We are facing a sudden "enlightenments" not alien to Rimbaud or Ungaretti - ex transeuntibus Rapta you could say - caught in the disastrous turn of inner time, in which memory and waiting blend to erase the feelings more authentic and to help the psyche to bear the brunt of the suffering. And the poem, so more than any other art, has just this magic to tear immediately prey to tempus edax and deliver it to the use of the contemporary reader and future.
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