Biagio Marin was born June 29, 1891 in Grado. The son of an innkeeper, still lost his mother early in life and is raised by his paternal grandmother. He began his studies at age nine, in Gorizia, where he attended the preparatory course, then the German language school, Italian language study more, because it wants the curriculum of the Habsburg Empire. He attended the Royal School of Higher then in Pazin (Istria). In 1911 he went to Florence where he attended the Environment literary "voice" of Prezzolini There he meets Julian writers like him (Slataper, and Giani Carlo Stuparich, Saba, Giotto), but also Jahier, Salvemini, Amendola, also deepens the knowledge of Renaissance culture that had a great fascination in him the early art studies. In 1912 he went to Vienna where he attended for two years, the faculty of philosophy, he knows the music of Beethoven and Bach, reads Russian and Scandinavian authors and meet different people, including the Austrian educator Forster, who will have little influence in its subsequent choices of study and work. In '14 he returned to Florence where he became engaged to Pina Marini, who married the following year and with whom he had four children. After the events in Sarajevo, is obliged to fulfill his military obligations as a Habsburg subject, but manages to desert in Italy, where he wants to enlist as a volunteer. We will only succeed after Caporetto because of tuberculosis that had hit him in the meantime.
After the First World War, he graduated in philosophy in Rome and then taught for two years Master of Philosophy and Pedagogy Institute Gorizia. But to leave the teaching contrasts with the local clergy: he had brought the Gospel as a pedagogical text. He then school inspector of the district to accept, until 1923, when it passes to lead (for 14 years) the holding bathing and care of Grado from 1938 to 1941 returned to teach (literature, philosophy and history in Trieste), then (until 1956) is the librarian at the Trieste branch of Assicurazioni Generali. Deeply marked by the death of his son Falco (July 25, 1943), Slovenia, in 1945 joined the CNL of Trieste, and became president on April 27. From 1968 back to Grado, where he remained until his death in '85. Among the collections of verse, published since 1912 with the "File de tapo" include: "The Litany of the Madona" (1949), "usual" (1961), "Istrian Elegies" (1963), "In no time of the Sea "(1965)," El mar de eternal "(1967)," The songs of the island "(1970 - collect all the poems published until 1969)," Life x FIAMA " (1972), "A Sol Cala" (1974), "El critoleo fracassao body" (1976, dedicated to Pasolini), "In Memory" (1978), "In the tense silence" (1980), "Poems" ( 1981), "The Vose of the evening" (1985).
Biagio Marin also wrote verses in Italian (mention: "Aquamarine" of 1973) and prose, many critical contributions, including those of Guagnini, Bo, Pasolini, Serra, Marabini and Magris. On the centenary of the birth of the great poet, critic and writer Claudio Marabini it drew a concise, clear and precise profile as linked to the sea. On 29 June (day of the birth of Marin), speaking at the third "Faenza Folk Festival in 1991, one of the most important events poetic-musical Italian, named - coincidentally - Frontiers of land and sea, so Marabini Marin said: "In his Venetian dialect Grado - full of light, sky, sea - the sea is a sea with no name, no limits, undone into pure light. In it, he, the poet, is dissolved as a poet, singing the places of his life, his land. Throughout the poem in dialect and Italian, no one else has touched the sea as Biagio Marin. "
is from this fact, the sea, the original report and the original with it that we want to talk about Biagio Marin, a poet from the border, and his poetry, poetry of the sea, but above the waters of the Adriatic coast north-east (from the valleys Comacchio - history, fairy tales and memories - The Venetian lagoon on the Feast of the Redeemer, until, of course, the sea of \u200b\u200bthe Marin Venezia Giulia). In human and poetic Biagio Marin, their homeland, the landscape that has given birth, who welcomed in particular his childhood and, then, by '68 the last eighteen years of his life, was decisive . Able at the end of the last century was a small and isolated island (not a pun) of the lagoon between the mouths of the Isonzo and Tagliamento.
Only later would be released from its centuries of isolation to become a tourist destination first Habsburg, Venetian and then central Europe, then a commercial center and fishing connected to the mainland and the nearby Istria. The lagoon sea level, open, always moving to the east and west, with the shrine of Barban nearby, apparently motionless in the north, with expanses of light on water to get lost in constantly changing colors and extended beyond the plain of Friuli Aquileia in the distance , constitutes the essential poetry of Marin. The sea is infinite space where the poet was inspired and in which to wander, to seek, find out everything, the whole unit, recognized meaning of life and all life, human and otherwise. In 1980, in a kind of literary confession, Marin said, inter alia, that "the sea was for me the most literal word of Otherness and the most immediate embodiment of Divinity. The sky, and above the firmament, of course, was also the divine word, but the sea was something more. It's like the air you can breathe. The sea saw it and not just see him, but I dive into it, I knew its quirks, its beauties, the wonderful hours of "onIy" and the hours of the storm, her life took part. Moreover, my parents were all sailors, and we went out with the owners of a lugger which I, with my father, I have sailed many times the coast of Istria. Right there, within my sea I had the first, easier detection of the presence of God. "The sea for Marin can not be detached from life, from his things, the circumstances and the reality, from life great inspiration of his poem: "God, I know a poet el" (God, his poet); Marin recognizes and discovers that life is unitary. For better or for worse "saw and heard everywhere - as he called the writer and essayist Claudio Magris - even pain and death, his unit, the possessed and intoxicated with disturbing sensuality that was desirable, even to die, not only gulls flying in the summer sky but also the dead seagulls on the sand and started to dissolve, which took in hand almost with longing. "
Inside the unity of life is poetry, not seen as something separate, intellectual, but as something that "is inside." In fact, he got angry Marin or scoffed if someone told him that he was writing poetry. The poem "is not intellectual construct, made up of will and discipline. I, many times between waking and sleep, I see myself in many poems which then let go because I wake up dry, but altrevolte fixed in two minutes in the paper poetry I've already found me. " The sea was also the site of Marin for peace, serenity found, perhaps because of that first discovery, perhaps because of the insight of life as a whole, especially after the great moments of suffering in the past: the death of his son Falco (in '43 in war) to the suicide of his grandson Guido in '77, after the death of his wife Pina blindness in '78 and almost deafness occurring in the seventies. The poem that becomes the place of living, the presence alone is worth that "the Word, my only refuge," is the title of his collection significantly written the beginning of the eighties - despite "all that can fall upon a man-sighted and naive , ruled out any bitterness, "as he wrote brilliantly Pier Paolo Pasolini. The poet is still there, surrounded, "to make one with the sea, the sky, with the gulls, with the children, with the sands, with the marshes, with the sun, the fire covering the world of sex with his blue lava. While learning all, our poet has learned nothing. Every time is like the first time (even Pasolini). He is not afraid nor love, nor death, can even talk about this without the mediation of a language that does not feel his (Italian), but with that of the heart, that of the motherland, the Venetian Grado, a dialect of his, which enriched with new words and with expressing his "power generation"
The more dark
presensa
flashing the world and that if Spenza Luse, de west
more de m'inamoro life.
E, G Rie makes the File avril
and honey that has boca,
the first snow za
albeit slow dim zentilia. I went to the Melodious
Strà
de hip grinding in the intrigues that
ondes dresser is' the dog lying
in Maistrali de l'Ista.
Music ela
and Duta Duta how much the person that person
de quela zoigia that m'insiela.
that musician sings me the Duta
makes me corente of de Aqua Viva
that if he loses in the sea without shore, and only
el losing my mind.
(The more I die / worldwide / intermittent presence / and light turns off, the west / so much more to life M'innamoro. / And the laugh that makes her bloom in April / and the honey found in the mouth, / already the first snow flakes / albeit slow and gentle. / melodious going the street / hip nell'ondulare Springs / swaying like the reed bed / lying in the northwest of the summer. / Music / she and the whole person / whole that sounds / of the joy that rises among me. / That music all my tunes / makes me aware of living water / that is lost at sea without a shore / and only losing his reason.)
the man of today, more and more divided, indifferent, anxious, unable to listen, Marin indicates a possible way, that is born "co gera white 'urleva el Mar and The Wind" (which was white and the sea howled the wind "), and where "I did a pescaùri Girlanda hearts Sovi" (the fishermen have made a garland of their hearts), because everyone can discover the meaning of life. It does not belong only to the degree prophet of nature.
Elio Cipriani (From the website of the "Research Center Biagio Marin" Grade directed by Edda Serra)
E 'NDEVENO CUSS sails to the wind ...
E 'ndéveno cuss the sails to the wind letting apart
Drio de oreover ssia a large, co
' anemia in t'i vogi and 'the happy heart
pinsieri de manincunia sensation.
Mamola-mas and we stood in missi pagiol
co 'Leto captain in the Rigola;
and 'soto ndéveno singing'
canson the sun, which incorporated sora the sea 's the sbola.
And Water bronboleva Drio 's timon and
piasser the white deventava
and since the penalty would send a son as long as the burr
no' the gera tired.
It went well, the sails to the wind / leaving a large wake behind us, / the soul in my eyes and my heart happy / without thoughts of melancholy. / / Girls and boys sat down at floor / bar Leto with the captain / the sun went singing songs / still flying over the sea. / / The water was boiling behind the wheel / and pleasure became white / even played the pen: / as long as the foam was not tired.
MY COUNTRY My country,
Picolo nio
and den de corcali,
pusa Lisier sora off a blonde
sing it for you from a world faravo
not and never was stopped de Cantal.
For You 'sti songs to the sio te' ncorona
a dresser nuòli CARRY de matin
and one on the ninth hole of GNO
Duta covert high of rosemary.
(from "Canson picole, 1927)
MY COUNTRY My country,
/
little nest / den and gulls,
/ posato leggero su di un dosso biondo, /
per te di canti ne farei un mondo / e mai non smetterei di cantarli.
// Per te questi canti, perché ti incoronino / come un volo di nuvoli mattutini / e uno solo sulla fossa della nonna mia / tutta coperta di alti rosmarini.
UNA CANSON DE FÉMENA
Una canson de fémena se stende
comò caressa colda sul paese;
el gran silensio fa le maravegie
per quela vose drío de bianche tende.
El vespro setenbrin el gera casto:
fra le case incantàe da la so luse
se sentiva 'na machina de cûse
sbusinâ fly shekel el acquired influence vast.
Inprovisa quel'onda has somers
vised 'the country nor the nostalgia
the Vose colda hearts
takes away the shekel setenbrin, Cristal clear.
(from "Minudagia, 1951)
A SONG OF WOMEN
A song of a woman stretching / warm as a caress on the country / the silence is the beauty / to the voice behind white curtains. / / The evening was chaste september: / enchanted between the houses of his light / felt a sewing machine / buzzing fly by the vast sky. / / Suddenly the wave flooded / across the country in nostalgia / warm voice takes away the hearts / september in the sky, crystal clear.
0 comments:
Post a Comment