I play doing Robert

Hello my son, how are you?

Hi Dad, I’m fine. Your voice is weird, does something happened to “little grandmother”?

Oh no, no. Her health situation is steady. So what’s your voice? I do not like it, I’m remembering bad stuff.

Oh, nothing. Some mornings ago I set out to “play at being Robert”.

Play at being Robert? Explained better Dad.

Nothing special. As you know, I sit on the terrace at six in the morning, I was reading as usual, until suddenly it started to drizzle. Damn! Are several months that is too hot. We all want, at last, a little rain. We need rain like plants and rivers.

Are you telling me that? You at least will have the sea; here is just hot and wet. So what have you done?

Well, I see that you can already picture something.

Of course; you see.

I stopped reading and I looked up straight; the stretch of sea that separates “us” from the mainland appeared unusually threatening, mournful, anguishing. A thin thread of fog was suspended in midwater while sunlight was preparing to arrive. The light would have dissolved it with its heat but… Above me instead threatening clouds, full of rain, very dark: they wanted to reach the sea. It seemed to challenge it in a duel.

An enchanting place, don’t you?

A light thunder announced the challenge, a little later the first drops of rain. A few drops, small, but progressively larger and heavier. I closed the book, already been assaulted by some big drops, and I launched it indoors, over the armchair. A dull thud, muffled softly, but in that quietness did clang unusual. I closed my eyes and slowly I focused my attention on any single drop “landing” on my body, trying to follow the sequence. Ear, shoulder, hand / head, knee, arm / shoulder, hand, knee, etc. Initially it was easy to follow but soon it became difficult: the rain began to come down abundantly. Cats and dogs were raining.

I became part of the game; I let myself go. In my head the world seemed to stopped spinning. Then I started following – by my mind’s eyes – the rivulets of drops crossing the various parts of the body; on the back, neck, on legs, arms, cheeks etc. A fancy of small shivers furrows left by the containment of drops collected. [Inside me – but I can’t tell you, my son, – I wished, I hoped, that those streams could take away the thoughts: the melancholy that fill my heart, the anguish of loneliness. I hoped that would lead away, finally – silently – my Soul].

Dad, you are really amazing; If I had not respect of you; I would say you’re crazy.

Probably I am, my son, but I can guarantee that the feelings I have had were really unique, special. Once completely “invaded” by the rain, I began to think, ignoring the delicate tickle of the water to devote myself on my own thoughts.

What kind of thoughts Dad?

Well, hard to condense them into a synthesis, I mean. They are freewheeling; it is not easy to transcribe; you have to “live” them. Melancholy and joy have been released; Thoughts. Thinking of what you’ve lost and what you possess. A budget of affection and suffering, perhaps. At the end I found myself shivering, too cold.

You mean that you stay sitting a long? Yes, too much. I don’t know how much but. I finally gathered the strength to get up: I was petrified. I felt the need to take a hot shower and then I went back to bed. Before noon I had dizziness and I could not walk by the pain in the bones and muscles. The neck glands and armpits are swollen. Since three days I’m so but now it’s all right.

You paid a heavy price for playing at Robert, Dad. Don’t you?

Yes I know, a high price. Too High.

You’re unpredictable Dad, but how can you do? At your age?

By now: you should know me, my son.

Yes, I know you: after all, you “are” Robert. Nice to meet you but, please, have respect for your health. Let me this promise: collect strength and raised. I still need you: please don’t give up.

Annunci

It’s raining: inside me.

One Sunday in fall: late in the morning. A few pairs of hours, by train, and we will meet each other. For the first time. A nice project; desired.

I fill my travel time reading a book and compiling a list of songs that represent the various sensations I feel, now, while I’m reaching you. I try to imagine all facets of a first encounter: from the glances to the words to say, from the smiles to the silence you dial to listen to. And why not: from invitation and proposals. I smile by itself.

The train is a little late; only a few minutes but it seems like an eternity.

I recognize you at once: with your ballet shoes, tall, sleek and lean properly. You look at me smiling through your glasses: you recognized me. My (old) age has passed the examination; the most feared. It has been. We discover ourselves: the smell, the look, the softness of the skin, the hands and body movements are added to complete the fragments of traits that we have envisaged. For a long time.

While I move clumsy in my windcheater – and awkward by the straps of my backpack weighed down by the laptop – we walk on the autumnal waterfront: slowly. Gently we let our footsteps on the sidewalk until we reach the bridge on the river mouth. We walk side by side, stopping now and then to give us a smile which accompanies comments and dialogues. We stop on the top of the bridge to admire the sea at east side and mountains to the west. A round on ourselves, like a dance in front of the mirror, until we come face to face and share a spontaneous embrace and a kiss: tender and dainty. Sensitive and brief. A soft kiss accompanied by the silence of words in our respective thoughts. Moved upon the soul.

That bridge soon become a metaphor of the new perspective of life. A metaphor of plans: large but possible dreams to fulfill right away. Soon. A bridge to cross, that offers the shore of a new life. Leaving behind the so far passively accepted roles. Accepted with many compromises that devoid the line of the future. Your time has been suspending, for very long time, by neglected events. It’s time to cut the umbilical cord.

We go back on the waterfront and the tales we talk about, assured of us in this new dimension, roll out of the mouth without pausing. Without fear or fright: we rely on each other. Confident about each other.

The distressing situations – terrible to deal with and hard to overcome – now seem to present space for a renewal project. There is an air of renewed joy in the eyes; hope has been replaced by reality, by the truth. By life.

Sitting in a downtown cafe we consume – in addition to the drinks – the rest of the few hours available, we exchanged personal belongings useful to underline our reciprocal presence. From now on. We can try to reboot our life; restart the time.

Another train will take me back home soon, and when I’ll come will be already night. No matter.

Railway station platform 4: the train is coming. On time.

We say good bye melancholically and I get on the train. I turn around, the doors are still open, I lean out and look at the signal of the driver. I have time. Quickly I get off the train for a last kiss and for a necessary hug: only for a few seconds. A short, long, moment: the right one. The railway light turns in yellow and sharp we heard the conductor’s whistle. I jump on the three steps just in time. The beating of my stray heart went out of phase: I feel almost a dizzy spell. I gather your moved smile and your green eyes as they prepare to tears; I close mine like to thank the Lord and I repeat myself to feel, at last, happy. I deep breath rearranges the beating of my heart.

I take my place, turn on the laptop and begin to write “a walk on the bridge”; I will attach it to the e-mail as soon as I arrived home. I write something else that I will keep safe: I’ll make you read it when, one day, we will be old.

I turn off the laptop and close my eyes too. I have the hunch of wanting to become the bridge that will help you to cross the stormy river that is blocking your path. That river stirred by to be frightening: that swollen river that has ripped you away from your road. You have to face it, overcome it and continue to live: begin to grow up again. Learning to spread your wings and fly away.

I’ll be your bridge over trouble water.

We have a long road to walk together: building our future career and family plans. Draw up new horizons and reach it. Happiness to sow and reap. I think what happened is the beginning of a beautiful story: to tell to our friend, parents and children. A bewitching story: unique.

A fairy tale, enchanting, delicate, so unbelievable that it seems a dream. A magical event to live day by day with you: together.

Everything has changed inside me: I feel alive again. What an amazing gift that made me life. Thee.

Yes, you.

And what a sneering surprise the life gave me afterwards: this was the end of the story. None the beginning.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k49yMJE8jyg

Renato Gentile

Just the same Name

It was my birthday many years ago. As always many friends crowded into my house. A young girl, friend of one’s of mine, a student, accompanied him. Just twenty years later, during a meeting with colleagues (not musicians) I find her in front of me. She was just a woman. As if by magic something clicks in my heart and in her heart.

For a long time I was just a stray; I lived alone on myself. So I open my life. Happily.

I was sure to heal the wounds, heal the past, living love every day. With her.

But I wrong to put the right segments of the relationship in the right place, the hardness of my personality resurfaced.

With the same simplicity, the relationship sunk. There is no time still, everything is gone, finished, withered. Is the circle of life.

40th anniversary of school license, a few nights ago. Great meeting, all the “students” of last class. My literature teacher told me – now – what she thought about me and what she saw, at that time, inside my soul, deep in my hearth. It was all true: like it is true, now, that I have nothing. Nothing more.

The same name does not mean the same hearth. Of course.

Happy New… life

Portrait Ludwig van Beethoven when composing t...

Portrait Ludwig van Beethoven when composing the Missa Solemnis (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Time does not change, it is always the same. It is the life that changes the things.

Even if I don’t love formal greetings, I would like to offer you this clip. It is an advertisement; a good one. Obviously I don’t want to ensure a Bank but convey a message of peace.

As you (well) know: “Music is the only way to tell you how I fell”

Renato Gentile

Picture Shot: # 1

A Norwegian Christmas, 1846 painting by Adolph...

A Norwegian Christmas, 1846 painting by Adolph Tidemand. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

While Rehin was driving, his mental space, the whole universe of signals within and around him, changed. The atmosphere of reflections on the architecture of rational thought thinned itself and earn a soft smell of return, of foresight. A light impalpable serenity, like in the nights near Christmas, that tell you that will be special find together again, but not to celebrate a desire to unite together in peace. But, finally realized peace in the world.

He let in fresh air in the car and concentrated him on the sm

ell of the wood, leaving the mountains and plains scenery as backcloth.

He liked to revise, in neighboring memories, the imago of Tanila that runs towards him. And then go through the large courtyard to embraced together. In those silent moments they looked each other and smiled at them both.

Their smiles and kisses seemed to express a concern escaped. Something that would have could separate them. A kind of “danger dispelled,” so great was the joy of meeting again.

As if waking from a dream sad, you realize that everything is different, and what had happened is not true. That no one, in practice, we took away anything about.

In the meanwhile Rehin had come home.

He saw the backlit silhouette of Tanila leave the window and the landing light came on. He heard the hurried footsteps of her reverberating between the walls and the arcades of the court yard.

Do not embracing each as everyone would expect them to do. Their hands seemed to seeking cheeks, hips, eyes and hair to caress and touch them.

As a blind person, who regained his sight, can recognize a person only by touch, to trace the contours of the face: dabs and caresses the shapes and boundaries of the traits of body to sent information to the areas of the brain specialized to recognition.

They search their respective scents while eyes looking for eyes to listen and lips to heard. Then said they were “hallo”. Whispering. Quietly they disappeared from the sight of all those windows. The life still live.

Renato Gentile

Drawn from: “The silent of Eyes”, 2009

Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela

Madiba!

Madiba! (Photo credit: maureen lunn)

Never, never… Never Again.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

                                                                     William E. Henley

Rest In Peace Madiba

Renato Gentile