Seeking Locations in Palestine for the Film "The Gospel According to Matthew" (Sopralluoghi in Palestina per il film "Il Vangelo secondo Matteo") (1965)

Directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini.

Italy 1965, 35mm, b/w, 52 min.

In 1963, accompanied by a newsreel photographer and a Catholic priest, Piero Paolo Pasolini traveled to Palestine to investigate the possibility of filming his biblical epic The Gospel According to Matthew in its approximate historical locations. Edited by The GospelÔs producer for potential funders and distributors, Seeking Locations in Palestine features semi-improvised commentary from Pasolini as its only soundtrack. As we travel from village to village, we listen to Pasolini's idiosyncratic musings on the teachings of Christ and witness his increasing disappointment with the people and landscapes he sees before him. Israel, he laments, is much too modern. The Palestinians, much too wretched; it would be impossible to believe the teachings of Jesus had reached these faces. The Gospel According to Matthew was ultimately filmed in Southern Italy. Mel Gibson would use some of the same locations forty years later for The Passion of the Christ. 

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P.P.PASOLINI / SOPRALLUOGHI PER IL FILM " IL VANGELO SECONDO MATTEO"

MONICA DELLA TORRE, Fabiola, da OVERKILL , First Poems in English

Su Ubu Web, Publishing The Unpublishable ,sempre nuove scoperte: Monica della Torre

Mònica della Torre / Source Zoland Poetry

FABIOLA

Fabiola feels really free.
She has decided she is an artist.
She refuses to wear underwear,
wants to get laid.

Fabiola is beautiful
when she destroys herself.
She calls you up at midnight,
she wants to go think at a bar.

Fabiola is an airplane self-consciously
descending that drags your attention along.
She makes you feel low when she laughs
but doesn’t pull you up when she cries.

Fabiola doesn’t like to be alone;
but in your company, she looks through you
the way you look at yourself in the mirror.
She’s a vampire and a nymph.

Fabiola pretends she’s as fragile
as her leopard skin stockings,
but always gets what she wants.
She tricks you, like a hyena.

Her face reflects one thousand faces.
Some of them are yours






Fabiola si sente veramente libera.
Ha deciso di essere un'artista.
Sotto il vestito non porta niente,
ha voglia di scopare.

Fabiola è bella
quando si autodistrugge.
Ti sveglia a mezzanotte,
vuole andare a pensare in un locale.

Fabiola è un  aeroplano consapevolmente
discendente che cattura l'attenzione.
Quando ride ti butta giù,
ma quando piange non può tirarti su.

A Fabiola non  piace stare sola,
ma quando siete insieme ti guarda dentro
come quando ti guardi allo specchio.
E' una ninfa ed è un vampiro.

Fabiola finge di essere fragile
come le sue calze leopardate,
ma ottiene sempre quel che vuole.
Lei ti inganna quasi  fosse una iena.

Il suo volto rispecchia mille volti.
Uno di essi è  il tuo.

Mónica de la Torre’s poetry books include two in English, Talk Shows (Switchback) and Public Domain (Roof Books), and two in Spanish, Acúfenos (Taller Ditoria) and Sociedad Anónima (UNAM/ Bonobos). She has translated Latin American poets and edited multilingual anthologies. A recent collaborative book project, Taller de Mecanografía, was published in 2011 in Mexico City by Tumbona Ediciones. Four, her new poetry book, is just out from Switchback. She lives in Brooklyn and is senior editor at BOMB Magazine
( from  Zoland Poetry)   http://www.zolandpoetry.com/blog/

MAD SONG

Mad song  by William Blake (sempre lui!) E che ci posso fare se era un genio?

I venti selvaggi gemono

E la notte è una fredda notte;

Vieni qui, Sonno,

A cingere i miei  affanni:

Ma guarda! il giorno già spunta

Sui ripidi monti dell'est,

Ed i fruscianti uccelli dell'alba

La terra disdegna.

Guarda! alla volta 

Del cielo spianato,

Intrise d'affanno

Son condotte le mie note:

Battono all'orecchio della notte

Spingono al pianto gli occhi del giorno;

Fanno impazzire i venti rombanti,

E giocano con  le tempeste.

Come un demonio dentro una nuvola,

Con tonanti lamenti,

Dopo la notte io accorro,

E con la notte io vado;

Io volgo le spalle all'est,

Da cui balsamo m'arriva;

Poichè la luce mi riempie la mente

Di delirante dolore.

Traduzione di Ipazia

Mad song

The wild winds weep

And the night is a-cold;

Come hither, Sleep.

And my griefs infold:
But lo! the morning peeps

Over the eastern steeps,

And the rustling birds of dawn

The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault

Of paved heaven,

With sorrow fraught

My notes are driven:

They strike the ear of night, 

Make weep the eyes of day;

They make mad the roaring winds,

And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud, 

With howling woe,

After night I do crowd,

And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east,

From whence comforts have increas'd;

For light doth seize my brain

With frantic pain.