Original subtitles

Antonia Pozzi is one of the major Italian poets of the 20th century.

None of her work was published during her lifetime.

Come on!

(PROFESSOR READS HOMER'S ODYSSEY IN ANCIENT GREEK)

"I am afraid, and I don't know what of,

it's not what lies ahead, no,

because I place my hope and trust in that.

I am afraid of time... "

- Good morning, Miss Antonia. - Good morning, Ivo.

- Antonia, where did you get that? - In the courtyard.

Again? What are you looking for?

That long, narrow vase, the silver one.

Darling, it's here.

I'll frame it like the others.

- You have to press it in a book. - Yes, you always say that.

But I'll have to pressher in a book.

She's a delphinium!

- Tidy yourself up. - Yes.

- Dad. - Antonia...

Come and listen to this.

- It's Wagner. - Listen.

Can you hear its rigorousness?

Die Suche nach Gott.

What if it's the search for something else?

I'm going to study.

- What's that? - Nothing.

"... the Sirens tempt him with their limpid song, as they sit there in the meadow

with a vast heap of mouldering corpses, bones�"

I'm sorry you're leaving.

That's kind of you. I'm sorry to leave too.

I've always loved Milan more than Rome, this city suits me better.

Then why are you going?

I'm sorry, it's none of my business.

No. My mother lives in Rome

and she's getting too old to do everything herself.

So, I won't be able to trouble you with my questions anymore.

I'll send you some books.

Thank you. I'll give you my address.

Here.

- Will you come back to Milan? - Now and then.

My nephews would miss their uncle's presents...

Uncles who live far away buy the best presents.

Right then...

I wish you all the best, Antonia.

Say hello to the capital city.

�Say hello to the capital city.

I'm writing to tell you I've received the famous book.

Don't send me any more for three or four weeks.

I'm playing the hot-warm-cold game here,

and in the meantime I'll start consuming -

What a lovely word - consuming this one.

My desire not to sleep has become biological

and in bed, in the dark, I lie with eyes open wide

and I write, I write so much.

So Gandini has prescribed me some sleeping pills.

I'll stop now because I've run out of space,

perhaps next time I'll get another sheet,

so I won't have to compose such mosaics.

"On the steep mountain face I spotted a reddish stain and I believed

it was blood

TO FALLEN CLIMBERS

: they were lichens. "

"Yes, It is good to die, when our youth struggles

up through the rock, conquering height.

It is good to fall... "

- What are you doing? - Music!

- What? - Music!

One daughter and a mad one at that.

Come in.

- Good morning, Papa. - Good morning.

- Are you working from home today? - Yes.

You have no errands, things to do...

Perhaps you have to go out...

What are you talking about? Am I a delivery man to you?

No.

But promise me you'll be here when I get back.

- What do you... - Promise.

- But why? - Please!

- Good morning. - Good morning.

- Have you been waiting long? - No.

Sweetie...

It will be over soon.

I will be close.

Yes.

I'll go then.

Good morning, Ivo.

Come in.

Professor Cervi is here, he'd like to talk to you, sir.

Professor Cervi?

I asked him to wait.

Show him into the sitting-room.

Thank you.

- Professor Cervi... - Good morning.

- I hope I'm not disturbing you. - No, of course not.

My favourite activity is to wait for gentlemen...

who turn up at my home uninvited.

Cigarette?

No, thank you.

If I had been sure of an invitation,

I assure you I would have behaved differently.

But now you are here, to what do I owe the honour?

No, wait!

You've brought me a copy of that work on Nicomachean Ethics

that you edited with De Santis, is that right?

My secretary has been looking for it for the last two years.

Well?

No, I abandoned that project, I'm working on something else.

- Abandoned? - Yes.

A scholar of your calibre should easily have finished that job.

You don't want to spend your life marking Greek homework papers?

I say this for your own good.

An intellectual has essential needs,

like travelling, meeting people,

feeling free to buy rare and expensive manuscripts.

How will you do that on your miserly grammar school teacher's salary?

Take my advice, Cervi,

if you carry on like this, you'll find yourself seeking an income

by marrying the first wealthy student you come across -

that is, if the poor girl's father is stupid enough to allow you.

Darling...

Antonia, come here!

You have no idea how hot it was this summer

It drove me crazy, I swear. The heat outdoors made you faint.

Was it cooler up there?

Of course it was, wasn't it!

Yes, it was cooler.

What's London like?

Beautiful, eh?

Of course, I bet it's wonderful.

All those museums, the Tower of London!

And the Thames!

Did you go for walks along the Thames?

I think it's the most romantic river in the world.

Like a setting from a novel.

Everyone dreams of the Seine, of Paris,

but I have always imagined the Thames, I don't know why.

Perhaps because I'm half stupid,

like you say when you want to make me angry.

What's this album?

Can I have a look?

This looks like Lauretta. Do you remember her?

The girl in our class

who suddenly stopped coming and no one knew why.

Do you remember?

What's wrong?

Are you sad because you're back?

First you were sad because you were leaving, now because you're back.

You're so complicated!

Where's your notebook?

Found it!

Great, you wrote a lot.

"Exile"

What are you doing?

LYING DOWN

"Now the bland annihilation of swimming face-up, with sun in my face

brain pierced by red through eyelids closed -.

Tonight, on my bed, in the same posture, the dreamlike purity of drinking,

with wide pupils, the white soul of the night. "

THOUGHT

"To have two long wings of shade and fold them on this pain of yours;

to be shade, peace of the evening around your weak smile. "

Hello, doggy! You like being with people, eh?

You like it, you like it!

- This is a beautiful place. - Thanks.

Will you stay for dinner?

No, I'm going back to Milan with Vittorio.

- Dino, nearly everyone's staying. - I can't, I have to work.

What, working on Saturday evening?

Well, yes...

You really are a strange fellow.

- I'll take that, Ivo. - Good.

- Professor. - Miss Pozzi.

You must try one, they're delicious.

If you put it like that... thank you.

Listen, I realise this is not the best moment,

but I want to ask you a favour.

You need more time for your thesis?

Flaubert is really troubling you,

but look, you're doing a good job.

Thank you, but that isn't what I wanted to ask.

Can I ask you to read some poems?

Poems?

- Oh, you write poetry? - Yes.

What did you tell the professor?

- Nothing. - What do you mean, nothing?

- Nothing. - Come on, tell me!

All right, you'll tell me later.

But what a bore you are being so timid, Tonia.

Timid Tonia! That's you!

Remo. What's the matter?

- A lung infection. - Is it serious?

They don't know, they told me to go to the mountains for some fresh air.

So, seeing I'm fortunate to live in Milan...

Don't tell me you have a house in the mountains!

I'll ask my father.

What's more, Luciano is intelligent, in his own way...

...can you hear me?

...he is intelligent.

But he's hopeless when it comes to willpower, initiative...

he lets others lead him like a dog on a leash.

But it's good that after days of hearing Ruth say:

"Go away Keep away, you stink!", he learned to wash himself.

And as he was staying at my same boarding house,

I was able to see that he had a bath every other day,

and I can tell you it is a big event!

Why are you going away?

Please don't ask that.

You know it means a lot to me.

And I'll come back and visit.

We'll go up to our mountains,

you and me.

It will feel as if just one day has passed,

as though it were the day after tomorrow.

When you write something new, you will send me a copy, right?

Right.

What about Banfi? What did he say?

- He'll read them. - Gosh...

That's good though...

What time is it?

- It's early. - Come on...

What time it is? I have that dinner.

Six o'clock.

I have to get dressed, and put some make-up on!

Vain!

- Is Remo coming on Thursday? - Yes, Thursday.

She goes

Her body in every heart

Seems like a knife

Without mercy she opens

More wounds besides mine.

And she goes

With her body

Along the road and the concrete

Is a theatre for her legs

Always ready to dance.

If you're late, here comes the wait,

My only weapon is a long silence.

I, among billions of gazes

Chasing each other on earth

I have chosen yours

And now, among billions of lives

I divide myself with you.

If you lose your patience

Thanks to a smile you're mine again.

Then you open your hand

In a superhuman plan.

Your soul is playing in the garden

I hide and observe it

But where is your body?

We, to nourish our love

Face each other in a duel,

It will always be that way.

But my love

There is no enemy

More beautiful than you.

Dear Professor Banfi, as we discussed,

I attach on these few pages a collection of verses

that I wrote some time ago.

Antonia, we are leaving!

Wait, I'll be right there.

A DREAMT LIFE

I look forward to hearing your opinion.

Thank you for your help,

kind regards, Antonia Pozzi.

I'm going out for a walk, if you...

Don't worry...

Perhaps when you're finished sorting out your library...

Goodness no I could never let the mountain swallow me up.

It's too dangerous.

All I have to do is sleep and breathe slowly.

And be with my friend Tonia!

How come your father's left you on your own with a man?

A good fellow, a Cantoni,

a great family, respectable people.

That's true.

What's this? Did you take it?

It'll keep you company.

I like it.

- Good night! - Yes.

WATERLILIES

"Waterlilies pale delicate resting on the lake - pillow a fairy, awakened,

had left on the green blue water -

waterlilies - with long roots lost in the discolouring depth -

I also have no roots that bind my life - to earth -

I also grow from the depths of a lake - filled with tears. "

RENDEZVOUS

"In the room's air I do not gaze at you but already the memory of your face

as it will rise to me in the void and your eyes how they paused

now - in distant moments - on my face. "

- Good morning. - Good morning, how are you?

- Fine, and you? - Fine.

I'm taking a break.

- Right, I've read your poems. - Yes.

As you know, I hold you in great esteem.

I believe you have a natural gift for writing,

but I'll get straight to the point: poetry.

These poems of yours arise from a personal, autobiographical urgency,

and their spontaneity, in fact, is rather captivating,

but it's as though your vision lacked perspective.

These poems satisfy a personal escape,

not a real vision.

You naturally have to be inside your subject

but at the same time distant

or the poem crumbles because it's blind.

You need a committed style that is permeated with experience.

I'm convinced once you are a mature woman

you will write good things,

but for now I suggest you look for something

that in itself requires more of a structured thought

a novel, perhaps.

Think more carefully about what surrounds us today

and also think about the value you give to certain feelings.

I do understand, in fact I agree with you.

Good, but don't worry Miss Pozzi. Goodbye.

Remo!

Tonia! You're back!

I'm going to study under the tree.

How did it go in Milan?

What's wrong?

I've wasted so much time.

Yes, me too.

Why do you waste time?

This feeling of mine is selfish, it's not real.

It's not real? Then it serves no real purpose, sure.

I feel miserable.

Is feeling miserable not real?

It is if your feeling is genuine.

And what is yours?

Mine is a bad excuse.

Why do you need an excuse?

Because I can't seem to abandon myself to a life that is...

You need to find more Will.

The Will is like a muscle, you just need to exercise it.

�Now you accept you're a poet. �

You did some writing this morning.

I peeked.

- It's not finished yet. - Isn't it?

It looked finished.

The words are still too... heavy.

I wouldn't say so.

I don't remember them much

but I could spend all afternoon discussing

what was behind them, or above them...

but I won't.

You're barefoot?

I'm leaving for Bavaria on Tuesday.

At my Schwester's.

At least university will be starting again soon.

What are the Germans like?

They're...

reasonable,

heavy-going,

military like.

Patatuc and plufer.

You could die of suffocation. You'll like them.

Look, I'm going to miss you.

Don't worry about me.

You have a lot to think about yourself.

- Antonia! - Hello!

Let's go, I feel that you're ready.

Ready when you are!

When from his room, where he had taken refuge,

he hears the muffled sounds of the dance coming from downstairs,

where he thinks Hans and Inge are,

he decides to go down, but takes the back stairs.

But why did he decide to go down when he was enjoying his solitude?

He wants to understand.

So through the glass doors he sees them, at the dance.

Two perfect people.

And he experiences again the emotions he had felt years before,

that same love that had destroyed him,

that desire to feel simple, like them,

free from the curse of knowledge and creative torment.

They dance, and he watches them through the glass door

and feels the need to say something to them

so that he may receive something back, if only a smile.

But he knows they would not understand,

and would listen to him, baffled, as they always did.

So he gives up and goes back to his room,

still hoping they have seen him leave.

He imagines Inge coming to look for him,

he goes to bed and despite everything

he can still feel his heart living.

Think about it.

Off you go.

- Good morning, Miss Antonia. - Good morning.

- Are you all right? - Yes.

- Dad... - How was your day?

Fine, the little monsters were good today.

I'll go!

- Hello. - Hello.

Come in!

- I was nearby, am I disturbing you? - Not at all, I'll take that.

Careful, it's wet.

Dad, Dino's here.

- Good morning, sir. - Good morning.

How are you?

I'll be right back.

I hear you're doing your thesis with Banfi.

Yes. I haven't finished it yet, but I'm getting there.

Have you got a date yet?

No, not yet.

But I'm very busy.

I'm pleased one of my daughter's friends studies and has a job.

Dad, we're going now.

- Good day. - Good day.

...and my thesis is driving me crazy.

I sometimes sneak off and come here to breathe fresh air.

Nothing ever changes here.

There's usually only a thing that stands out from the rest,

even just the sound of a bird, or some poppies that have flowered.

I just look and listen.

And every time I come here it's like a recurring dream

in which something slightly differs.

And you dream too behind those bright eyes, I know that now.

Dino I warn you, if you don't stop showing me all this beauty,

I'll punch you in the ribs!

Do you understand?

Let's sit over here.

"And this terror: I lose myself, I will never find myself again,

I will never regain myself.

Little things chip away at me,

miseries corrode me. "

.. is getting married, so my family is throwing a little party.

My mother would be very happy to meet you. It's just a little get-together.

Will you come?

Yes, of course. See you tomorrow then.

�Riding, riding, riding, through the day, through the night, another day.

Riding, riding, riding.

And the heart has become so tired, and the longing so vast.

There are no longer any mountains�"

- I was going to leave. - Is that so?

I have waited so long I was beginning to think bad thoughts.

I was held up at work, I came as soon as I could.

You're pale.

Does it become me?

- Here are the four from London. - Be more careful.

You read them, I'll be careful.

I'll give them back as soon as I've read them.

How are things with Banfi?

I have to get the thesis together.

You're crazy to say such a thing this late.

I'm too busy.

Just think in two months' time when you'll have those 22 eyes on you.

You have to make the effort.

Yes.

- You're pale. - I'm fine.

No, you're not, and you're perspiring too, wait here.

What are you doing, going to save my life?

Dino!

How do you feel?

Hello.

How long have you been feeling like that?

You could have died, you know.

Died of appendicitis.

Like Rudolph Valentino, how romantic!

You're crazy.

Don't look at me, I'm ugly.

You'd rather have saved the Lolli girl, admit it!

The Lolli girl...

who gave you fiery looks on the number 38 tram!

But you saved me and that feels good.

You dirty rogue!

What you say about your writing really moves me,

but it's not true that the practical worries of the day

block the activity of imagination and creativity.

I don't believe in miracles and literary improvisations.

I believe in hard work, with file and chisel,

the constant and bloody struggle against oneself,

against one's own youthful tendencies, convolution and excessive style.

Dinin.

I hope you're not upset about my postcard the other day.

I was so restless and melancholic, I wanted you so much,

and a storm was brewing,

and a boy had died next door,

there were lots of flies and I couldn't get it out of my head

that the flies that were coming to tickle my cheek

were the same flies that rested on the dead boy's face.

On another note our Pasturo cures me well enough.

He lives - only by walking - always in contact with nature,

but he feels excluded even from nature.

He still feels himself a separate entity.

He says to his reader:

"Do you sit safely in your home reading in the paper

that the government wants to revise the civil servants' pay?

May God bless you!

I want to put the slice of apple on my pancake before it's cooked,

because I want to turn it over in the pan with the apple underneath

while I cook the other half.

Excellent technique. "

But when he helps a group of girls to find a hotel,

and he asks them all to repay him with a kiss,

when it comes to Elide's turn...

he feels overwhelmed with emotion.

And that changes everything

His whole idealised world falls apart in an instant.

He flees.

He starts thinking:

where will I go now?

And this is because something has reached out to him.

And he doesn't...

he doesn't know...

how...

The words don't come to me. They come to Hausmann though...

Did you get Banfi to read your translation?

He's always so kind to you.

I haven't finished it yet, Mom.

- I'm showing it to Dad too. - You'll see that...

No, Dad isn't interested in Hausmann.

- Would you like something to eat? - No.

- Teresita is coming to visit, isn't she? - Yes, she's staying four days.

Wait.

- Shall we wait here? - All right.

He's not here.

Remo's here.

There's Dino.

Tonia!

Vittorio!

Hello, Teresita.

- Remo... - We'll go take our seats.

I'll go then.

- Good evening, Miss Pozzi. - Good evening, professor.

- Were you waiting for me? - Of course I was.

I wanted to tell you about a dream I had.

Right now?

I was in Pasturo, at first I could only see the garden,

but then I wasn't in the garden, I was looking at it through the window.

It was the window in the green room.

Do you remember it?

But it was a lot bigger in my dream.

And even if I've never slept in there,

it was my bedroom and you were in bed with me, snoring away.

A curl fell on your nose.

Your arm was bent, and you put it over your face.

You tossed and turned, grinding your teeth.

You were the whiniest brute in the world.

I was looking at you.

It wasn't enough for me to touch your hair anymore,

to caress and kiss you and all the rest...

It wasn't enough for you either.

Keep your voice down.

Do you remember the girl from Lavaredo?

The one I was very close to?

She and her beau were in the same situation as us.

Just think, today I received news of their wedding.

Come on, don't be like that!

My father's really pleased you're... He's very proud of you!

Antonia, we'll talk about this later.

Why?

Why are you saying these things right now?

You know I've always worked hard, and I have to carry on working.

Your father has also talked to me but I can't,

I can't abandon my path for this.

You're the sweetest.

I'll always be bound to you,

but only as close friends.

Do you want me to sleep at your place tonight?

I'll see you tomorrow.

Antonia Pozzi (Milan 13 February 1912- Chiaravalle 3 December 1938)

wrote hundreds of poems, which were found in her drawer only after she was gone.

Her father privately published a first edition of the verses in 1939.

Years later Eugenio Montale wrote the following about Antonia's poetry:

�We've had and still have this desire, this illusion, for a poet of a new

nature to rise, man or woman, that doesn't matter; this poet may bring us

back to truth, to plainness, to style that doesn't seem or feel like style.

Antonia is this messiah, and she deserves to be

considered on equal terms with the poetry of all times. "