Just me, the

"Beautiful pounai islands of the archipelago, katantikra Napoli, ... Around stenorymia port without light, between rural houses built centuries, seem serious and sad even though the walls have beautiful colors that have shells.'s Windows closely as turrets, windowsills to see sometimes potted carnations, aroma you feel around the alley or a tiny cage, everything you need for the jack, but a crying turtle dove The shops are deep and dark, like a man bandits. wired door chime cafe in the harbor there is a large charcoal brazier, the lady of the shop bakes brown ala Turkey in enameled pot with a beautiful blue color. widow for several years, wired door chime always wearing black, black shawl and even earrings The photograph of the deceased are hung on the wall in a dusty wreath of leaves. "(*). The island of Arturo Elsa Moradi, who was both king and star of the sky, I thought there was real. There was the sense that he was a mythical place wonderfully made by the author to host the story of a Tender boy growing up without his mother and lands in harsh reality. There was the sense that it was all the islands and villages of southern Italy - against wired door chime Napoli - the volcanic lands where myriads wired door chime of flowers that grow no hand do not care, with its narrow streets that climbs the hills, with fishing boats their ports and harbor church. And widows always dressed in black - as in our Kalymnos - the photo of the late hanging on the wall. H Procida So I thought that was a place elsewhere, mythical and archetypal. And never ceased to be when I realized that the island Procida say that the movie Il Postino, the story of the postman who conveyed letters to Pablo Neruda, where the poet lived there a long exile. Fascinated wired door chime by the postman poetry he up his own transport and manages to steal the heart of the beautiful Beatrice. Eternal Beatrix sung Dante and d'Anoutsio and following the fate of Procida at the end of the film, the shop lady bakes brown widow, "with a photograph of the deceased hung on the wall." (*) Elsa Moradi, the "Island of Arturo" translation Thanassis Metsimenidi Editions Zaharopoulos
Nostalgia art or life nostalgia for landscapes-outbreaks of our collective memory (so similar to the archetypal Procida) and grandmothers-our mothers who, before becoming mistress of coffee shops and households had been almost wired door chime all, Beatrix _mono we're late to understand, busy from adolescence to late our youth to imagine our future as Elses ... :) Very Moradi-Official much money forever. April 11, 2009 - 9:13 a.m.
How disfigure the truth - Procida - lies - Procida again - unlearn to notice the similarities but no time to whisper, oblique eyes - that stray the sea - the longing to hang in the windows of the boat mermaids. I held in suspension in passing - the bank that worn SUMP women that untold snake heart with doubt in the back of the wave - the seeds - which went into the abyss of wrinkles on the wooden floor and tears in them; picked up what could be found waiting amid the feet: breaths sloppy, photos of battered letters wired door chime to find the wait and live in the lap unlearn to notice the similarities but there is always time before wired door chime rolling drowning wired door chime and knit women in the bottom fingers J 'ai longtemps habite sous de vastes portiques wired door chime Procida Vangelis Intzidis. April 2009 April 11, 2009 - 24:49
Just me, the "source" of all the experiences nostalgia is what the recall and Moradi - or I want to be deceived - hides the seed of the experience that we moved to this wonderful - invented wired door chime - history. I think now troubled, authoritarian and practice wired door chime Matrona, her aunt Beatrice be snatches of poems hide and run to the priest to explain to her what is transport, the cause of evil. This is because as you say, "knew" what the charm means and why it was in the time of "no Beatrice." "The poem does not lie," cries - simplistic at first sight - because the poet is aware of - and we 'were slow to understand. " April 11, 2009 - 4:48 pm
Vangelis, What to write to me anymore - that and say it is "devastated." I thought I had to console me with that comment on the pace of Josephine and the people of the mice of Kafka, which I had written to Substratum. And now I see the SI can you recognize wired door chime that your poetry is on the forefront of p