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st64 Jun 2020
Why do I live, why do I die?
Why do I live, why do I cry?
Here is the SOS of a man in distress:

I've never had both feet upon the ground.
I'd rather be a bird,
I don't fit into this skin.
I'd like to see the world turned upside down;
If ever it were beautiful -
It's lovelier from above, from above.

I've always confused life
with the comic strips,
Even wished I could transform.
I feel something -
That draws me
That draws me
That draws me up.
 
Into the great lotto of the universe,
I don't have the right numbers;
I don't fit into this skin.
I don't want to be a robot -
Eating, working, sleeping.
 
Why do I live, why do I die?
Why do I live, why do I cry?
I think I'm catching waves
From another world.

I've never had both feet upon the ground;
I'd rather be a bird.
I'd like to see the world turned upside down -
I'd rather be a bird.

Sleep, child, sleep.
.




From:
"Turandot" by Giacomo Puccini


None shall sleep! None shall sleep!
Not even you, oh Princess,
in your cold bedroom,
watching the stars
that tremble with love, and with hope!

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me;
il nome mio nessun saprà!
No, No! Sulla tua bocca,
lo dirò quando la luce splenderà!

But my secret is hidden within me;
no one will know my name!
No, no! On your mouth,
I will say it when the light shines!

Ed il mio bacio scioglierà
il silenzio che ti fa mia!

And my kiss will dissolve
the silence that makes you mine!



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTkTObFQ_40

27-06-20
st64 May 2020
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O! therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
   Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain,
   Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.
Sonnets 20 - 32 present an ocean of relative tranquility, in which some minor matters of social difference appear to darken the horizon momentarily, and then pass away. Apart from that, the love which has been declared in 13, 15 and 19 But, love, you are etc.; dear my love, you know; 13. And all in war with time for love of you etc.; 15. my love's fair brow; My love shall in my verse ever live young; 19, is allowed to develop to full maturity. In this sonnet it is as if the point of no return has been reached. The expressions of care and tenderness, of love's togetherness and the prospect of youth growing old, of two hearts united in one, of the commitment of love until the severance of death, combine to make this a rare moment in the heart's history. Love triumphs over age and death. Yet in the background there is always the looking in the glass, the reflections in the mirror, so often evoked in these sonnets, which cast back one's own face beated and chopped with tanned antiquity, and the fair youth's face which must go the same way in the end.

There may well be a significance in the number alone of this sonnet, since multiples of 11 seem to exercise some sort of fascination for the writer. Thus 77 and 88 both step aside to look into the future, 66 renounces the world completely, 55 takes a grand and distant view of the passage of time. Although 33, 44 and 99 do not seem to have any special significance, (but see the commentary to 99 for its dating significance), it may be simply that we fail to see it, or that these numbers are not deemed to be as critical as the others and the various climacteric ones, such as 63, 70 and 81.





Sub-tale:

"Asleep at the wheel" - T. Coraghessan Boyle

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/02/11/asleep-at-the-wheel
st64 Aug 2018
NO FEAR

My eye has acted like a painter and engraved your beautiful image on the canvas of my heart.
My body is the frame that holds this picture; to draw that picture with perspective, realistically representing depth, is the highest skill a painter could have.
Only via this painter—my eye—can you find the image of you that dwells continually in my heart:
Your own eyes are the windows into my heart.

Now look at the favors our eyes have done for each other:
My eyes have drawn your shape, and your eyes are windows into which I can look to see my own heart, into which the sun also likes to look, taking a peep at your reflection.

Yet my eyes lack a certain skill that would grace the others they already have:
They can only draw what they see; they don’t see into your heart.
Sonnet 24 is very difficult to follow even when translated. We are meant to picture the speaker and the addressee staring into each other’s eyes and each seeing his own reflection. The speaker is able to see through the eye of his own reflection into his own heart, where the image of the addressee is enshrined.
st64 Jan 2018
When I went out
The sun was hot
It shone upon
My flower ***.

And there I saw
A spike of green
That no one else
Had ever seen!

On other days
The things I see
Are mostly old
Except for me.

But this green spike
So new and small
Had never yet
Been seen at all!
Sweet chilli tea and Danish cookies.


Illegitimi non carborundum.
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