De Sicilia a Piamonte con Garibaldi

https://www.amazon.com.mx/dp/B0BQJNNXKV

Segundo en la Clasifica Amazon mi novela Italiana "De Sicilia a Piamonte con Garibaldi".

La novela es la historia real de un héroe Garibaldi, injustamente olvidado, que se llamaba Gaspare Nicolosi de Mazara del Vallo. Su historia me la contó su sobrina de línea, Silvia Nicolosi, cuando tenía noventa años. A continuación se muestra el prefacio de la profesora Silvia Nicolosi Dessy Deliperi a la primera edición de 2012.

"Mi abuelo Gaspare fue un hombre y soldado estimado y muy honrado. Lamentablemente murió muy joven, en 1904, a causa de un infarto y la abuela Luigia, a quien tuve tiempo de conocer, junto con mi tía materna más joven, murieron con pocos días de diferencia, arrasadas por esa espantosa enfermedad mortal. que causó más muertes en Europa que la guerra.La historia de los complots contra mi abuelo fue inventada deliberadamente y con su prosa agradable y fluida Basile logró hacerla muy verosímil. Concluyo diciendo que Basile y yo no pretendemos ser historiadores, sino sólo demostrar que el movimiento del Resurgimiento se sintió en muchas familias, que supieron soportar las muertes con dignidad. En definitiva, creemos que nuestra historia es un pequeño trozo que debe insertarse, con razón, en el gran mosaico glorioso de la muy dolorosa historia de nuestra Italia. Cumplí 100 años hace unos días y esto me hace perdonar la escasez e incertidumbre a la hora de escribir. ¡¡¡Un profesor de literatura entonces!!! Disculpe, pero la naturaleza es implacable". Cagliari, 19 de abril de 2012 Silvia Nicolosi Dessy Deliperi

Espero un dia que mi novela pueda ver la luz en idioma castellano. Por el momento es disponible en su version Italiana en Amazon a través del siguiente enlace: 

https://www.amazon.com.mx/dp/B0BQJNNXKV

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

I don’t want to be a poet anymore

I don’t want to be a poet

I want to be none

But a casting shadow in the night time

Looking for his own body!

 

I don’t want your mercy

Your esteem

I don’t need your approval

I’m not looking neither for success

Nor for glory

Not even for reigning

Over golden-plated  worlds.

 

I don’t search a leadership

Over Wastepaper troops

But I’m only on search

Of my real, original stuff!

 

Blame me deeply

Crush me under your feet

Forefinger me

As a pattern of human abjection,

Driven by your envy

you will be

slaves of your own

measured freedom.

 

You will be winners

As well as defeated

Struggling the battle.

You will be the machines

Of your own progress!

 

On construing

You’ll be destroying

And going towards

You will go backwards.

Inevitably!

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

Flower of Antioch

(for  Inès)

Goodbye flower of Antioch

I sucked your nectar

For a day

And then

I have blown away!

 

Ah if my fate had made me not a bee

I would not be here

Flying from bloom to bloom

Searching for inexistent happiness

But between your petals

Fragrant of love.

 

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

Flying the skies for ever

 

Who knows why human beings, since long time past

Have been dreaming to be able to fly?

The reason might be they always had trust

In God Almighty living in the sky!

And like a deer feeling thirsty and so dry

Longs for its spring to extinguish its fire

For men to be where He’s supposed to lie

His Creator is the greatest desire!

Go thus man and fly, higher and higher

Put your country’s flag along the universe

Or simply let some stuff make you a liar

Or dream you are flying while loving your own nurse!

Only when your body’s time is over

Your soul will be flying the sky forever!

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

I promise to talk

If there is someone who knows, he must talk!

To tell us why the son

has been torn from His Mother…

And the brother from his brother….

And why guiltless children and timeless old men?

Why?

I can still see them on spirit and flesh

fluctuating through the chimney pots

greeting us with a compassionate smile.

I, still hear barks and voices

assembling, frightening, dispersing,

chopping off bonds of affection;

and today, again, more children 

dying under the cruelty of soldiers

who seem not to know they exist

in the name of the same God.

I feel the shame to be a man!

And the fear to be alive and to love!

But why

if even Jesus Christ, from the Cross,

had already forgiven us!

Why? Can somebody tell me why?

Please let talk those who can, those who want it!

And if you know, please talk about it.

I promise I will do it

For not to forget.

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

In death of my father

 

I do not remember now

In the name of what kind of freedom

Your agendas I wanted to fight

Although today I know

The law we faced against

But later I knew

That not of iron

was made your heart!

And how many fairy tales,

I still had to tell you

But you seemed to be eternal!

Play in the heavens

Trumpet of silence

In honor

Of that sergeant

Who is not anymore!

Memories from the past

 

The sleeping  souls

 

The souls kept sleeping

In the shadow of reason

As we ran away

From the golden prisons

Of our unfair society

Meeting the horror

Of illusory freedom

Of unattainable equalities

of fallacious brotherhoods.

And there was no poetry

In the violence

And in the silence

Of death.

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

The Word Mason

 

I 've never believed a poet could be

compared to a mason,

unable to see words similar

to stone-bricks!

I said to myself: how can a man see

a poem like a home?

Where are the walls to touch?

Where presences to smell?

And familiar noises to be heard?

I know of course that anyone

Is able to see by his mind’s eyes;

but what if I were a King Midas

from ancient Greece

making verses of all my touching words?

Then I’d be able to construct

Golden, glittering poems?

As a matter of fact a poet can build his poems

like a craftsman does his own handicrafts!

So many voices I can hearing around:

some, may be coming from Gehenna’s souls,

sound like star’s waves;

some others, come echoing,

from a confused dream of my past:

-" Watch out, boy! Lord Winningoes

will let the cat out of the bag, ‘you know?"

 

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D83Z5MGZ

Just let them do it

I

Let them pass

Come on! Laissez faire, laissez passer!

Today is not time

To shoot people anymore!

Don’t you know is November the 9th 1989?

Today there is not time

To stop goods anymore!

Come on! Only one thousand dollars

Will cost you a plenty full track!

At 9 past 21 p.m.

The wall is falling down!

Laissez faire, laissez passer!

There are bound to be changes

For our lives further on!

It’s crashing down

Together with our illusions

Their false promises

The wrong secular hope!

Come on!

The wall is not hiding anymore

The totems of progress!

Let’s go worshipping

The glittering gods

Bounding ahead!!

II

Let them celebrate

Let them celebrate

the end of your world,

they want to celebrate:

the American dream is over;

they are celebrating

money growing over nothing;

let them celebrate

discovering your rootless brushes;

they need to celebrate

the burial ceremony

of criminal capitalism;

they 'got celebrate

the funeral

of greed octopus

which scrounges their people!

Let them celebrate

the dawn of new distribution

of richness of earth!

Let them celebrate

the end of your world.

III

Let them walk

Let them walk! They are marching for freedom.

Let them walk! They are not hiding anymore!

When people go out their homes,

it means they need to go

and show they are alive!

We need to be poor together

or to be rich together!

You, one per cent, you can't stop them anymore!

Richness is to be shared

while you keep the other ninety nine per cent

out of goods.

You priests of the profit,

criminals of finance,

embezzler of money,

cheaters of ever,

trappers of men!

Stop your police

and let them walk!

IV

Let them sing

Let them sing, all over the Country, let them sing!

Let them sing, they are the real voice of the Country!

Let them sing, in the name of liberty,

let them sing in the name of dignity!

Let them sing against speculation,

Let them sing against criminal finance!

Let them sing for the world is their world,

Let them sing for their sons, for their daughters!

Let them with the voice of the sixties!

Let them sing remembering flowers!

Let them sing for a new world to come!

V

Let them in

 

Let them in, Mr President;

they are the silent majority

who is tired to see a greed,

financial minority

exploiting the world.

Let them in, Mr President;

sit down and listen to them;

they have a lot of things to say;

they are the future of Mother Earth.

Let them in, Mr President;

By occupying Wall Street

they want to show how

a bunch of criminals

have occupied the power

and not by means of democracy

but with illegal tricks.

Let them, in Mr President;

they are fed up

to endure the 10% of people

 owning the 90% richness

against the 90% of people.

Let them in, Mr President;

 they want a new world of justice

 and USA must show justice.

Let them in, Mr President:

you can choose to be with them

or against them;

with justice or against justice;

with the New World

or against the New World!

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

My call to poetry’s unity

I call for Eraton’s and Polimnia’s help

To build some sapphic stanzas

verse after verse

Similar, at least, in their external structure,

To great poems

Built up in Lesbo by Sappho

And by Alcaeos

In the ancient times.

Poets are so sensitive to hear for those

Above said Muses

But please feel free

To build your one poem

As you like best.

Regarding the content I might be happy

To fill  my poem with love and peace for manhood

Gathered under a unique big family:

the poetry’s one!

 

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

Until I’m called by God at final rest

 

In my life I’ve been wondering, day by day,
As I walk through, not understanding why,
And I think sometimes I would like to stay
Instead to have to pass it by and by
And I ask to myself: where do we go?
As I can see around all people run
And read the Book to find what are we for
and whom will have to face when time is gone!
Don’t really know myself what life is for
Though I might think is right someone who says
It’s only a journey to get something more
Where to the eternal light for ever stays
While travelling I’ll try to do my best
Until I’m called by God at final rest!

Memories from the post

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

The enigma of the secret message

 

This secret reminds me

The mysterious message of my remembrance!

But memories can be empty,

waterless fountains sometimes!

-"I’m going to resolve the enigma

of the secret message!"-

Albix thought, while still dreaming.

-"When you wake up

will be solving correctly

the whole matter!"-

seemed to reply a dead voice.

Now I feel like my dream

Will start being shown on the wall.

A dejà vu or may be a dejà entendu

Where a voice from the roof

Will show me building

A magic house made with all the letter

Of the Latin alphabet

Flourished on the top

With gothic and Cyrillic characters!

Memories from the past

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB

Loneliness ‘ game

How fast run,

As a raining March,

The white sheets of my life

Each chapter like a missed opportunity

Always the last

The best

Every beginning, a program never respected,

And in the end I find myself

Prisoner among four walls

Sentenced, like a Shadow,

to live a life

already lived!

II

I try again to go ahead

striving to forget my past

Full of errors and ghosts

reminding and mocking my soul

Almost tormenting and rebuking

 to leave them behind.

And in my solitude

Their game is easy!