Plans Mud Room Lockers

a happy place (thinking of my father).

I phoned my dad from heaven, no ... and I do not even have a book sent by express mail with Montale ... Yet I found the poem!

After this post, something moved in the blogosphere ... The comments I received were beautiful, they allowed me to look into the pain of others and find traces of my own.

Ele, Cinzia, Cristina C., Franz, Gnappetta, Antonella, Ilaria, Finalmentemamma, Lisa, Moca, Twins (bi) mother, Simona, Iri, Margiù, Kikka, Angela, littleleo. Thanks! Other items likely to be trivial and unnecessary.

Thanks to Angela and Ilaria , poetry is back where it should be, in my life:

Emerging from an 'infinity of time the Philippines has called Celia

to hear from you. I believe is right, I say, maybe better than before
.- How do you think? There is no more?
Perhaps more than before, but ..... Celia
circles of understanding .......
Beyond the wire
from Manila or other
word atlas
prevented a stutter, too. And he hung up abruptly.

It is one of the most beautiful poems of Montale, but every time I read it, from the first time many years ago, I hear the thud of the absence and loss. If I stop for a moment, I seem to see the house of Montale: the dark furniture, telephone, walls, he meets a cold winter's day with the coat on. I seem to see Celia's face, to read his expressions passing with astonishment to the suffering. I see her crying after she hung up.

have found the poetry in this way, thanks to a person I see every day and another that I have never met, makes me happy. It makes me think that maybe my dad would tell me this: near you and away from you, life goes on investing heat, words and thoughts. not stop saying what you think of life, not stop looking for answers. Someone will help you find them.

Dad: maybe better than before, perhaps more than before.

Giuppy