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It's too short. You immerse yourself in these poems, in the metaphysical landscapes described even if they don't exist. And in an instant, they are already over. I loved the variety of types of poems, with also eclogues and epigrams, nods to Latin poetry.

These poems offer a unique experience. They draw you into a world that is both虚幻 and captivating. The descriptions of the metaphysical landscapes are so vivid that you can almost see them in your mind's eye. Despite their brevity, they manage to convey deep emotions and ideas.

The variety of poem types adds to the charm. Eclogues bring a touch of pastoral beauty, while epigrams offer sharp and witty observations. It's like a journey through different aspects of poetry, with each stop offering something new and interesting. The nods to Latin poetry give a sense of history and tradition, connecting the present with the past.

How does one review a poetry collection? It is not done, or at least not in the canonical way, not in my case, because I don't know how to do it.

Montale is one of my favorite poets, right after Emily Dickinson and Edgard Lee Masters.

Very often, the pain of living I have encountered.

The phrase that has stayed with me more than any other remains, the one I repeat continuously during exams, the one I have analyzed the most.

I had never read a complete collection of Montale (not even Xenia, although "I have gone down, giving you my arm, at least a million stairs" remains my favorite poem of Italian literature) and I thus discovered a maniacal study behind this poetic collection, an incredible attention to detail and a path of growth and loss of hopes of the author that deliberately shines through the pages.

I don't believe that a complete reading of "Ossi di seppia" is for everyone, but I also believe that not everyone should grasp the historical-literary component that I was taught to look for in these poems. If you love Montale, I recommend reading it, and I'm happy to have done so.

3.5 ⭐️
This has been an interesting collection to read. It contains important themes and covers various subjects.

Some of the poems have really moved me, while others not so much.

The words within are special and penetrate the soul of the reader.

It's like a journey through different emotions and perspectives. The author has managed to capture the essence of many things in a few lines.

Overall, it's a worthy read that makes you think and feel.

Whether you're a poetry enthusiast or just looking for something new to explore, this collection might just have something for you.

It's a testament to the power of words and their ability to touch our hearts and minds.

23 ottobre 2016

It has been a journey of almost two months, because Montale gives nothing easily. It is a journey uphill, arduous, impervious, tiring, full of stumbles, pauses, forced stops, noted postponements and going back two or three stanzas, two or three lyrics ago. And still I have not grasped everything, nor will I be able to grasp what lies beneath the surface of his verses, because the journey is like a wall that has sharp shards of bottles on top.

"Ossi di seppia" is a collection of lyrics, a maritime book that has a salty aroma that tastes of water and the sea. The cuttlefish bones are the poor remains that are left after the cuttlefish has dissolved in the sun and the waves have abandoned them on the shore. They are bones soaked in the sea of Liguria, in its squalls that make it boil on the surface, bones scorched by the sun, to which the Mediterranean vegetation of agaves, olives, reeds offers rare shade of respite, a sunshine that blinds but not as fullness of life but rather in the opposite sense, light that never cheers, that does not give joy of living, a sea that sucks in the poet's self and then expels it, rejects it, confining it to the ground, leaving it prostrate and without answers.

Eugenio Montale is at the same time a poet and an existentialist philosopher. In his verses, the poetic faculty and the philosophical faculty converse and exchange roles. Hidden in his metaphors, he sings of the difficulty of his and our living, and even before that, the difficulty of being. Not even a nature as hospitable as the Mediterranean can soothe his inner turmoil.

From a linguistic point of view, Montale is indebted to Dante, Leopardi, Pascoli, D'Annunzio, his linguistic models, but he also draws abundantly from the Ligurian dialects. He is a poet who offers a very rich plurilingualism. Reading his rhymes, one has the impression of learning almost another language. His lexical rigor then becomes obsessive. Sometimes he falls into an exasperated technicality. One can perceive between the stanzas that the word placed there in the middle of a hendecasyllable or a quatrain is not placed by chance but is the result of a precise choice, reasoned for a long time after discarding ten other words that are too general and vague. And only that word becomes irreplaceable, the only one effective in clearly indicating an idea, a feeling, in illuminating and musicalizing a landscape, in describing a species of plant of the flora or an animal of the fauna.

And new words cascade down like "aggottare" (to bail water from a boat), "meriggiare pallido e assorto" (to spend the afternoon pale and preoccupied), "balbo parlare" (that stuttering speech), "il falotico mutarsi della mia vita" (the fickle changing of my life), "quel cielo bioccoso" (that cloudy sky), "il colore falbo" (the yellow color), "lo strinato bruciacchiato" (the parched burned), "il suolo che s'abbevera" (the soil that soaks up water). Vocabularies that draw from the infinite richness of a poetic dictionary that manages to expand to the unbelievable and that the poet composes in a complex architecture of stanzas of meter and meaning. When it happens to succeed in embracing in its entirety the temple of his words, then one truly feels to have raised to the ninth power that metaphysical inspiration that lies dormant or urgent within each one.

The most famous of the "Ossi":

"SPESSO IL MALE DI VIVERE
Often the evil of living I have encountered
It was the strangled brook that gurgles
It was the unfolding of the leaf
Laughter, it was the fallen horse.

Good I did not know, outside the prodigy
That the divine Indifference opens:
It was the statue in the drowsiness
Of noon, and the cloud, and the high-flying falcon"

********************************

Always on the evil of living:

"AGAVE SULLO SCOGLIO
O rabid sirocco wind
That the arid yellow-green land
Burns;
And up in the sky full
Of faint lights
Some cloud passes
And is lost.
Perplexed hours, shivers
Of a life that flees
Like water through the fingers;
Unseizable events,
Light-shadows, movements
Of the unsteady things of the earth;
Oh winged wings of the air
Now I am
The agave that clings to the crevice
Of the rock
And escapes the sea from the arms of algae
That open wide jaws and grip rocks;
And in the ferment
Of every essence, with my imprisoned buds
That no longer know how to explode today I feel
My immobility as a torment"

*********************************************

On the destiny of the poet and the art of making poetry:

"NOI NON SAPPIAMO QUALE SORTIREMO
We do not know what we will become
Tomorrow, dark or happy;
Perhaps our path
Will lead us to no pastures
Where the water of youth murmurs eternally;
Or perhaps it will be a descent
To the extreme valley,
In the dark, having lost the memory of the morning.
Still strange lands
Perhaps will welcome us; we will lose
The memory of the sun, from the mind
The jingling of rhymes will fall.
Oh the fable in which our life
Is expressed, suddenly
Will change into the dark story that is not told!
Yet one thing we trust in you,
Father, and this is: that a little of your gift
Has passed forever into the syllables
That we carry with us, buzzing bees.
We will go far and preserve an echo
Of your voice, as the gray grass remembers
The sun in the dark courtyards, between the houses.
And one day these words without sound
That we educated with you, nourished
Of wearinesses and silences,
Will seem to a fraternal heart
Tasty with Greek salt"

The content you provided seems a bit unclear and perhaps incomplete. However, I'll do my best to rewrite and expand it based on what I have.

The work is extremely wise, filled with learned images and a rich sense of the Ligurian nature. Unfortunately, the form sometimes shows a declining trend.

It is truly remarkable how the wisdom is manifested in every aspect of this piece. The images are not only visually appealing but also carry a depth of knowledge and understanding. The Ligurian nature is beautifully captured, with its unique charm and characteristics shining through.

Yet, despite its many strengths, the form does have its flaws. At times, it seems to lack the energy and vitality that it once had. This decline in form may be a cause for concern, as it could potentially affect the overall impact and effectiveness of the work.

Nevertheless, it is important to recognize the many positive aspects of this creation. The wisdom and the connection to nature are truly valuable, and these qualities should not be overlooked. With some careful attention and perhaps a bit of rejuvenation, the form could once again reach its full potential and continue to inspire and delight audiences for years to come.

Love poems are truly weird, don't you think?

They express emotions in the most intricate and often unexpected ways. The words seem to dance on the page, creating a rhythm that is both enchanting and a bit mysterious.

Some love poems are filled with passionate declarations, while others are more subtle, hinting at the depth of feelings beneath the surface.

They can make you laugh, cry, or simply stop and think about the power of love.

Love poems have the ability to capture a moment, a feeling, and preserve it for all time.

They are a testament to the human heart's capacity for love and the need to express that love in a creative and meaningful way.

So, the next time you read a love poem, take a moment to appreciate its weirdness and the beauty that lies within it.

I always find myself relying on the same old metaphors whenever I sit down to review poetry. It's almost like a default setting in my mind. "Poetry is like salsa, this collection is a mixed bag, blah blah blah." It's become such a cliché, and yet, I can't seem to break free from it.

But then, every once in a while, I come across a poetry collection that completely blows me away and makes me realize that not all collections are created equal. And this particular one is exactly that. It's like finding a jar of the most delicious, perfectly seasoned salsa that you've ever tasted.

What sets this collection apart is its consistency. Each poem flows seamlessly into the next, creating a cohesive whole that is truly a joy to read. The language is beautiful, the imagery is vivid, and the emotions are palpable. It's a rare gem in a sea of mediocrity, and I feel truly privileged to have discovered it.

This is not just another mixed bag of poetry. This is a collection that stands on its own, a work of art that will surely be cherished by poetry lovers for years to come.

I am engaged in the activity of reading the poems "Arsenio" and "House by the Sea" in this book over and over again. In fact, I am getting so familiar with them that I am almost memorizing them for the purpose of translation.

This process of repetitive reading allows me to deeply immerse myself in the essence and beauty of these poems. I pay close attention to every word, every line, trying to understand the emotions and meanings that the poet intended to convey.

As I read, I imagine the scenes and images described in the poems, and it feels as if I am being transported into a different world. The words seem to come alive, painting vivid pictures in my mind.

I am determined to do a good job of translating these poems, so that others can also experience the same charm and beauty that I have discovered through my reading.

Eugenio Montale knows what it means to be lost when you are building your future.

In the process of constructing our dreams and aspirations, we often find ourselves in a state of confusion and uncertainty.

We may have a clear vision of what we want to achieve, but the path to get there can be filled with obstacles and detours.

Montale's words remind us that being lost is a natural part of the journey.

It is during these moments of confusion that we have the opportunity to reevaluate our goals and make adjustments.

We can learn from our mistakes and use them as stepping stones towards a more fulfilling future.

So, the next time you find yourself feeling lost while building your future, remember Eugenio Montale's words and embrace the journey.

The book is extremely good.

It has the power to captivate the reader from the very first page.

The story is engaging and filled with interesting characters and plot twists.

The author's writing style is vivid and descriptive, making it easy for the reader to imagine the scenes and events as they unfold.

The book also offers valuable insights and lessons, which can be applied to real life.

It is not just a source of entertainment but also a means of personal growth and development.

Overall, this book is a must-read for anyone who loves a good story and wants to expand their knowledge and understanding.

It is highly recommended and will surely leave a lasting impression on the reader.

Please provide the article that needs to be rewritten and expanded so that I can assist you further.

Miracles have returned.

Montale has the ability to teletransport you into a gay and blissful atmosphere. Making Nature central, yet at the same time a stage, an assistant, a protagonist, and an accompanist, is a miracle. An act of faith.

His words fascinate because they are dry, decisive, just, and spontaneous. They flow in time and space, learning to adapt according to the page, the reader, and the poet. They are subtleties of few. Rare attentions.

Montale has kidnapped me from the atmosphere in which he projected me. A spring breeze that advances the first shivers on the arms, light. A gay word that is the sun that makes its way between two trees. The sound of the waves. The smell of lemons.

“Here of the diverting passions
miraculously the war is silent,
here it also touches us poor people our share of wealth
and it is the smell of lemons.”

The sun, which is life, has never given space to the night. Even though showing all the stars, hiding nothing. This is the miracle. Not hiding anything, confessing everything.

“I also give you my stingy hope.
To the new days, tired, I don't know how to grow it:
I offer it as collateral to your fate, that you escape.”

But what he offers is too immense, “A caress deflowers
the line of the sea and messes it up
for a moment, a light breath that breaks against it and still
it takes up the path again.”

The songs of hermetic poets have always been distinguished by the desperate anguish that led to new readings of reality, new interpretations. Montale proves it all, he can't go to the other side. To overcome the wall. The sea that becomes a malaise of living. The Ligurian sea and sun always present to serve as a background, arid with a force that dries up.

“Often I have encountered the malaise of living:
it was the strangled brook that gurgles,
it was the unfolding of the leaf
laughing, it was the fallen horse.
I didn't know good, outside of the miracle
that opens the divine Indifference;
it was the statue of the drowsiness
of noon, and the cloud, and the high-flying falcon.”

However, there is nothing that amazes me more than existence observed by existence itself. Being there to understand and not vice versa. Because there will always be something that will not be accessible and that's okay. Decadentism is over. Miracles have returned.

“Water is the force that tempers you,
in water you find yourself and renew yourself:
we think of you like a seaweed, a pebble,
like a jellyfish creature
that the salt does not touch
but returns to the shore purer.”

The words are powerful, “This only today we can tell you,
what we are not, what we do not want.”

To be read many times.