#asini

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Non dimenticare l’atteggiamento costante di vivere con gioia (Dōgen Zenji)

Non dimenticare l’atteggiamento costante di vivere con gioia (Dōgen Zenji)

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Aforismi sugli animali

Aforismi e citazioni sugli animali Aforismi sugli animali, massime, citazioni, detti, idee e pensieri sugli animali, gli uomini, e la natura. La Giornata mondiale degli animali (World Animal Day) è una giornata internazionale volta all'azione per i diritti e il benessere degli animali. Viene celebrata il 4 ottobre di ogni anno, nel giorno della festa di Francesco d'Assisi, il santo patrono degli animali. L'uomo è un animale fornito di ragione, ma anche di molta stupidità. Carl William Brown Un italiano su tre afferma di preferire la compagnia del proprio cane a quella della moglie. Read the full article

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Asinelli - Montone (PG)

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asini

te, cetera omnia futura. Ita pro quolibet anno intermedio in centenario numero, qui putatur praesens esse, anteriora erunt praeterita, posteriora futura. Non ergo omnes centum anni praesentes esse possunt. Nunc vide an saltem adsit quod in progressu est. Si primus menses in cursu est, ceterae omnes futurae sunt; si secundum, iam prima transiit, cetera nondum sunt. Ergo nec annus currentis totus adest, et si non totus est praesens, annus non est praesens, quia annus ex duodecim mensibus conficitur, et quilibet eorum, qualiscumque sit, praesens est quando in cursu est. alia vero omnia praeterita vel futura. Sed tum ne mensis quidem currentis adest: unus tantum dies adest, et si primus, ceteri omnes futuri sunt; si extremum, cetera praeterita sunt; si quid intermedii, id est inter praeteritos et futuros dies.

Hoc est praesens tempus, quod unum invenimus longum appellare posse: vix ad unius diei durationem. Sed et hunc diem bene scrutemur, quia nec unus dies adest omnia. Horae noctis et diei usque ad numerum vigintiquattuor. Prima enim eorum omnia alia futura sunt, ultima praeterita, quaelibet media priora priora, sequentia futura. Sed haec una fugitivis particulis se pandit hora: quod avolavit, praeteritum est; quod reliquum est, futurum. Tantum si quis concipiat tempus, quod in minutas etiam momentorum partes dividere non potest, dici potest adesse. Sed tam occulte transit ex futuro in praeteritum, ut non levissimam durationem habeat. Quidquid habuit durationis, fieret divisibile in praeteritum et futurum. praesens autem extensionem non habet. Vbi ergo inuenimus tempus quod definire possumus tam diu? In posterum? Nos certe non dicimus longum esse, cum nondum sit, ut longum sit; sed dicamus longum erit. quando erit? Si et tunc adhuc erit futurum, non erit longum, nondum ibi nihil, quod longum esse potest; si longum erit, cum ex futuro iam non existente esse coeperit et praesens factum sit, ut possit esse aliquid longi, cum iam praemissis verbis praesens tempus clamat quod longum esse non potest.

Quamquam, domine, temporis intervalla percipimus, ea inter se comparamus, haec longiora, illa breviora definimus.

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The King of Asini  // Yorgos Seferis

’Ασíνην τε. . . — Iliad

All morning long we looked around the citadel

starting from the shaded side there where the sea

green and without lustre — breast of a slain peacock —

received us like time without an opening in it.

Veins of rock dropped down from high above,

twisted vines, naked, many-branched, coming alive

at the water’s touch, while the eye following them

struggled to escape the monotonous see-saw motion,

growing weaker and weaker.

On the sunny side a long empty beach

and the light striking diamonds on the huge walls.

No living thing, the wild doves gone

and the king of Asini, whom we’ve been trying to find for two years now,

unknown, forgotten by all, even by Homer,

only one word in the Iliad and that uncertain,

thrown here like the gold burial mask.

You touched it, remember its sound? Hollow in the light

like a dry jar in dug earth:

the same sound that our oars make in the sea.

The king of Asini a void under the mask

everywhere with us everywhere with us, under a name:

‘’Ασíνην τε. . .’Ασíνην τε. . .’

                                          and his children statues

and his desires the fluttering of birds, and the wind

in the gaps between his thoughts, and his ships

anchored in a vanished port:

under the mask a void.

Behind the large eyes the curved lips the curls

carved in relief on the gold cover of our existence

a dark spot that you see travelling like a fish

in the dawn calm of the sea:

a void everywhere with us.

And the bird, a wing broken,

that flew away last winter

— tabernacle of life —

and the young woman who left to play

with the dog-teeth of summer

and the soul that sought the lower world gibbering

and the country like a large plane-leaf swept along by the torrent of the sun

with the ancient monuments and the contemporary sorrow.

And the poet lingers, looking at the stones, and asks himself

does there really exist

among these ruined lines, edges, points, hollows and curves

does there really exist

here where one meets the path of rain, wind and ruin

does there exist the movement of the face, shape of the tenderness

of those who’ve waned so strangely in our lives,

those who remained the shadow of waves and thoughts with the sea’s boundlessness

or perhaps no, nothing is left but the weight

the nostalgia for the weight of a living existence

there where we now remain unsubstantial, bending

like the branches of a terrible willow tree heaped in unremitting despair

while the yellow current slowly carries down rushes uprooted in the mud

image of a form that the sentence to everlasting bitterness has turned to stone:

the poet a void.

Shieldbearer, the sun climbed warring,

and from the depths of the cave a startled bat

hit the light as an arrow hits a shield:

‘’Ασíνην τε. . .’Ασíνην τε. . .’. If only that could be the king of Asini

we’ve been searching for so carefully on this acropolis

sometimes touching with our fingers his touch upon the stones.

         Asini, summer ’38—Athens, Jan. ’40

(translated by Edmund Keeley)