Life is beautiful. Language is beautiful. Language is life. Without communication, there is no life. And without life, there is no… well, you get the point. I am amazed by both. And in a very practical way I dedicated my life to languages. And to life, to the Word. They fascinate and challenge me, make me cry and make me laugh, make me try and make me love. (See, and they even make me rhyme.)
You love life, too? Or you try to wrap your mind around it, like I am trying? Then stop by now and then, and let’s explore it together. In its connectedness, its complexity, its thousand shades. Life is absolute. There is no way around it. It’s broad enough that no one actually gets around it, even if one tries very hard.
I look forward to post my thoughts on life here, and I am delighted to hear from you at some point. Share your thoughts and lets dialogue. Benvenuti!
P.S.: Make sure you read the poem that lends this page its name. You don’t want to miss this stunning piece of art.
Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle, e questa siepe, che da tanta parte dell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude. Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani silenzi, e profondissima quiete io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco il cor non si spaura. E come il vento odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello infinito silenzio a questa voce vo comparando: e mi sovvien l’eterno, e le morte stagioni, e la presente e viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa immensità s’annega il pensier mio: e il naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare.
Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837)
Always to me beloved was this lonely hillside
And the hedgerow creeping over and always hiding
The distances, the horizon’s furthest reaches.
But as I sit and gaze, there is an endless
Space still beyond, there is a more than mortal
Silence spread out to the last depth of peace,
Which in my thought I shape until my heart
Scarcely can hide a fear. And as the wind
Comes through the copses sighing to my ears,
The infinite silence and the passing voice
I must compare: remembering the seasons,
Quiet in dead eternity, and the present,
Living and sounding still. And into this
Immensity my thought sinks ever drowning,
And it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea.