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HAIKU.TANKA Japanese literature, NAGA-UTA

Haiku is a short poem of only three verses spread in Japan since the sixteenth century onwards. Its structure is very simple: it is composed of seventeen syllables, divided 5-7-5 in the chain, therefore, requires a great synthesis of thought and 'image. The ability of 'Haijin (The poet) is therefore to express emotions in a few verses.


Under the lash of rain in April
cherry moans.

The haiku is derived from Tanka, a poem of 31 syllables, which dates back to the fourth century. The Tanka is composed of 5 lines with a precise amount of syllables per line: 5-7-5-7-7. Eliminating the last two lines formed the Haiku.

gushes and gushes,
suit, green fountain, ivy long-standing


blackened by the cracks of a wall breached.

Finally, the NAGA-Huta, consisting of seven verses, 5-7-5-7-5-7 -. You
The composition is then to music, giving orgine to songs played on various instruments and, above all, the shamisen, which became one of the most representative of traditional Japanese music. The legend of the olive
long, that he would become wood for the cross of Jesus, could be summed up in a Naga-uta, provided, that would be impossible to translate it into Japanese culture, music ..

He knew that the olive tree and through the man tried to escape

is plucked, he bowed, his torso split open


is tortured until he was unable to cross.

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STONE OF PATIENCE Atiq Rahimi


ATIG
Rahim
STONE PATIENCE
Translator: Yasmin MELAOUAH
Giulio Einaudi Editore
YEAR 2009
ISBN 9788806197094

A woman watches a man lying in a bed. The man is unconscious, has a bullet in his head, he fired someone for a trivial reason. In a country like Afghanistan, in a time that could even be today.
She speaks without interruption, as never before. Tells her husband, and finally this silent, many stories that make their story and that of their country. Before she whispers, then cries, gets angry, afraid. She cries. Exit and then return. Still whispering, softly, gently. Take
treatment of humans and also blames him. It alleges that he wanted to be a hero, having chosen the weapons and war to his wife and daughters. It never words for her.

INCIPIT

The room is small. Rectangular. This is despite the suffocating walls clear, cyan, and the two tents on grounds of migratory birds spread their wings and picked up a yellow and sky blue.
Holes here and there, let the sun's rays penetrate that end up on the faded stripes of a kilim.
In back of the room there is another tent. Green. Without decoration. Hides a locked door. Or a closet.
The room is empty. Devoid of any ornamentation. Except on the wall that separates the two windows, where it was hung a small khanjar, and above the khanjar a picture of a man with a mustache. He has thirty years. Curly hair. Square face, framed by two basic cut with care. His eyes shine with blacks. They are separated by a hooked nose. The man is not laughing, and yet seems to hold the rice. This gives him a strange appearance as a man who in himself makes a mockery of him watching him. The photo is in black and white, hand colored in shades off.