Gathatoulie

And of these shall I speak to those eager, That quality of wisdom that all the wise wish And call creative qualities And good creation of the mind The all-powerful truth Truly and that more & better ways are discovered Towards perfection --Zarathustra.

Friday, January 19, 2018

Una vita tranquilla (2010) vs color of pomegranates (1969)

Soundtrack and inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqTjbassv3g

Prologue

Antonio de Martino is living as Rosario Russo with his wife Renate and
their young son Mathias in an idyllic place near Wiesbaden running a
hotel and restaurant. He is wanted back in his own country and too many
people have him marked to kill. For fifteen years, he is living as a
respected member of the town and a versatile cook. One day in his
little hotel, his first son Diego with his friend Edoardo comes to stay
for a couple of days. They are planning to assassinate a manager of a
waste incineration plant. What seemed peaceful with consistent pacing
now turns into chaos. He murders and disposes of Diego's friend after
he claims to know Rosarios identity. Diego reveals his father's
identity to his backers. Getting doubts he tries to save his father's
life but while trying to flee he is killed by Italian gang members.
Antonio leaves his wife and young son for their safety and is again on
the run; looking back impassively Antonio boards a bus.

This film does not attempt to tell the life story of a poet. Rather,
the filmmaker has tried to recreate the poet's inner world through the
trepidations of his soul, his passion and torments, widely utilizing the
symbolism and allegories specific to the tradition of Medieval Armenian
poet troubadours.

I am the man whose life and soul are torture. I am the man whose life
and soul are torture. I am the man whose life and soul are torture. I
am the man whose life and soul are torture.

Poet's childhood

In the beginning, God created heaven and earth. On the sixth day, God
said... "Now We shall create man... according to Our image and
likeness." And God created man according to his image. According to
His image God created him. And the Lord God created man from the dust
of the earth... and blew into him the breath of life, and Man became a
living soul. And God took the man he created... And made him live in
the Garden of Eden... so that Man would till the earth... and tend the
Garden. And the Lord instructed him and said... Many have come ahead
of me, and vaguely known this amazing world, they have extinguished and
expired ahead of me. Books must be well kept and read, for books are
Soul and Life. Without books, the world would have witnessed nothing
but ignorance. You should read aloud for the people to hear, in benefit
of their souls... since many are unable to read what is written. From
the colors and aromas of this world, my childhood made a poet's lyre and
offered it to me. Saint George, we implore you, let your good fortune,
your kind thoughts... spread over our family, on our people, along with
your white horse... be a stronghold for our people, give prosperity to
this family. Give them good thoughts and prosperity.

Poet's youth

We were searching for ourselves in each other. The river has overflown
its banks.

Poet at the court

A prayer before hunting. We were searching for a place of refuge for
our love, but instead, the road led us to the land of the dead. You
abandoned us and went away, but we the living wrapped you... in a
cocoon, so in your new world you would burst out like a butterfly. How
am I to protect my wax built castles of love... from the devouring heat
of your fires? You are fire. Your dress is fire... You are fire. Your
dress is fire... You are fire. Your dress is fire... You are fire.
Your dress is fire... You are fire. Your dress is black... Which of
these two fires can I endure? I am a nightingale trapped in a foreign
land, and you are my golden cage.

Poet leaves for the monastery.

The wedding merriment, the sadness, the festive singing are all here.
And they shall never leave this place, if we respect the path of spirit.
What is your name? What is your name? Aroutin. Beautiful one, come
quickly, quickly come, or beautiful one, Come on, beautiful one, come
you, beautiful one... Kotcha... Hey, Kotcha... Godfather! What is
your ward's name? Aroutin. Aroutin... Matakh (an offering) We have
slain the sacrificial lamb, boiled the meat... and distributed it in
seven plates. Come hither, come... Come hither, come...

Catholicos' death

Brothers of mine in soul and blood, Heaven has sent upon us to this
world, grief... grief... grief... Brothers of mine in soul and blood,
grief, inconsolable grief has been sent to us from Heaven today. On
this night of revelations at Etchmiadzin, died our Saint Father Lazarus,
Catholicos of all Armenians... Brothers of mine in soul and blood,
Heaven has sent upon us to this world, grief... grief... grief...
Brothers of mine in soul and blood, grief has been sent to us from
Heaven, grief... grief... grief... Brothers of mine in soul and
blood, grief... grief... grief... Grief is sent to us from heaven
today at Etchmiadzin; During this night of the revelation of Saint
Sarkis, our Holy Father Lazarus, Catholicos of all Armenians, has died.
"God, our Savior... like an everlasting flower unsoiled... give your
good word for us... and bless the good immaculate ones. Blessed be our
Lord Jesus Christ. "Our Father, who art in Heaven... Poet's dream (He
returns to his childhood and mourns for his parents) You are fire,
you're dressed in black... You are fire, you're dressed in black...
You are fire, you're dressed in black...

Poet's old age (Poet leaves the monastery)

I am wandering, burned and wounded, and I cannot find a shelter... As
long as I live, my life is all yours, my love... My life is all yours,
how can I help it, my love... How can I help it... Go amongst the
people and may we always hear of your triumphs, your kind deeds, and
your well-being. You are the salt of the earth. And may God of speech
be always with you. Go amongst the people. I hear calls of homecoming
and hope, but I am weary. Who has spread all this sorrow upon this old
and weary earth?

Meeting the Angel of Death (Poet buries his Love)

Poet's death

Sing! In this world... Sing! In this world... Die! A poet may die, but
not his muse. Whether I live or die, my chanting shall wake up the
crowd. And nothing may vanish from this world on the day of my final
departure.

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words cut, pasted, and otherwise munged by joe corneli otherwise known as arided.