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PAIN IS TEMPORARY PRIDE IS FOREVER. Rosebud, Dublin (EIRE) – Year 9. Breaking News

Gruber-Madame Sosostris: dopo la marchetta a Floris, la marchetta al libro di Magris: “Magris è un intellettuale capace di prevenire gli umori della realtà italiana prima del tempo”.

Uno stupido che cammina va più lontano di dieci intellettuali seduti (Jacques Séguéla)

Il giornalista è stimolato dalla scadenza. Scrive peggio se ha tempo. (Karl Kraus)

page7-390px-The_Wasteland.djvuE fu così che – nell’attesa di un esempio di questa capacità divinatoria – cambiai canale.

RB

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards.  Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes.  Look!)
Here is Belladonna, The Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and  this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see.  I do not find
The Hanged Man.   Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you.  If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over  London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: ‘Stetson!
‘You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
‘Has it begun to sprout?  Will it bloom this year?
‘Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
‘O keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
‘Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
‘You! Hypocrite lecteur! – mon semblable, – mon frère!’

Tratto da “The Waste Land” (1922) di  T.S. Eliot

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