by Monica Guerritore
Ancient Theatre, Saturday August 10 2019 @ 5.00am
written and directed by Monica Guerritore
Lucilla Mininno, assistant director
Paolo Meglio, lights
Parmaconcerti srl, ditribution
At 5.00 o’clock in the morning, during the dawn, in a theatre built on top of a hill with a breathtaking panorama of the Mediterranean Sea and Mount Etna, the Italian theatre actress Monica Guerritore will bring the audience into a spiritual voyage, from the Inferno (the Hell) by Dante Aligheri to the Infinito (Infinite) by Giacomo Leopardi.
TICKETS on boxol.it
Stalls (Parterre): € 15,00
MORE INFO and on-site tickets at the Casa del Cinema, Corso Umberto I n. 61, open everyday excep Mondays fro 10.00am to 8.00pm. Ph. (mobile): 0039 391 746 2146
by Giacomo Leopardi
“L’infinito” (Italian pronunciation: [liɱfiˈniːto]; English: The Infinite) is a poem written by Giacomo Leopardi probably in the autumn of 1819. The poem is a product of Leopardi’s yearning to travel beyond his restrictive home town of Recanati and experience more of the world which he had studied.
It is widely known within Italy.
Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle,
e questa siepe, che da tanta parte
dell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.
Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati
spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani
silenzi, e profondissima quïete
io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco
il cor non si spaura. E come il vento
odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello
infinito silenzio a questa voce
vo comparando: e mi sovvien l’eterno,
e le morte stagioni, e la presente
e viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa
immensità s’annega il pensier mio:
e il naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare.
Literal English Translation
Always dear to me was this solitary hill
and this hedge, which, from so many parts
of the far horizon, the sight excludes.
But sitting and gazing, endless
spaces beyond it, and inhuman
silences, and the deepest quiet
I fake myself in my thoughts; where almost
my heart scares. And as the wind
I hear rustling through these trees, I, that
infinite silence, to this voice
keep comparing: and I feel the eternal,
the dead seasons, the present,
and living one, and the sound of her. So in this
immensity drown my own thoughts:
and sinking in this sea is sweet to me.
This lonely hill was always dear to me,
and this hedgerow, which cuts off the view
of so much of the last horizon.
But sitting here and gazing, I can see
beyond, in my mind’s eye, unending spaces,
and superhuman silences, and depthless calm,
till what I feel
is almost fear. And when I hear
the wind stir in these branches, I begin
comparing that endless stillness with this noise:
and the eternal comes to mind,
and the dead seasons, and the present
living one, and how it sounds.
So my mind sinks in this immensity:
and foundering is sweet in such a sea.
(translated by Jonathan Galassi)