A Prophecy

Stamani mi son svegliato con in testa i versi di una poesia:

… The morning comes, the night decays, the watchmen leave their stations;
The grave is burst, the spices shed, the linen wrapped up;
The bones of death, the cov’ring clay, the sinews shrunk & dry’d.
Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing! awakening!
Spring like redeemed captives when their bonds & bars are burst;

Let the slave grinding at the mill, run out into the field:
Let him look up into the heavens & laugh in the bright air;
Let the inchained soul shut up in darkness and in sighing,
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years;
Rise and look out, his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open.
And let his wife and children return from the opressors scourge;
They look behind at every step & believe it is a dream.
Singing. The Sun has left his blackness, & has found a fresher morning
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear & cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion & Wolf shall cease….

[America, A Prophecy – William Blake, 1793]

William Blake, poeta e illustratore inglese vissuto a cavallo tra il 1700 e il 1800, aveva posto grandi speranze nella rivoluzione americana e aveva scritto questo pamphlet profetico su quello che si aspettava: fu poi profondamente deluso dal mantenimento della schiavitù.

Qualche out-take dal giro di sabato in Porta Genova …