lived Maremma. I would die happy.
(Leopold II of Lorraine, Grand Duke of Tuscany)
Maremma, or Maremma, Immita beauty born of the Fever and Sun, or day realms of Dis, you dream of my soul!
(Gabriele D'Annunzio, Alcione Ditirambo I)
the marshes are still the most beautiful and cleanest in the world.
(Luciano Bianciardi)
A RACE IN ... RAMA
A ride in rhyme Rama on the shuttle,
in Paradise: What kind of magic, the sights!
stop Alberese shade, a bench:
8.00, under the blue sky of a beautiful morning!
Party time in the bus, heading for the Marina,
to my left, the mountains here dell'Uccellina.
The road runs between sunflowers and olive trees, to the mouth
Ombrone
then enters the Far West:
Spergolaia, however, is his name!
First cows and bulls in the wild,
many other horses.
looks like a ranch in Colorado! Two
Cinghialino rummage in the fields,
a rabbit jumps out of the ditch.
gets up the bar. The sunset tonight,
dye the sky red!
Corre, now the coach of Rama, like a missile launched
orange, green pine forest
in the tunnel, but
cicadas make more noise,
covering the roar of the engine.
The road is long and narrow
and it looks like it would never end more:
but in the end, here's the output:
a big round eye and blue. At the home of
pinottolai
three deer cross the channel:
crossing the eyes of a fox in the woods
which then disappears.
em'incammino
off the bus on the beach for more than a mile,
between the Elbe and the Argentario
front is the island of Giglio.
Among the sand dunes, scrub and trees,
between sea and sky, sun, wind and mountains,
towers are still there
sentry in front of the great sea, the Maremma
but now it is bitter sweet and beautiful,
no more pirates, or marshes or malaria
the Maremma land of love.
Bianciardi wrote, perhaps repented,
but the jury is still good:
the most beautiful place in the world and cleaner
the marshes are!
There is a race of Rama
that leads to Paradise:
Nature here has his kingdom
and beauty shows her face. As
resist, dear Maremma,
increasingly rare and precious gem,
onslaught of caimans,
tourism and cement?
the Rama and the park, I'd
tomorrow, just for this, a monument!
ALBERESE
Alberese
is a fraction of the town of Grosseto,
little more than a thousand people,
between fields, vineyards, olive groves and some
. Among
Rispescia and Talamone
a small country and serene:
beyond the Amiata with its summit, both sides
dell'Uccellina the mountains.
near the mouth Ombrone
it looks friendly and happy,
Park headquarters of the region, ahead
hills and the sea behind.
Della Maremma, high named,
reign of cowboy and the colt, with its towers and
San Raban,
Villa Farm, the stores of grain.
Deer, foxes, birds and wild pigs, horses and cows
in the wild,
in Italy has certainly not equal, it seems
the Far West of Colorado.
climate and environment are ideal,
the sun shines and it rains often.
And sunsets from the marina: Corsica
also seems close!
But much work, how hard,
Maremma dog, Maremma
bitter
to make sweet, hospitable and friendly
the swamp, once, malaria and accidents.
The wind tells its ancient history, sweet
Maremma, Maremma dear.
Kissed by the sun, in the moonlight,
that its stars will bring a lot of luck!
SKY MAREMMA
The sky of Maremma is
as the palette of painters:
inside, there are
all the colors of the world.
The red sunsets,
pinks, yellows, oranges
;
there
and the blue sea, land,
all brown. There
the green olive trees and vineyards,
the scent of the fields,
stain and pine cones. There
white clouds, gray and black,
In the sky of Maremma
reflects the whole world!
SUNSETS
grove I saw the sun die
between rows of olive trees, and
the light dusk,
ignite a thousand pine logs.
the hills, fields, orchards and gardens:
in the Park of the Maremma, which spell the summer sunsets!
AUGUST A Grosseto Grosseto
I love summer,
in August, in the sunny hours.
deserted, empty streets,
from the hustle and bustle abandoned. The walls
red-hot from the sun, far from
crowded beaches, I love those
my walks,
silence,
shaded squares,
the wind blows,
suddenly in gusts.
HISTORY OF AMBER AND OMBRONE
This is the story of Amber and
Ombrone.
This legend is a story of love.
A sad story, a love
not reciprocated,
Ombrone liked Amber, but she
refused
by magic, into a river
,
was changed.
Ambra on an island, the island of dreams
prohibited
Ombrone
it caresses the hips turned
.
cries his love,
you can hear the cry, cries when
the sky or the wind blows
.
weep not needed,
if for no reason, but
Amber cries for the poor
Ombrone.
Do not cry for nothing if you
cries from the heart.
Blessed is he who mourns his lost love!
PREFER THAT NOISE
prefer this
noise of the sea ...
on the skin, this fragrance
of salt. I prefer this
marine breeze, the sun shines
on this shore.
prefer the song of cicadas,
the sun goes down,
the moon rising.
prefer the sound of this silence
,
this starry sky, these reeds in the wind
LOG MARINE ALBERESE
trunks bleached by the sun, washed out to sea
trunks, trunks
taste of salt, like poles planted
on the heart.
logs cut off by the wind,
differing forms smooth by time,
contorted, twisted, distorted and elongated, like spears from the sky
thrown.
Artwork
the nature, sculptured by
case in future memory, skeletons of trees
lifeless,
as cuttlebone,
hands without fingers
the Maremma Park
From Principina to Talamone
25 km of the coast of Maremma, the marshes at the mouth
Ombrone
the pine forest of the Grand Duke of Tuscany,
fields and pastures, a green lung,
in the heart of the province of Grosseto.
The Regional Park of Maremma:
Paradise Found, a precious gem.
A chain of rugged hills and wild
follows, with its towers, to the sea:
cliffs and long sandy beach,
Argentario, Giglio, Elba see tick.
A shuttle bus travels forward and backward
,
then from Pratini, you must walk
. In the green heart of the Monti
del'Uccellina
San Raban, the white Benedictine abbey.
foals, horses and cattle in the wild,
between farms, scattered houses and farms.
No, not the Far West, nor the
Texas or Colorado!
No, not herds of buffalo, wild boar are!
Foxes and herds of deer running in the meadow,
thousand birds in the sky, the pink flamingos from the wings. Among
sunflowers, vineyards and olive trees, there is a village at the foot of the Villa
Granducale: You Alberese.
A MEMO Vagaggini
The Maremma is colored, in the paintings of
Memo Vagaggini,
of bright light and crisp, almost sound. And the landscapes sing
Maremma and amiatini
the soul of the painter of Santa Fiora,
simplicity and silence, he related.
The painting is nourished in him a light
magical realism that restless, the deceiver.
poet of color, design talent,
precise, geometric, clear and smooth,
in his paintings there is poetry and feeling.
time contracted and frozen.
Sharpness shiny produces loss,
space is bright and dilated. How
painted enamel on porcelain,
sovereign dominates the light of the Maremma.
this year I was in Santa Fiora,
in August in its Peschiera.
The beautiful family home is now surrounded by a large group
.
time everything changes and everything fades,
but that light is still as it was.
dazzling light, smooth and pure as
soul, as in his painting.
Alberese - Santa Fiora, September 2007
COLLELUNGO NIGHT
Sunny day, night
starry sky of Maremma
,
thou hast bewitched.
Collelungo at night,
under billions of stars,
the darkness swallows me,
chills on the skin. With an eye
bewitched,
infinite universe, the Milky Way
,
I'm lost.
Over time you learn,
eyes stealing,
with burning patience,
the moon looking for.
We were born from the mud, but
wakes
dreaming
our consciousness,
watching the stars. July 30, 2008
Batignano
Not far from Grosseto
,
there is a small country:
intense
olive grove,
green hills, turquoise sky
. Old town charm by
discrete
medieval castle was
Siena. The sock had
as coat of arms is
Batignano, village of Maremma.
Country of oil but also of good wine:
in time and space
seems very far away. Yet it is
really very close. He died
John, the apostle
Maremma.
The relics, the ballot shall be in San Martino
the Convent of the Cross,
there, you tap with your hand. The Venerable
here rests and lies:
Batignano to breathe air and peace.
Batignano, 11/11/2007
MAREMMA
Great Outdoors
open and empty,
deserted, and all this
sun, wind and the sea
.
wild and barren landscapes, endless
,
and all these stars in the moonlight.
bent trees, the trunks
abandoned on these shores in the sunlight.
Maremma, you're sweet, beautiful and rough and steep
:
away from you, for me, it would now
death.
Alberese August 2007
MAREMMA
Sandy beaches, green pine forests in the marine cows
wild, wild boars
, the neighing of a horse,
fields, vineyards, olive trees, rolling green hills,
the flight of birds,
the crowing of a rooster.
sun, clear skies, wind and fog
morning,
fiery red sunsets,
color of yellow corn,
silence, the darkness of the night, the starry sky, the moon and
white
her mild eyes and silver
Alberese, July 29, 2007
Maremma landscape
In neat rows, as soldiers, defending
the olive trees the hills.
around vineyards and farmland,
caressed by sea breezes.
Sunflowers, scorched by the sun, are bent.
August, now, is coming to an end. Back
silence in the countryside nearby.
arrives in September, with its scent of wine
THE SKY MAREMMA
The changing color!
Like when it's raining outside,
as when the sun shines.
Blue, white, gray, black,
do somersaults when changing sky. Like when
inside
change my mood.
as when, in, it confuses me
the heart.
RIMA IN THE EIGHTH EIGHTH
To you, dear reader, dear reader,
First, I extend my greetings.
If you want to make the read me, please tell
eighth form and content. Metro
of ancient and noble value, in the tradition
hath been maintained. In the eighth
poet Boccaccio
Today already do the poets in the arm. The eighth
rhyme, the most widely used today, is the eighth
rhyme that Tuscany.
hendecasyllables 8, written or sung verse
differs from Sicily.
The first six lines rhyming alternately
in the last two, change the plot.
Performed by the poet one day Farmer Today
by Guccini, Benigni and Rion.
the art of saying the words in rhyme,
called it once, the high Dante. The eighth
popular that piccolo,
rhyme is the eighth, then the result.
The form is always the first one,
bernescante extemporaneous art.
From the countryside and the village,
for witches to the songs of May. By the eighth
chained together,
the poets duel.
On issues from the public indicated,
improvising to the good.
The rhymes are easy to avoid. Popular
contrast and Bruscello.
Every year they gather to Ribolla:
with poets there is still great crowd!
Aldo Maiorano
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