an emerging language, we are still talking intimately about what we prepare the next and most immediate fate. It is the ultimate song of foreboding, the promise of renewal and change - not that that Napolitano Rizzuto express what will be tomorrow, or that in their ci sia rivelato con chiarezza un avvenire felice o infelice , ma soltanto il collegamento, nello spazio del presentimento della parola, dell’immagine al loro corso per trattenere con fermezza la nascita di un orizzonte più vasto.
L’avvenire è raro ed ogni giorno che viene non è un giorno che inizia.
E ancora più rara è questa parola poetica, che nel suo silenzio è riserva di una parola a venire e ci volge sia pure nel momento supremo di una fine, verso la forza dell’inizio.
Bonifacio Vincenzi
