Read and listen to the poem”In January, at night"Of Mario Luzi

Poesia di love, e di sentimenti.

Let's read together:

In January, at night
when along its veins space
anxious for an inexhaustible wind, revive
hopes still in vain in the trees
and wakes them up to a still uncertain life,
too remote beyond the peaks
and beyond the roots;

in uncertain days at the crossroads of time
in the hours after the passion when
even the pain has an end
and the soul barely holds
that you don't collapse in its void
and wonders amazed rather than anxious
if that is the agony that is in every beginning
or the end, the end of everything,

and it happens that someone
for certainty, to cling to a sign
you murmur his between the name of his loved ones
and it's as strange as walling up gravestones
on houses in memory of a passage,
of a stop in the eternal passage,

face of once much loved
than between page and page of the book
leafed through without end of the years
you have the peace that comes from being weak
and dull under the cruel patina
someone blows into your features,
it excites you, it calls you back to my torment
what were you from age to age, childish,
childish under March clouds,
young girl shelled by shapeless years
between childhood and puberty, woman in the wind.
Meanwhile we have become grey.

I go out, I look leaning against the high walls
my windy and mountainous homeland,
I take a breath, then I follow the via crucis.