The Picture of Dorian Gray, by O.Wilde

from The Picture of Dorian Gray

O. Wilde

Pic from here

Music had stirred him like that. Music had troubled him many times. But music was not articulate. It was not a new world, but rather another chaos, that it created in us. Words I Mere words t How terrible they were I How clear, and vivid, and cruel 1 One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them I They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to form- less things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?

Oscar Wilde

Maybe it’s a book about sin, maybe it’s a book about our wish to be alive. In any case, in it there are a lot of deep and detailed description of our soul. Music and words: I do not comment what he says much better than what I could do.

Reed flute

Pic from here


Rumi (1207-1273), Persian poet and mystic


Any reed will regret her old swamp
where she was born among sister reeds.
Now she is moaning with sweet music and
whoever hear her remembers that pain

We are stagnant in this stifling air
while we are going through these tired sedges.
Any color today is a pale viola
secular sobriety without hope


March, 8th 2018



Italian version



The death of God and the beauty


Up: one of the music of yesterday ceremony, here by one of my favourite ensable…


Last night I went to a church where there was a Via Crucis sung by a chorus in which I have some friends.

It was beautiful and touching; each station of the Cross was marked by a chant a cappella: before and after only silence. I listened to several treasures of the millenary cristian tradition: from medieval songs to Allegri, Mozart, Rachmaninov, Bardos.

All that beauty surprised and moved me deeply, above all because it was all about pain and death and not only human pain and death: God died. How much beauty the man was able to build in the arts about such a tragedy!

So, I thought that it is not only the blue of the sky, the colours of the springs, the lips of my love or the joy for the life to show me God, but also the darkness, the pain. The death.

If the man, this very poor being, has the power to make beauty from the death… what’s the power of God?


As a flute

Pic from here

Greek, Early Classical Period, 470–460 B.C.: Eros playing the double flutes.

As a flute,

please play me as a flute

in your hands

Give me breath till I sing

so that ring each my most hidden reed

in my heart; press my strings

and my skin: it’s so tight!


Make me music

        make it beautiful

                              so I receive

SL, Galadriel’s Mirror, October, 30th 2016


Italian version

Eugenio Corti died

corti funerale

Eugenio Corti died. I did not meet  him, but once I red his “The red horse” and after that I looked for all his books. I liked a lot his words, his way of write. Yesterday there was his funeral, and some friends of mines went there: I had to work.
It is not useful now talking about him, his literary and social importance; he is one of the most important Italian novelist and perhaps even more.
He is catholic, as me.
To remember him, a lover of words, of his people, of the Alps, of the music and especially of Christ, I post the translation of a beautiful song, sang during his funeral.

God of the sky (by Bepi de Marzi)

God of the sky, Lord of the mountain tops
from the mountain you claimed our friend

But we pray you, but we pray you:
high in the Heaven, high in the Heaven,
let he can go
onto your mountains.

Holy Mary, Lady of the snow,
cover with your white and soft mantle
our friend, our brother:
high in the Heaven, high in the Heaven,
let he can go
onto your mountains.

There’s a music



There’s a music and I see it now
while each tree runs around me in the country
and green grass looks at spring light and life
and I am in my car in this world

There’s a music in your love and I can
touch it like your warm skin and your face
or see it as your eyes and black hairs
and I am facing you and your soul

There’s a music, I know it, in the world
even in this my winter I hear it
so I try to put it in poor words
in this strange language as in the mine


27th March 2013