" Going out with you is like taking from house the radio, "said the spouse mornings ago. 'In fact, I sing. yeah. I climb into the car next to the spouse and singing. He's used to, says that when I get in the car is taken by" humming. "Canto all. To my mind are the most unlikely songs, old tunes that I felt sing from my grandmother, As it was raining, and carry the mantle, the notary fo ... pieces of work that was my grandfather singing, pyre that the horrendous fire ... classics and recent top ten hits of the sixties and the bon bon of Jaques Brel, the soundtrack of Oklahoma Oh What A Beautiful Morning and mountain songs, nonsense and Verdi's Requiem, voix Mozart and S e are the Watussi .. . I sing, even in these days singing. I love being scarrozza car-go without having to deal with the traffic, traffic lights, gear-and sing. So much for the spouse opens eyes to the vastness and the promiscuity of my repertoire and even intone aloud Woman, everything is done for you ... his poise is not flustered. Every now and then, when she sings bawdy ditties, benevolent, merely shook his head. I sing.
Singing is something strange, unexplainable, deep within me. A need? A disease? An escape? A challenge? I do not know, but singing. I look semi-desert along the Tiber river and the old song goes against Barcarolo Er ... But also, and has nothing to do types-types with the calypso-tips ... So I have no class or culture, are just an animal that relies on singing the song as part of his body, the less noble, the most immediate, some without reflection che non sceglie ma è scelta dallo spunto imperscrutabile di un momento, che affiora dal tempo, dallo spazio, da una vita di canzoni e canzonette e musica e non musica e ricordi e passato e lontananze.
Ogni tanto poi mi taccio. Ammutolisco. Mi piace anche essere scarrozzata e stare zitta. Guardare fuori del finestrino e farmi assorbire da questa città così amata e così deludente. Così grande e così piccola e provinciale; così feroce e volgare e sporca e confusionaria; dalla sua gente indifferente e appassionata, sciatta, immemore, inconsapevole, egoista, sprezzante, presuntuosa, ignorante...la mia gente, che mi tradisce ogni giorno e che nel mio cuore ogni giorno tradisco.
E mi commuovo per la bellezza and residual ancient history of this cemetery, I feel like crying for its pine trees, for its stones, sudden for the palm trees, the roofs burned by the sun. I love him, love him too much, I love her and I would not love her, love her and hate, conceited, obscene, with its baroque erotic, the unforgettable beauty of its arches and its columns, the stones of its crumbling pavement traitor, the heat of the south, the Mediterranean light, the myriad signs of power, the jargon which circulates from mouth to mouth and the river, dirty and old and tired ... tired? Will bury us all. Or bring your loved Tiber water in the port imperial there mouths to ancient or eternal river as ill this city and now worthless and negligible on the stage of each noble human activity, to touch your water is in danger of dying. But lasciarcisi go is, in at least one moment of his life, thought and quickly concealed sigh of every Roman. The river knows the slowly passing the city and this is how her Tassinari: ready to invective, vulgar all'imprecazione, and meanwhile timid, subservient, shrewd, calculating. Arrogant in luck, distracted or worse.
My city, my place. I love my job so, take me around my city, scorrazzatemi wandering, weeping with gratitude, shame, emotion, anger.
love. And I'll sing. I will become serious and thoughtful, and sing fishing by Roman song with the least educated of my entries. The Roman tradition of folk song is not worthy to be compared with that of Naples, I know, but it is rich, varied, intense and contains large and small masterpieces. Anyway, I love her. And visit the fishing in depths unknown and singing as he sang my mother and my grandmother and my grandfather, "Nina is sleeping vui dream that you kiss v'addorcisco er sleep cantanno adac adac
... I sing and" it seems that there are nun pain ... Singing and "er my hand if he loses between Fronne ...
Apparently nun esistino pain.
breeze blows a drink which is 'na caress
Smove the Fronne and makes' the flowers bloom.
Nina, who you sleep,
Let me kiss you, er
What v'addorcisco sleep
Cantanno Adachi, ADAC.
The smell of the flowers that you confonne,
on my part if it loses between Fronne.
Nina co '' I'm singing, I have I svejata,
Please forgive
love me love nun if brakes, child or loved one,
Why nun is a sin to make love
Nina, is you sleep,
Let me kiss you, er
What v'addorcisco sleep
Cantanno Adachi, ADAC.
The smell of the flowers that you confonne, Er
my hand if he loses between Fronne.
Let me kiss you, er
What v'addorcisco sleep
Cantanno Adachi, ADAC.
The smell of the flowers that you confonne,
on my part if it loses between Fronne.
Nina co '' I'm singing, I have I svejata,
Please forgive
love me love nun if brakes, child or loved one,
Why nun is a sin to make love
Nina, is you sleep,
Let me kiss you, er
What v'addorcisco sleep
Cantanno Adachi, ADAC.
The smell of the flowers that you confonne, Er
my hand if he loses between Fronne.
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