Italo Calvino to Issa I. Naouri ['Īsà Al-Nā.'Ūrī] – Amman, in Letters, 1941–1985 by Italo Calvino, Selected and with an Introduction by Michael Wood, Translated by Martin McLaughlin, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ, and Oxford, 2013, p. 358-359
Torino, 10 October 1968
Dear Mr Naouri,
I have read the poetry of the Palestinian resistance that you have kindly sent me. They seem to be poets of powerful expressive force, full of sincere poetic and human warmth.
The best thing would be to find a journal to publish these poems, I will try to contact a friend to bring them to journal’s attention. Of course, in us Europeans the trauma of the persecution of the Palestinians has a special resonance because their current persecutors suffered—in themselves and in their families—persecutions that were the most horrific and inhuman in centuries, both under Nazism and also a long time before that. That the victims of the past should turn into the oppressors of today is the most distressing fact, the one which I think it is necessary to emphasize. I am sorry that none of these poets deals with this motif.
Personally I think that the only solution to the Palestinian problem lies down the revolutionary road both in the Arab world and amongst the Israeli masses. A revolution by the Israeli poor (to a large extent of Middle Eastern and North African origin) against their colonialist and expansionist rulers; but also a revolution by the popular masses in Arab countries against their reactionary and militarist oligarchies (even although these call themselves more or less socialist) who exploit the Palestinian problem for nationalist demagoguery. The real Resistance is not only a struggle against a foreign invader: it has to be a battle for a profound renewal within the society of one’s own country.
I wanted to clarify my thoughts in order to confirm my solidarity with the oppressed Palestinians and their Resistance fighters in the context of a general political and human vision.
Thank you so much, and best wishes.
[Typed copy; in the Einaudi Archive, Torino]
The written word is alive too (you just have to prick it with a hatpin to see it start to bleed), but it enjoys its autonomy and physicality, it can become three-dimensional, polychrome, can rise up from the page hanging on to balloons, or drop on to it in parachutes. There are words that, in order to stay attached to the page, have to be sewn on to it, the thread passing through the loops in those letters that have spaces in them. And if you look at the writing with a lens, the thin sliver of ink turns out to be permeated with a thick flow of meaning: like a motorway, like a swarming crowd, like a river brimming with fish.
Italo Calvino on Luigi Serafini’s Codex Seraphinianus, tr. Martin McLaughlin, from “The Encyclopedia of a Visionary,” Collection of Sand (Mariner Books, 2013; orig. pub. in Italian, 1984)
"To hear the classics as a distant echo..." #italocalvino #calvinocentenary
Today is the centenary of the birth of Italo Calvino; you might have noticed him making many appearances on the Ramblings this year, and as I’ve made quite clear, he’s one of my favourite ever authors. I’ve enjoyed taking part in the monthly #CalvinoBookClub reads, and these have been focused on fiction. So to celebrate Calvino’s 100th birthday I though I would spend some time dipping into his…
I was listening to the latest Ear Biscuits episode (#419) and towards the end when Rhett recs Jeffrey Martin's album Thank God We Left The Garden, Link interjects to point out that he made him listen to one specific song from the album called "Red Station Wagon".
PLEASE READ THE LYRICS TO THIS SONG:
" I can still see that red station wagon on the street by your house
We'd walk to rent movies and wander our way across town
Out away from your dad you were always so easily found
You'd let your hands dance and you'd let yourself laugh out loud
Hey I remember
That night on the roof of the school when we were talking at stars
And you said that you might be afraid of who you really are
Your hand touched my hand and retreated in that desperate dark
And I called you a faggot and laughed and punched you in the arm
I don't believe it
I can't believe it now
I can't believe how I let you down
The church was a boot on your neck since the day you were born
They didn't like the way that you talk or how you move in the world
How you glide like a leaf on the water all gentle and kind
The world wants a man who is hard not hard to define
And you feel like a child that the God of all forgot to name
Like he gave you a heart but He did not give you a place
Did He breathe into you just to tell you that you are to blame?
Did He breathe into you just to tell you that you are to blame?
I don't believe it
I don't believe it now
I don't believe how I let you down
Did He breathe into you just to tell you that you are to blame?
Did He breathe into you just to tell you that you are to blame?
I don't believe it
I don't believe it now "
Just sayin'.
(P.S. I'm not implying that they are secretly dating or stuff like that. I just think that the lyrics of this song speak to a part of their relationship.)
Italo Calvino, (1965), The Complete Cosmicomics, [From World Memory and Other Cosmicomics Stories: (Shells and Time)], Translated by Martin McLaughlin, Tim Parks and Williams Weaver, Penguin Books, London, 2010, pp. 360-364
[...] the idea of perfection which art pursues, the wisdom accumulated in writing, the dream of satisfying every desire that is expressed in the luxury of ornaments, all these point towards one single meaning, celebrate one foundational principle, entail one single final object. And this is an object which does not exist. Its sole quality is that of not being there. One cannot even give it a name.
Italo Calvino, tr. Martin McLaughlin, from “The Mihrab,” Collection of Sand (Mariner Books, 2013; orig. pub. in Italian, 1984)