/lit/ - Literature

>>12589193

>Odio la vile prudenza che ci agghiaccia e lega e rende incapaci d’ogni grande azione, riducendoci come animali che attendono tranquillamente alla conservazione di questa infelice vita senz’altro pensiero.
>I hate the vile prudence that freezes us and binds us and makes us incapable of every great action, reducing us to animals who quietly attend to the preservation of this unhappy life without any other thought.

Giacomo Leopardi was one of the best Italian poets, possibly the greatest intellectual of his age. He wrote not only poetry of incredible beauty (Canti), but also prose (Operette Morali) and a giant diary of thoughts (Zibaldone). He was also the most influential Italian philosopher after Ficino and Bruno, in that he inspired both Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. I cannot describe with words how much I like his work, I can only suggest to you to look into his life, his poetry, his prose and his philosophy yourself because only them can do justice to the greatness of Leopardi.
There is a fairly good movie on his life from recent years, which goes through the many painful things he went through (sickness, unrequited love) and explore the delicacy, beauty and depth of his poetry. It is not a perfect movie by any means, but it is worth a watch if you are curious about him and don't have the books at hand (those are still the best start, get yourself something with the italian text on the side if you read the poetry).
This is his poetry "L'Infinito" (The Infinite)

(recited in Italian in the movie Leopardi) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jIvzQvi75rQ

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,
E questa siepe, che da tanta parte
Dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.
Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati
Spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani
Silenzi, e profondissima quiete
Io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco
Il cor non si spaura. E come il vento
Odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello
Infinito silenzio a questa voce
Vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,
E le morte stagioni, e la presente
E viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa
Immensità s'annega il pensier mio:
E il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.

Always to me beloved was this lonely hillside
And the hedgerow creeping over and always hiding
The distances, the horizon's furthest reaches.
But as I sit and gaze, there is an endless
Space still beyond, there is a more than mortal
Silence spread out to the last depth of peace,
Which in my thought I shape until my heart
Scarcely can hide a fear. And as the wind
Comes through the copses sighing to my ears,
The infinite silence and the passing voice
I must compare: remembering the seasons,
Quiet in dead eternity, and the present,
Living and sounding still. And into this
Immensity my thought sinks ever drowning,
And it is sweet to shipwreck in such a sea.

>>11765484

The catalog fucking sucks. Let's discuss an interesting author. Giacomo Leopardi.