The english corner

The riddle is in the middle game?

di Beatrice Fabbri

 

spielereinThe silence was full of sparkles like my mobile on the kitchen table. I was in the mood of tiding up my closet and this was a symptom I had to change my plans, or to step forward, or to give up.. Well, it was not a total mess, just one of these days that my inner intuitions sent me messages and I had to decipher them.

 

I watched constantly my mobile in order to see a light..were you watching me from a far distance? Was your arrival a delight, a noise, a nightmare, a dream? Odd questions..I don’t’ want you to mess my life..May be an ordinary life may be not.

 

Two months and half passed since he hooked me up at a lecture. I was talking to an old connoisseur of local history  about my Florentine essence and he introduced himself in the conversation in a very exuberant way, so I started laughing and making jokes as if we were old friends. The old man left and he talked to me staring in my eyes softly. He asked my number and I was not ready to this kind of question..but then I took one of exhibit flyer,  wrote it down and returned to him.

The room with was crowded and noisy. Students passed by to say me bye o hug me. Suddenly, he, as a ghost flew away. Well, I said to myself: was he real? Anyway, the vernissage was fun and I left one hour after.

Back home, I received a message from him and this was the start of our kind of affair.

He invited me for a date.

Should I say one of the most romantic ones in my life ? May be who knows!

We met in S.Croce square close to Dante’s statue, He was sitting on the stairs and I looked at him playing with his mobile. He smiled to me, then we arranged to walk till the “Rive gauche” where fashionable bars are. The aperitivo was fine, especially the prosecco. I was feeling as if the sparkling bubbles let me talk easily in front of a stranger about what came to my mind. He did the same too with a large coloured glass of some alcohol. I am not used to cocktails, I will always prefer sparkling bubbles. It’s a question of lightness. Prosecco will never let me cross the borderline, just will give the idea of

 

At the end of the evening, I was expecting he would have kissed me..but he didn’t. In the middle of the square, he came closer and closer to me. I assumed his lips were ready for a French kiss, I whispered something. He did not recede but yet nothing happened.

I stepped back. Some minutes after, got the courage and printed a soft kiss on his lips and went away biking.

 

Two months and half passed and we still hang out once, twice per week for aperitivo or romantic bike tours downtown. I am still a riddle to him as he is for me, more or less. Kisses are there regularly in and outside us as a magic potion to decipher each other moods.

 

 

Why I love to death chess ? About openings and endings, there are plenty of books, the magic is in the middlegame where any steps are possible and all potentially bringers of serendipities.

 

The english corner

di Beatrice Fabbri

Uno spazio "anglosassone" per uscire un po' dai nostri confini

 

 

The shy muse interprets the waves motion

And formulates tons of hypothesis

And even when the old Hesiod tempted to harass her

She is never tired of playing

if gracefulness is with her

(©BF, Stibbert inner museum)

 

Hidden in a meadow

Caressed by the spring breeze

The hassocks sound

and narrate my awakening

(©BF, Green state of mind)

 

May the stars caress your dreams,

Dance with you in a clumsy way,

Whispering riddles,

May your catlike essence

Let you walk for a new road,

Cast a glance to the here and now

May your laughter warm desires

And embellishes the impalpable plot

That composes the chapters of your journey.

(©BF, Terpsychore, the dancing Muse)

Proses

di Beatrice Fabbri

sognoMORPHEUS’S GIFT

 

“What  the beginning includes, the end will uncover or just cover it more?” Such an odd question was to start the day after coming back from summer holidays …told Nora watching herself into the glass. Anyway – she continued  while yawning..in few hours, I will be back in class and it could be a miracle, if such a question arose again.

Nora had the charm of her ending thirdies, brown long hair, she had a thin but muscled body trained along the years  by long sessions of swimming. She was feminine but not in an obvious way. She changed often her outfit. She could be either classy or shabby chic,  matching her clothes and feeling at ease with an old pair of jeans and a lavishing black dress. Definitely, she had her own style. She laughs recurrently by saying to herself: “you are chameleon, that’s what you are”. In some ways, this had been her mantra for years.

Her deep dark brown eyes had the power to enchant and scare at the same time and she was not completely aware of that power, and she felt herself embarrassed not to control it. Actually, her look upon things and people was always a mixture between naivete and malice, in search of  pieces of what she had lost along the years, part of her family, some dear friends.

A sense of not belonging to any group of people possessed her. She had the ability to mourn and to arise like a phoenix, stronger and vulnerable than before. She often asked herself: will I get through? Yes why not?..you have so many things to do..you are in the constant noise of daily occupations.. Noise? That was the truth: noise and not melody.

That summer seemed to be as hot and wet as it used to be for years. Spring semester had ended  successfully leaving her in a state of melancholy. After months of  work, commitment, challenges, discussions, laughter and tears, she had to take apart from her students. Their faces like a puzzle in her mind were similar to waves crashing on a wild shore. That was her destiny, to live in a constant craving for something to happen.

Her cat, Augustin, a black cat of three years bold and audacious stood for her always, looking at her face ironically most of the times. She used to talk to him late at night before falling asleep while Augustin kept open one eye only. Silly conversations or metaphysical ones, it didn’t matter, Augustin was a good listener and a good fighter, so when Nora was repeating the same odd things, it was able to jump on her face and stopped her talking. Suddenly, she murmured an “Ok, I am done” and she was ready to sleep. Her sleeping was softened by the painted blue walls of her bedroom.

It was days that she was thinking about leaving the town for the island, imagining herself in solitary beaches listening to the sound of the sea. She continued to delay the depart. Lately, in her dreams,  the shape of a unknown guy had appeared as a challenge. So recurrently at sunrise, Nora wake up and wondered why. “But the “why” didn’t take anywhere, better the “how” she reminded herself still yawning and drinking a cup of coffee. Then, in a sort of trance, she regularly tried to take notes to sketch out a profile:

…He had a quite handsome look, dressed in light colours, wearing dark sunglasses and listening to some music with his I-Pad in front of the sea. He turned to me once in a while and tried to whisper questions that flew away in the air before reaching me... I was well awake in the dream, I know,  I guess, I gazed him..and more and more I was feeling a pure bliss…no boundaries and a persistent sense of belonging.

After some days, and night dates with that silent guy in her dreams, She wake up early in the morning full of energy and started to pack. After tiding up her bedroom, Nora, accidentally, found on the left side of her bed,  just on the pillow, a little wood painted sculpture. She took it on her hands, observed from all sides. It resembled to a funny fish, its eyes, two little spots of dark black watching her, its body, kind of deformed body but gracious. She laughed and tore at the same time, then hugged the little fish for a while..in her arms and said:

It’s high time to leave for the island, and meet him in reality.

 

The english corner

di Beatrice Fabbri

At the post office: serendipity

beatrice fabbriAugust, 10, 2011. The city was silent. Most people were on holidays and I was feeling pretty well. I’ve always loved staying at home in August. This kind of urban desert – few cars on the streets, closed shops, old people walking to the nearest supermarket, the incomprehensible talk between two Punjabi young men living on the lower floor apartment -gave me a deeper glance on my blanks.. a bizarre calm invaded me and sat down in the kitchen waiting for another cup of coffee before having a shower..

Why (the) past memories has become so evident under the august sun? Not why, but how ..has to be the flexuous answer. I have never had enough answers.. lots of questions, instead…and this was the reason, I suffered from intense migraines for some periods of my life. On the other hands, this aches have given a precise perception of all my body sensations. I have increased since then an inner awareness..a carnal intuition of being here in my body and somewhere else..my head here, my arms, legs, foot walking and dancing in front of me. Now, sitting down in my wood chair, under the morning sun passing through the curtains , some drops of coffee fell down on my pyjama..: I have to go to the Post office, gas and electricity bills..need to be paid..as soon as possible.. Taking care of myself means also to be able to manage daily issues..the budget..after all..I know I could be a perfect housewife If I ever wanted..and laughed at myself..you a housewife?? What the hell are you saying? Are you kidding?? After this confrontation with my pragmatic self, I came back to my real self, dreaming but not completely irrational..I switched on the cdplayer and chose some Stravinsky, the fire bird suite was perfect for this august state of mind. Then, I stood up and had a shower. The cold water definitely woke me up and a perfumed body oil made aware of my seductive power. I brushed my teeth rather violently..the post office will close in less than two hours..you have to hurry up dear..no complains, pay the bills and then..next..

I open the wardrobe and looked for something colourful to put on… all my t-shirts there..from warm to cold colours..I put on the yellow one. Not a bright yellow, rather green- yellow with a tiny design of a scorpio in the back. Then go for the pants, which pair of could I match with? Anyway, this couldn’t be a philosophical question.. and finally took a green pair of pants, a pair of cotton pants similar to army uniform pants.. I looked myself in the glass: not bad..half wild, half..what? I smoothed the warrior appearance with a glamorous  silver necklace, my dad had taken me from one of his journeys to India.

I was ready to go out. Direction: post office. A drop of patchouli under my ears and in the middle of my neck..

I closed the door and walked the post office thinking about nothing if not paying the bills and then taking some cash for the weekly expenses. At the traffic light, three cars parallel were waiting for the green, I crossed the street self-confident. The post office was at the end of the street. It’s august, no queue, I supposed. I was wrong. When I finally got there, a little crowd out was waiting his turn, out of the office. Inside, just two clerks working and the conditioning air tremendously high in comparison with the oustide 35 C degrees.

So, I waited myself for my turn in a very zen attitude: harmoniously silent, preventing myself from complaining or talking to anyone if not requested. Just staying between the noise and people as a foreigner .a very peaceful condition: being on your own even if around a crowd. After, half an hour, I was finally in front of the post office’s lady, with my bills. I paid and was luckily free from my duties for a while. What a girl ! When I got out the office, midday’s sun disoriented me. I stood silent watching over me, then left, right.. and saw a woman, a latino-american, probably Mexican having some problems with the cash card at the ATM. Behind a guy was also waiting for the same operation. He turned to me once and x-filed me randomly.. I smiled at him, passing one hand in my hair still wet and incoherently anarchic. I imagined myself in front of my glass in the bedroom: What could have been my facial expression in front of this guy watching me? I could be very bizarre and witty if I wanted my face could have resembled to that of a Cheshire cat in the jungle caressing the zebra’ s skin or  that of an  hungry dog shaking its tail in front of a stolen steak..but that morning.. I was not  in  the mood for all these animal digressions…I was kind of naked siren wandering on earth while water was calling me.. outside and inside my skin.  I suddenly knew I could have dated him..or have I dreamt of him ? Or °

The guy turned a second time, staring me in the face nicely.. telling me something without talking.. but, about what? I understood..the Mexican woman was taking too much time to solve her problem..anyway, I was not in a hurry ..so..just few minutes after, the lady got her money and went away. The guy joined the ATM, did easily his operations, got the money and turned a third time to me..but that time, he exclaimed: I have been quicker than the lady..that’s it! It’s your turn, now..I approached to the ATM softly.. then when I was pretty close to him, I noticed his key : world archery was impressed on it. I have always had *

I got the courage and spoke to him: are you an archer?

Yes I am..

 


 

What's beauty itself?

A moment, an uncovered leg, long dark hair on your breast while drinking another

cup of coffee and the recall of a smile to give somewhere to someone unknown in the street,

a piece of a blueberry muffin on your teeth, a spicy perfume on your neck, a second hand ve

lvet coat, a dark moleskine to be opened and written....sharing moments of silence with your

love....before and after...Jumping into a bubbling tub and resting a while until the candle switches

off and the dark is perfumed of a new book to read, a new dish to cook, a new tango step to learn...

 

Thinking about Anais Nin’s journal read years ago and still able to evocate in me images of sudden intimacy with myself, my efforts in daily life to make spells and to get, even for few instants, the bright light of inner candles…

The english corner

di Beatrice Fabbri

Uno spazio "anglosassone" per uscire un po' dai nostri confini



 

 

Do not erase my memories, Goddess of Blindness.

wolf

I don’t remember..I was too young, probably a child of 3.. what could be able to retain in her mind a child of 3? Vague images, illogic episodes. Where time and spaces did not coincide..so she knew the meaning of real authentic memories, a mixture of truth and untruth...But probably, a child of three was feeling deeply than a grown up girl as I am right now..her language less developed but her body language could have been more powerful, and divine as divine as those little Hermes’ fellows flying, smiling and tearing at the same time. I have a blank..right now…this little girl wants to hug me, she is right here in front of me.. but we are too far from one another, our hands are dancing and whispering words of tenderness and sorrow. Mist and clouds over me…my father is driving downtown as he realized at the crossroads he’s becoming blind, no more colours in his eyes,just a total white in front of him and the only words are: I can’t see anything my beloved..I need to stop the car…please call the Emergency service..I am no longer able to…I do surrender…The little girl did not answer or cry..took off the car and ran to join a woman standing at the bus stop..she smiled at her and pushed her to get to her dad’s car..my father was no more there, a young, energetic man of 27 years old, fading away and at his place a wrinkled man of 78.. I didn’t know.. was there yawning and falling asleep..and watching me and the woman suspiciously…

 

The island and Her.

Stormy weather in the farthest island, while she was sitting in the outdoor cafeteria drinking the third espresso with whipped cream. Everyone was anxiously finding a safe place, not to get wet..She looked up at the grey clouds in the sky.. and beyond the shadows..glittering from the sun…planets, constellations..she was feeling of being in the right place, at the right moment with the proper weather conditions..The barman approached her and smiled silently. Then, took her a croissant even if she didn't asked for. The mobile rang, but she switched it off. Who was looking for her? Did she want to be looked for or after? A bizarre sense of sparkling loneliness invaded her.. and that's was definitely a start not an end.

 

Pagina 3 di 3

«InizioPrec.123Succ.Fine»

I nostri redattori e collaboratori:

Viviana Emilia Spada nasce a Feltre (Belluno) il 19 Maggio 1958; nel 1961 si trasferisce con la famiglia...Read more >>
Ho compiuto da poco quarantuno anni, vivo a San Colombano al Lambro, vicino a Lodi. Sono romana di nascita...Read more >>
Paola Rinaldi, nasce educatrice già nelle giornate assolate ed estive trascorse negli oratori. Laureata...Read more >>
Torinese, classe 1968, lavora come bibliotecaria, è giornalista presso diversi giornali on line e cartacei,...Read more >>
Sono Raffaelina Di Palma, classe 1945. Dall’anno di nascita si può presumere che io non abbia un titolo...Read more >>
View all authors

Seguici su Facebook