Quando il bambino era bambino...

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain

seeing her joke with my friend, making voices, laughing, enjoying herself... and if i try to keep up with the joke she answers coldly, without even looking at me... why should i be so angry, envious of his savoir-faire! so stupid on my part... Those venal and furtive loves filled him with despair. He gnawed the rectitude of his life; he felt that he had been outcast from life’s feast. being invisible is just another, painful, experience. where i find the strength to go back to my work i don't know, to lift the phone receiver, to do something with a purpose in mind... remaining alone in the lab, as usual. driving wildly, with the idea that a ride in the motorway may be somehow relaxing, and then, after a few dangerous manoeuvres, going home to play the piano. immature... things don't fit any longer, lately. the way i approach other persons seems to be useless, and wrong. (Wagner's Prelude from Tristan und Isolde. pic: Isola Bella from Baveno, a few days ago)

lately, mon français has improved a lot. quand je parle avec toi je comprend des noveaux choses de moi. eh bien. never met such a blending of beauty, freshness, introspection. i'm almost speechless. our conversations in front of the fire... it will be difficult when you leave, butterfly.

last sunday i wanted to be a little bit alone. the trees were blooming in Turin, so i thought that a little journey in the countryside, looking for white cherries, would be fine. the previous day i had come across this post... maybe it was time to go there. Asti, then highway, entering the magic world of the Langhe, with its rivers, hills and wineyards, listening to Evocacion, the first piece from Isaac Albeniz's Iberia. everything is so beautiful there, that i was thinking to stop in some hill and look around. right then, i entered Canelli. C'è una ragione perché sono tornato in questo paese, qui e non invece a Canelli, a Barbaresco o in Alba. Qui non ci sono nato, è quasi certo; dove son nato non lo so; non c'è da queste parti una casa né un pezzo di terra né delle ossa ch'io possa dire «ecco cos'ero prima di nascere». ("There is a reason why I came back to this village, here and not Canelli, Barbaresco, or Alba. I wasn't born here, that's almost certain; where I was born, I don't know; there isn't a house or a piece of land or bones around here that I could say, «Here is what I was before I was born»"). so i was not far. a few minutes, and i entered Santo Stefano Belbo. how impressive, seeing that name in the road panel. i had wanted to come here since i read about Cesare Pavese.

i crossed the village, went past the church, crossed the river Belbo. i had always imagined that i would go to Santo Stefano Belbo by train, an old train waving across the dry countryside in summer, as described in the novel La luna e i falò ("The moon and the bonfires"). the town was a little bit disappointing, though. too many people around, as it was sunday. it was almost sunset, and following a street on the left i started to climb one of the many hills. some girls were descending the road. actually i had no idea of where i was going, but as the car was approaching the top o the hill, the beautiful landscape rising around me, i started feeling better.

i left the car nearby, and walked along the hill. i was now in a place called Valdivilla, soon the sun had disappeared and a cold wind was blowing in my face. everything around was becoming dark and even more fascinating. i came across a group of houses and farms. a little blue car slowed down while passing near me, the old men driving looked at me with curiosity and diffidence. as i approached the top of the village, a woman was shuttering the windows. i felt a bit like a stranger, and it was funny :)

on my way back, i passed across a group of pine trees. they made a very nice sound with the wind blowing, and for some minutes i stayed still, listening. when i came back to the car it was cold and dark, my toughts were very clear, and i felt at ease.

(translation of Pavese, here)