Sulla ripresa di una bella collana Mondadori ne Il Saggiatore. Quando gli editori telefonavano a Faulkner… E che i bei tempi ritornino!
Non commettere atti che non siano puri,
cioe’ non disperdere il seme,
feconda una donna ogni volta che l’ami,
cosi’ sarai uomo di fede,
poi la voglia svanisce e il figlio rimane
e tanti ne uccide la fame,
Io forse, ho confuso il piacere e l’amore,
ma non ho creato dolore.
PER FABRIZIO DE ANDRE’. UN ANARCHICO
Era 10 anni fa e Faber, il Fabbro della giovinezza nostra, di noi 60enni e poi di tutte le generazioni seguenti, se lo portò via il cancro. Ecco il servizio del TG5 di allora:
Il Faber aveva 10 anni più di noi. Avevo 16 anni, ed al Liceo Scientifico Messedaglia Alessio Altichieri ci insegnava alla chitarra “Re Carlo tornava dalla guerra” (composta dal Faber con Paolo Villaggio). Poi il Faber ci ha accompagnato nel ’68, e per tutte le età della vita. E’ la colonna sonora della nostra vita: l’unica, perche’ Luigi si era sparato contro l’industria culturale, quella discografica e la stupidità assoluta, piatta e floreale di S.Remo.
I 2 genovesi, Luigi Tenco ed il Faber, sono le 2 colonne d’Ercole della musica italiana contemporanea, quella che resterà tra 1000 anni. Con Luigi Nono, forse (ricordato nella autobiografia di Cesco Chinello 2008, Un barbaro veneziano. Padova: il poligrafo); ma quella e’ un’altra musica.
Fabio Fazio ha invitato ieri sera Dori Ghezzi come co-conduttrice, e fatto uno Speciale per Fabrizio davvero prezioso: lo cercheremo sul podcast di rai3 per vederlo (chi l’ha perso) o rivederlo. Alla fine tutte le sirene del Porto Vecchio di Genova hanno salutato il Faber, ed era davvero difficile non piangere … Anche Fazio aveva gli occhi umidi per tutta la serata. Stupenda.
Riproduciamo integralmente l’Obituary del Guardian di 1 mese fa.
Thursday May 1, 2008
‘She came to an end six days later – not slowly, like a train arriving at a station, but swiftly and convulsively, like a train derailing.” So the Italian-born writer Arturo Vivante depicted, with a doctor’s eye, the death of a character inspired by his mother. He himself, however, died slowly, at 84, a year after publishing a final novel that incorporated some of the 70 finely observed, autobiographical stories which, translated, were published by the New Yorker over the past 50 years.
Born in Rome, he was raised near Siena, where his Jewish father, Leone, grew peaches. His mother, Elena, of American-Methodist ancestry, was a painter. To watch her at work gave him an early appreciation of looking, of detail. The children had a series of English tutors, and as Vivante recalled, “for children under 10, we were sharply aware of politics”. Several times he described pupils suddenly being sent on a much-rehearsed fascist parade.
At the outbreak of war, the family fled to England and a hotel in Russell Square, central London: “Murky and dimly lit, it provided little contrast to the blackout.” Although anti-fascist, they were still interned, and Vivante was sent to Canada. After the war he studied at McGill University, Montreal, and in 1949 graduated in medicine in Rome. His practice inspired stories that later formed his novel A Goodly Babe (1966). This includes a visit from an American woman who marries the narrator. This happened to Vivante himself. He and Nancy Bradish moved to the Boston area in 1958 (he had several one-year posts at universities, and a decade at Bennington College, Vermont).
That year he also began to write stories, in English, published regularly by the New Yorker. These were collected as French Girls of Killini (1967), Run to the Waterfall (1979) and Solitude and Other Stories (2004). Invariably autobiographical, they often revisit 1930s Italy, sometimes featuring journeys by bicycle or car. The stories exist as much for their detail as any narrative thrust. “Peace and quiet … the feeling eluded him. It seemed to come to him only in his sleep. But was sleep peace and quiet? Not exactly. You need to be awake to savour peace and quiet. They weren’t just a void, a passive, inert state. They were a rich experience.”
Vivante had written poetry (and later translated Giacomo Leopardi), and his stories showed evidence of this. Their philosophy, a continual quest for peace, is redolent of his father. Classical allusions sit readily beside such observations as a Fiat which, “because of its smallness and age, was out of the contest, out of the tedious frenzy that cars, especially in Italy, have with one another. It was only a match for bicycles … sometimes, on country roads, big sheepdogs would chase it and keep barking alongside for hundreds of yards.”
His stories’ frequent epiphany, life in miniature, made his substantial novel Truelove Knot (2007) a surprise. While incorporating much material from the stories, it adds a melodramatic plot in which the 17-year-old protagonist escapes a Canadian internment camp. He is hidden, and seduced, by a waitress. He returns to her after merchant navy trips, on one of which he meets his parents in wartime England before sinking with the stricken vessel. If “he felt her heart pounding against his like bells ringing in glory” edges towards the overwrought, classic Vivante is “nothing travels faster than thought”.
His wife died in 2002. He is survived by three daughters and a son.
· Arturo Vivante, writer, born October 17 1923; died April 1 2008
Crafted with love by Céline fan LaDivaPourToujours
Beh, l’intento è promuovere quanto più il concerto per far sì che si arrivi al sospirato SOLD OUT!!! E’ ciò che più preme a tutti i fans di Céline, no?! 😉
( 24 July 1921, 3 March 2008) has taken forever, in the history of Opera. Let us just recall that his and De Sabata’s 1953 Tosca is often considered the all times No.1 recording. As the suggested podcasts remind us, he has been among the few, with PierPaolo Pasolini, close to Maria to the last. This means that, besides being a sublime tenor voice, he was “un gentiluomo” in life, as Montserrat Caballè testifies here. Suozzo and Stinchelli (La Barcaccia, http://www.radio.rai.it/radio3) have made their usual best in order to commemorate Pippo. Four podcasts resume and diffuse their craft work. While listening live to No. 4 (Maria and Pippo’s duets, including the one in Act 3, Tosca directed by M. De Sabata), emotion made so many people cry all over Italy. In fact living in Italy has some advantages:
you can listen to La Barcaccia live every day. No.3 has a unique interview with Montserrat Caballé.
From Alan Byth’s obituary, The Guardian:… in September 1951 he appeared for the first time opposite Callas, in La Traviata at Sao Paolo, with Tito Gobbi, no less, as Father Germont. He and Callas were soon singing regularly opposite each other, first at Mexico City, then at La Scala, and of course in a long list of recordings, the most famous of which, perhaps, is the 1953 Tosca conducted by Victor de Sabata, still a model for all later recordings. They were often partners on stage, for instance, famously in Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor in 1955 under Herbert von Karajan, a performance recorded live at Berlin, which shows both singers at the absolute peak of achievement, including a repeat of the famous sextet. Another notable combination featured the two under Carlo Maria Guilini in a staging of La Traviata by Luchino Visconti at La Scala, also in 1955, now available on CD.
Concurrence dure et pure pour la belle chanteuse Carla Bruni. You Tube diffuse “Si tu reviens, j’annule tout”, cette instant-song douce et romantique crée et chantée par Jeanne Cherhal dans un impetus creatif (suis reveillée un matin avec cette phrase en tête). La musique est sympa, en tout cas meilleure du banal contenu video associé et son sujet maniacale au carré: lui il est maniacale dejà, en plus on nous le fait voir et voir et revoir …: ça suffit, eh ?!? Vous avez de la chance en France: tu change le canal et: puf! Sarko 1, 2, 3 … Le texte est celui typique d’une chanson pop; il est à noter que le ritornello change à chaque fois sa première ligne (la seconde a un auteur suspecté meme par la justice: Sarko). Le voilà: “Si tu reviens j’annule tout, nos écarts de langage, nos colères nos passions de passage Si tu reviens j’annule tout, tu sais bien, tu reviens j’annule tout (..) Si tu reviens j’annule tout, nos éclaires, nos orages, tes piments mes plateaux de fromage Si tu reviens j’annule tout, tu sais bien, tu reviens, j’annule tout (..) Si tu reviens j’annule tout, mes cafards, mes outrages, autant que possible mes dommages Si tu reviens j’annule tout, tu sais bien, tu reviens j’annule tout Tu sais bien, tu reviens j’annule tout”.