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7 14 21 28, Rezza for den!

thanks to Frank
that made me a beautiful gift

If you're lucky one day someone will say: Go see Antonio Rezza. The first time I heard of was Antonio Rezza was last year, when he was an entire article dedicated to TrovaRoma. Ornament emblazoned with a picture of his face slipped into a model of Rezza elastic canvas, the image I put on a lot of curiosity. Since then I have always cherished the desire to go see the man's curious that so m'aveva aroused interest. After a year I could read something about him and, above all, to see short films on the network that reveal much of the character. Inevitably this pulpit of curiosity hath been changed into a frenzy of wanting to watch his show live. Amazing how people that do not live stage comedy and tonnage of that word of mouth. Rarely I read the major newspapers of Rezza and, even now approaching the last year and newspapers are full of proposals for 31 theater, Rezza is forgotten (or deliberately set aside).

Yesterday I finally got to satisfy my curiosity. I was at the Teatro Vessel, part of the fierce public 7 14 21 28 fourth anthology show Rezza-Mastrella. In the audience, composed mostly of young people (and is the first time I see a clear majority of young people), we also see Max Tortora. The show begins, a man in swimsuit and bare-chested swinging on a swing, does not speak, he only faces: it is enough to start the first laughter in the audience, that is enough to understand the expressive potential of Antonio Rezza. The rest is a burning flow of jokes, situations, changes, changes of expression and tone. It is a real whirlwind of energy that also takes people and the cooler they laid bare their attitudes held. Elusive, it moves in its habitat (the set of faithful Flavia Mastrella) funalbolo like a maniac and you feel that you bring up the next morning without realizing it you can. One wonders where it ends and where the showman early human folly, but he is a man of the stage and the stage, especially that of Lieutenant, he knows every millimeter. Sa aggrazziarsi favor with the public, knows when to be silent laughter and tear with a simple facial expression, knows how to improvise situations it models the reactions of the public. And woe to be religiously sensitive or touchy if you do not want to end up being the subject of his favorite jokes. A phone rings, our tightrope walker is silent, the phone stops ringing: - I was waiting for 'it off! Roar of applause. A one-man show corrosive, which alternates with sensitive issues such as insecurity, sex scandals or disatro Italian and his policy, a fitting and hilarious skits with puns unpredictable. You begin to understand why not talk about it: Do not save anyone or anything. Yet the irony is not a personal basis we are accustomed to, Rezza takes everything and makes the object of his polemic, without naming names, without indicating guilty because do not exist and Italy is a continuous flow in which visitors today continues the breakdown started yesterday. It escapes even a blasphemy he is so, provocateur. Maybe you can be impressed, you can cry blasphemy, but another is not, the theater, that the representation of life (and of blasphemers daily) and Rezza his authoritative spokesman.
and appreciation to the "deer" Ivan Bellavista who took ecstasy rezziana almost forgot.

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7-14-21-28
Company RezzaMastrella - Theatre 91 - Foundation TPE
Directed by Antonio Rezza and Flavia Matrella
Cast: Ivan Bellavista and Antonio Rezza

the theater until January 2nd Lieutenant
(special New Year's Eve on December 31 with dinner buffet, midnight toast and blind auction)

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The most beautiful seas - Nazim Hikmet

(Image: Sea of \u200b\u200bFog by Friedrich)

The most beautiful seas
has not been crossed yet.
the most beautiful of our children
not grown up yet.
The most beautiful day of our
we have not seen yet.

And that I would tell you more beautiful
not tell you I have not said.

Nazim Hikmet
from Love Poems

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The cult of Sol Invictus and Christmas.

I thought about it a bit 'before publishing it. I did not know whether the nature of this post was or was not coincident with the essence of this blog. Poetry, art, theater e. .. culture? Are not they all sisters? What I am about to propose is not an article of artistic interest, but it certainly is from the cultural point of view. I think in any way to spoil the contents of this blog, it maintains a certain detachment and purposes are primarily cultural. The art comes from life and culture: a man who ignores the life and culture can hardly be an artist because it would mean that there are so many aspects of their lives ignoring. So I decided to publish it, convinced that are not contradictory and out of tune, but arguments that can be easily found in history books. And the word book is a very nice word in this blog.

What really celebrate Christmas? What we now call Christmas is a Christian holiday that exists prior to its Christianization: originally it was the Dies Natalis Solis Invicti (day of birth of the unconquered sun). This festival, which fell right on December 25, was very popular among the Romans, although the ritual of Sol Invictus has its origin in the East. What not less important, the Feast of Deus Sol Invictus is antecedent to the Christian Christmas. The Christian religion and Christianize taken this holiday by making coincide with the birth of Christ.

The previous festival was celebrated a few days after the winter solstice. This falls precisely between December 21 and 22 and December 24 the sun seems to stand still in the sky. In this period we have the longest night and shortest day. After this struggle between light and darkness, the invincible or unconquerable sun wins its battle, the light defeats the darkness and return to the days get long. It was therefore a party celebrating the victory of light directly linked to astronomical events: the more you find many similar festivals in many cultures also far apart. But what did the Sol Invictus Christmas that we venerate today as the birth of Jesus? The celebration of Christmas is the first time under the reign of Constantine institutionalized by decree the celebrations of the nativity. The target date was to coincide with the pagans celebrated Sol Invictus: therefore they worshiped the Sun, the holiday fell on December 25 and this was before they did the Christians. The choice of the birth of Jesus at December 25 was nothing but a political choice to match existing holidays and public holidays "emerging". Fortunately, the rescue of the Christians was the edict of Theodosius, which established as was the only religion of Christianity. Christianity and the cult of Christmas worship were then required to be accompanied by a decree that went before, and then replace, the previous celebrations.
The two religions coexisted for a long time, and years after the edict be read again the words of Pope Leo I:

"It's so much the religion of the Sun estimated that some Christians, before entering the Basilica of San Pietro in Vatican, after climbing the stairs, turn to the sun and bending his head they bow in honor of the star shining. We are very distressed and we grieve for the fact that this is repeated for the pagan mentality. Christians must abstain from all appearance of deference This worship of the gods. "You know how

ended up and what has come down today, but the root of this festival and especially its symbolic meaning is unchanged: the sun is to lengthen the days and decreed that the victory of light over darkness and the light is symbolic birth and life, and so, by pagan festival of the sun has arrived at Christmas, the Christian feast of the birth of Baby Jesus. One thing that always coincides with the Sol Invictus: Natilis Dies Solis Invicti then good for everyone.

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Poetry of Love: Son Avoid Alberto Bevilacqua

... decided to love you ...
(in the image: Blue Nude Picasso)

You can love a child ever had? Yes, it is perhaps the greatest act of love that can exist, because it is a conscious act of the surrounding world, is a refusal to conceive of an existence in a world moldy. A test of love against selfishness to conceive of themselves without the assessment of the future of the unborn. Happiness or sorrow? Agony or ecstasy? What awaits us at the time of our birth? The balance is always a bit 'more towards the abyss, the strength and weaknesses invest in the game of chance unhappiness has more weight. It is when we become aware of the evil in the world, the tremendous torment of the living and the pain that you may have without being able to intervene in any way on the route, it is then that the suit be aware of his love in a choice of non-conception, a supreme act of love that eats the pain of the soul and never had a child desired.
avoided Son is one of the most beautiful poems by Bevilacqua, full of passion, emotion, pain and love. A poem dedicated to her son that the poet would have liked to cuddle like living flesh but it is only the essence of his regrets. A wish that contrasts with the bitter realization of a life hard, hard life that is saved with the more altruistic (and misunderstood) act of love. Not I am surprised that this poem is the most dear to the poet himself.


"There was little mystery of the Son avoided. reflect that in the budget of many negative aspects of my life, the bane of my mother had imposed. With radical effects, some devastating. I had to recognize him with resigned bitterness . I paid the accounts that she had left hanging after being squandered. In fact I had thought that I was not obsessive father, maternal infections and trauma I had to be prevented. He was born a poem. Among my I consider the most beautiful. I had dedicated to his son that I did not have ... I held on my desk. I used to read it again to prove a pity all mine, to hurt me. One day, the sheet with the poem disappeared ... I found the paper with the poem later, in the pages of the diary of my mother. "

SON AVOIDED

... is clear in the eyes
you may have is in your
furtive look, while they are distracted,
capia me to think of you, son

decided that I did not want to love you

- could, if you were to be existed

our lives close to each other like little monkeys

feel the cold wind tonight
... I'd have to walk by my side in
false distances, panoramas
of thought also of Deception Point
... or perhaps you might even hate me


-
you could be my pride - they say -
but my pride is to have you spared the hour of twilight

sharpening the blade:
only you can tell if it was
error and to what extent
not having fed the species
... Just understand that you
by force of the vacuum will have full,
my sacred statue, which do
my geranium
the primordial water of the day, and day
there

I forget ... we will be where you are in the first
and the first returns,
answer: why should I inflict
delinquency of a way to
a brief ordeal?
- see me one day appear,
leave me, I hope,

a seat next to you: remember, if you can, at least to touch

hands in my hands the wounds of not having

never caressed face in life

... the Spring, women would have had

is made this breadth of my solitude;
I am proud only of this: I have not thrown in the trash
anyone.


Alberto Bevilacqua
poetry in this anthology
interpreting verses in the possession of my mother psychiatric hospital in C.
The Poems and - Oscar Mondadori -

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I saw the snow lay white
icy mantles,
roads of warming men
one thousand impressions
flaming the fire of red wine. I've seen looks


wait long before indecision,
communion of humanity and instincts.

I saw different people

find a common agreement in the sound of a word,
numb fingers on the maps indicate
dubious destinations. I saw

metropolitan
stops each different
change movement in art.

I've seen galleries illegal disqualifications

between wetlands preserve authentic artists and public exhibitions
fatuous
ostentatious presumptions cheer.

I saw, as from oppression
born alive
colors and emotions against the sword.

I saw faces murder
with outstretched hands to the dead silence
marble
raise the solemn temples of History.

- I heard

my countrymen speak of a country in flames

nostalgia without drinking, I heard

endless din far
effleure slightly soul,
and so far seemed to me that
ground fires that only felt
poaching
of four steps in the snow.

Alessandro
It should be (in the image of a painting
Alexander Rodin)

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"Lombardi and the Flamingo": presentation of the book by Carlo Patrignani

San Benedetto del Tronto - will be presented Saturday, December 18 Auditorium Tebaldini from 17 hours the book "Lombardi and the Flamingo "by Carlo Patrignani. This is a real tribute to Richard Lombardi, twenty-six years after his death. First released Prefect of Milan from Nazi-Fascism, Lombardi was one of the leaders of Italian socialism.

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partitosocialistaitaliano psi: transformers

partitosocialistaitaliano psi: transformers 10: "The ineffable Walter Veltroni Calearo and less than two months ago declared," Maximum Calearo fulfillment of its commitments to the electorate: it to me c. .. "

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Hamlet discounted

This curious rehabilitation in a modern way of Hamlet's famous soliloquy, I found the last page of the second issue of To Be, free magazine dedicated to the newly formed theater. The magazine, distributed in theaters and other places which I do not know for now is only present in Rome and Lazio. The piece is offered as a translation apocryphal and shows us a Hamlet completely new, contemporary, taking as inspiration a character that does not quote, this translation provides concrete proof of the remarkable universality of Shakespeare's language.

Enter Hamlet

be or not to be, that is the problem:
whether it is nobler to suffer in the depths of his spirit,
hurled stones and arrows
former ally and co-founder, or take up the 'weapons, however, the judges
enemies, and fighting the process, put their
ends. Disappear. Flying. Nothing more. And
nell'antigua villa
to calm the painful beats of the heart, and the thousands of newspapers
offenses of which he was the victim of my flesh: This is a conclusion that I want
considerably. Disappear, rest.
sleep, maybe fuck. This is where the rub:
in that party because of love, all the dreams that
possan
occur when we are freed from the tumult, this
from the tangle of moral life,
will lead us to think. It is precisely this scruple to give
calamity of so long life!
Why, who would be able to bear the whips
of ulterior motives,
the wrongs of the newspapers and television, the outrages of the hardships, the sufferings of love
party and unpaid
attacks the law, the insolence
Judges and ridicule that my companions on
received since, if he could
give himself his own
receipt with a bare bodkin? Who adapts to take charge of
council chairman or even a republic,
to groan and sweat under the weight of a hard life,
were it not that the fear of death sentences before
- that uncharted territory from which
not back border so far no passengers back-
confuses and perplexes the will,
and persuades us to endure the gossip
already suffering rather than hasten to
other evils of which we know nothing. In this way, makes us all cowards
consciousness, and the complexion
natual
resolution is made unhealthy by the pale color of the greasepaint,
and large businesses and alloys Therefore, unfortunately
deflect a thousand current
And lose the name of action. Vote now:
or better Democracy! Nymph, in your prayers
intercede for me, a sinner.

Wedding Bathroom Poem

Flower Lady

to a lady sleeping

There was enough to be acquaintances,
know it was not enough. With the letters questioned

heart, head, midway,
between one and the others smiled. It was a small thing
sympathy
Flower lady I caught the night sighing
petals.


We encourage hearts to risk, where
Nettles grew
hands cared daisies, how nice it was to hear

the new taste of discovery.

December
we turned on the lakes on the islands of peace reigning
but so few seemed
ch'esilio day and the flight was Catalonia. With a smile
rascals
turned down without
- out of laziness or pleasure -
looked at those steep stairs, as

flowers bloomed everywhere Dama our nights
the time made us an alcove.

Scoter A yellow hair and stinging defeats

sheets with gusts
mocking the opaque autumn came, and it was a
here where when
to interview the dying day,
arrived, without warning,
pleasantly unexpected
Time beds. It should

Alessandro
(pictured kissing Munch)

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4:48 Psychosis, Kane's last act at the Theatre Space

are usually the last to leave the room. As the public leaves the rest of the audience turned to stone, stare at the scene that is now empty and recompose the pieces of the show along the path of the emotions aroused. This was not the last time a girl has been sitting in the front row crying. He wept with his head down, letting slip vigorous sobs. I tried to ride sitting in the theater, but never as intense forbidden to stay in a sea of \u200b\u200btears.

chilling. This is the first word that comes to mind thinking Psychosis 4:48 of Sarah Kane , British author who committed suicide at age 28, in the scene these days at the Space Theatre of Rome. A text, Kane's last before his suicide, which takes you directly to the stomach, there is, in his crude words, pain, all the existential pain of a complex art.
female monologue that puts a strain on the qualities actorial, is a bleak cry of pain that occurs in our guts dragging with him all the sickness, madness, the tight grip of loneliness, because awareness first against the inadequacy of the world where you live. Time, perhaps wrong - perhaps I was born the wrong age.
A pain that leads to the suicide plan, the final act polished and thought, knowing the end of evils: and were it not for the end? If you also asked in his famous Hamlet soliloquy. Death wish, we try, but rejected: "I do not want to die, no suicide want to die."
the weight of life is to whisper in the wind, the word suicide, loneliness, oppressive that boulder currency acceptable to the unacceptable death. 4:48 Psychosis is a whisper that gradually become a cry, piercing cry for help, a call for assistance not to medicine but to love. "I caverei eyes, I would amputate the limbs, but never renounce love." The cry reaches its maximum, turn off, you whisper, in silence becomes a white veil.

The preparation is simple. Walter Pagliaro built an extremely close: the stage is not used, the action takes place at a height audience, as if we were doctors who are studying to be a mirror behind the decline of the patient. A bed in the middle, white blankets, three pillows, the public placed in a horseshoe around the site of action. A Micaela Ezra hounded from our eyes locked in an enclosure of breaths. We look, keeps his eyes closed for a long time, until the space becomes narrow and looks in our eyes as they wheeled the walls of an asylum. The breath is broken and the fast-paced action, chase ghosts, responds to itself, we quarrel, sometimes physically fighting with someone, but there is none, the only presence is that which comes from his head, a voice that seems not come from her but from above, a thunderous thought for us: she is exhausted before us, his voice descends from above, takes us behind. I like what he has set up Pagliaro: with such a text it is perhaps tempting to dazzle the audience, looking for ways to surprise effect. Instead he opts for the simplicity representative to give greater force to the words. The room was small, but the actress used the microphone. Not liking the use of the microphone on stage, I was left disappointed, as more and more I am convinced that the technique is used to compensate for the shortcomings of the actors. I told the guy at the direction of the desired choice and designed to create an overall effect, a voice came from the thought and not from the mouth, which falls on the audience cracking and wrapping a bit 'intimacy. Kane does not speak to the audience but to herself, and this choice was apt and well calibrated. Beyond personal preference, it's when the feelings of the public and will meet the public that a show can be called successful. Good interpretation

Micaela Ezra, though her tone often changes did not seem to think. Probably affect the microphone in this aspect. Energetic, clean, no smear, yet it is not a delirious brilliance in the highlights that would give greater vigor to his performance: If there is a ten and an eight. Too bad the end is not hearing the thunderous applause of a full house. In the room there were only 16 people (including myself), and the clapping of an audience so small transmits a vague feeling of coldness. Too bad, you needed some 'heat to dissolve the tension, and perhaps also that the girl was crying.

Review by Alessandro Giova
(seen at the Space Theatre 02/12/2010)

4:48 Psychosis by Sarah Kane directed by Walter Pagliaro


with Micaela Ezra
Cultural Association Gianni Santuccio

From December 01 AL December 12 at the Space Theatre, Via Locri
42/44

Information Tel: +39 06 77076486 +39 06 77204149 (15.30 to 19.30)
info@teatrolospazio.it

4:48 Psychosis is the latest text of Sarah Kane brings to the stage here that his death in an hour is not unusual, given that according to some statistics, the 4:48 time seems better suited to accommodate suicide. What might be the cause of such a choice? The discordant relationship with parents, distrust in society, feeling guilty for all the wars, but especially the lack of love, loneliness unbearable, especially when you feel abandoned by loved ones. Psychosis is a poignant confession, an act of faith towards the theater that forces us to look into it again without excuse or pretense.

- Walter Pagliaro -