Hi All Readers :)
thanks for joining!
here is the quote from the beautiful book I read: The inexistent Knight by Italo Calvino.
see you next time :)
Book, now you reach the end. Lately I started writing at breakneck speed. From one line to the other one I jumped between countries and seas and continents. What’s this fury that took me? This impatience? You could say I’m waiting for something. But what ever could be waiting for the nuns, that are here retired exactly to stay away from the always changeable occasions of the world? What else am I waiting for, a part new pages to write and the usual tolling of the nunnery’s bells?
There we are, you can hear a horse climbing up the steep road.
There we are, it stops just here in front of the nunnery’s door. The knight knocks. From my little window I’m not able to see him, but I hear his voice. Hey, good nuns, hey, listen to me!
But is this the voice of – or am I wrong – yes, this is his voice! It’s the voice of Rambaldo that I’d been making resound so long time in these pages. What does he want here, Rambaldo?
Hey, good nuns, could you kindly tell me if a woman warrior found her shelter in this nunnery, the popular Bradamante?
So, while looking for Bradamante all around the world, Rambaldo musted arrive here as well.
I listen to the voice of the guardian nun replying: No, soldier, here there isn’t any warrior, but only poor religious women that pray to atone for your sins!
Now it’s me running to the window and shouting: Yes, Rambaldo, here I am, wait for me, I knew you’d come, now I come downstairs, I’ll leave with you!
And hurrying up I rid myself of the cap, of the monastic veils, of the nun habit, I take out from the chest my short topaz tunic, my armour, my greaves, my helmet, my spurs, my periwinkle blue surcoat. Wait for me Rambaldo, here I am, Bradamante!
Yes, book. Sister Teodora who was telling this story and Bradamante the warrior, we are the same woman. For a while I gallop over the battle fields between duels and loves, then I shut myself into some nunnery, meditating and writing the stories that happened to me, to try to understand them. When I came here I was desperate for love of Agilulfo, now I burn for the young and passionate Rambaldo.
This is why my pen started to run. It was running up to him, it knew he wouldn’t have been late. The page is worthy only when you turn it and behind that there is Life that pushes and disarranges all the book’s sheets. The pen runs pushed by the same pleasure that drive you to run the roads. The chapter you are starting, and you don’t know yet which story it’s going to tell, it’s like the corner you will go round when going out from the nunnery, and you don’t know if it will let you face a dragon, a barbarian crowd, an enchanted island, a new love.
I’m running, Rambaldo, I’m not either saying bye to the abbess. They already know me and they know that, after fights and embraces, I’m always coming back to this cloister. But now it will be different… it will…
From narrating at the past time, and from the present that made me lose control in the excited passages, there we are, o Future, I just mounted your horse. Which new flags are you raising toward me from the towers of towns not yet founded? Which devastation smoke from the castles and the gardens I loved? Which unexpected golden ages do you hold, you badly mastered, you herald of treasures paid at high price, you my kingdom to conquer, my future …
Global Forums > Reviews of Member Activities > Talking about Books 18th October
Only members can see names and photos
Talking about Books 18th October
Oct 19, 2007 @ 02:00
The text you are quoting:
Hi All Readers :)
thanks for joining!
here is the quote from the beautiful book I read: The inexistent Knight by Italo Calvino.
see you next time :)
Book, now you reach the end. Lately I started writing at breakneck speed. From one line to the other one I jumped between countries and seas and continents. What’s this fury that took me? This impatience? You could say I’m waiting for something. But what ever could be waiting for the nuns, that are here retired exactly to stay away from the always changeable occasions of the world? What else am I waiting for, a part new pages to write and the usual tolling of the nunnery’s bells?
There we are, you can hear a horse climbing up the steep road.
There we are, it stops just here in front of the nunnery’s door. The knight knocks. From my little window I’m not able to see him, but I hear his voice. Hey, good nuns, hey, listen to me!
But is this the voice of – or am I wrong – yes, this is his voice! It’s the voice of Rambaldo that I’d been making resound so long time in these pages. What does he want here, Rambaldo?
Hey, good nuns, could you kindly tell me if a woman warrior found her shelter in this nunnery, the popular Bradamante?
So, while looking for Bradamante all around the world, Rambaldo musted arrive here as well.
I listen to the voice of the guardian nun replying: No, soldier, here there isn’t any warrior, but only poor religious women that pray to atone for your sins!
Now it’s me running to the window and shouting: Yes, Rambaldo, here I am, wait for me, I knew you’d come, now I come downstairs, I’ll leave with you!
And hurrying up I rid myself of the cap, of the monastic veils, of the nun habit, I take out from the chest my short topaz tunic, my armour, my greaves, my helmet, my spurs, my periwinkle blue surcoat. Wait for me Rambaldo, here I am, Bradamante!
Yes, book. Sister Teodora who was telling this story and Bradamante the warrior, we are the same woman. For a while I gallop over the battle fields between duels and loves, then I shut myself into some nunnery, meditating and writing the stories that happened to me, to try to understand them. When I came here I was desperate for love of Agilulfo, now I burn for the young and passionate Rambaldo.
This is why my pen started to run. It was running up to him, it knew he wouldn’t have been late. The page is worthy only when you turn it and behind that there is Life that pushes and disarranges all the book’s sheets. The pen runs pushed by the same pleasure that drive you to run the roads. The chapter you are starting, and you don’t know yet which story it’s going to tell, it’s like the corner you will go round when going out from the nunnery, and you don’t know if it will let you face a dragon, a barbarian crowd, an enchanted island, a new love.
I’m running, Rambaldo, I’m not either saying bye to the abbess. They already know me and they know that, after fights and embraces, I’m always coming back to this cloister. But now it will be different… it will…
From narrating at the past time, and from the present that made me lose control in the excited passages, there we are, o Future, I just mounted your horse. Which new flags are you raising toward me from the towers of towns not yet founded? Which devastation smoke from the castles and the gardens I loved? Which unexpected golden ages do you hold, you badly mastered, you herald of treasures paid at high price, you my kingdom to conquer, my future …
giglio6973Oct 19, 2007 @ 02:00
thanks for joining!
here is the quote from the beautiful book I read: The inexistent Knight by Italo Calvino.
see you next time :)
Book, now you reach the end. Lately I started writing at breakneck speed. From one line to the other one I jumped between countries and seas and continents. What’s this fury that took me? This impatience? You could say I’m waiting for something. But what ever could be waiting for the nuns, that are here retired exactly to stay away from the always changeable occasions of the world? What else am I waiting for, a part new pages to write and the usual tolling of the nunnery’s bells?
There we are, you can hear a horse climbing up the steep road.
There we are, it stops just here in front of the nunnery’s door. The knight knocks. From my little window I’m not able to see him, but I hear his voice. Hey, good nuns, hey, listen to me!
But is this the voice of – or am I wrong – yes, this is his voice! It’s the voice of Rambaldo that I’d been making resound so long time in these pages. What does he want here, Rambaldo?
Hey, good nuns, could you kindly tell me if a woman warrior found her shelter in this nunnery, the popular Bradamante?
So, while looking for Bradamante all around the world, Rambaldo musted arrive here as well.
I listen to the voice of the guardian nun replying: No, soldier, here there isn’t any warrior, but only poor religious women that pray to atone for your sins!
Now it’s me running to the window and shouting: Yes, Rambaldo, here I am, wait for me, I knew you’d come, now I come downstairs, I’ll leave with you!
And hurrying up I rid myself of the cap, of the monastic veils, of the nun habit, I take out from the chest my short topaz tunic, my armour, my greaves, my helmet, my spurs, my periwinkle blue surcoat. Wait for me Rambaldo, here I am, Bradamante!
Yes, book. Sister Teodora who was telling this story and Bradamante the warrior, we are the same woman. For a while I gallop over the battle fields between duels and loves, then I shut myself into some nunnery, meditating and writing the stories that happened to me, to try to understand them. When I came here I was desperate for love of Agilulfo, now I burn for the young and passionate Rambaldo.
This is why my pen started to run. It was running up to him, it knew he wouldn’t have been late. The page is worthy only when you turn it and behind that there is Life that pushes and disarranges all the book’s sheets. The pen runs pushed by the same pleasure that drive you to run the roads. The chapter you are starting, and you don’t know yet which story it’s going to tell, it’s like the corner you will go round when going out from the nunnery, and you don’t know if it will let you face a dragon, a barbarian crowd, an enchanted island, a new love.
I’m running, Rambaldo, I’m not either saying bye to the abbess. They already know me and they know that, after fights and embraces, I’m always coming back to this cloister. But now it will be different… it will…
From narrating at the past time, and from the present that made me lose control in the excited passages, there we are, o Future, I just mounted your horse. Which new flags are you raising toward me from the towers of towns not yet founded? Which devastation smoke from the castles and the gardens I loved? Which unexpected golden ages do you hold, you badly mastered, you herald of treasures paid at high price, you my kingdom to conquer, my future …
giglio6973Oct 19, 2007 @ 02:00
Your Reply:
No replies posted yet.
