Potere, luogo-non luogo ove Tutto è possibile, energia potente che si realizza nei dettagli della vita, accettabili o meno in rapporto ai valori imposti dalle leggi della Chiesa o dello Stato.E alcuni personaggi inventati o reali ne sono la testimonianza. Inverazione rappresentativa del potere é il thirannos Edipo, eroe nel bene(risolve l’enigma della sfinge, va alla ricerca dei suoi genitori) e nel male (parricidio e incesto). Altro gigante potente é Eracle: 12 fatiche e sempre vittorioso. Al venir meno della luce, esecrabile uxoricida e infanticida. E oggi?Quanti potenti dai mille volti, che nel viaggio di ritorno (epistrophé) si rivelano più umani e talvolta più saggi, dopo il lungo viaggio nel mondo infero.

Le parole del grande umanista prof. Luciano Canfora
Tiranno, eroe, governo: ascesa e declino. Con queste parole il grande legislatore ateniese Solone, agli inizi del VI secolo a.C., fissava in una sintesi poetica perfetta una dialettica virtuosa e al contempo perversa: quella che l’uomo greco vede sorgere nell’animo umano grazie all’esercizio del potere. Il potere fa del governante saggio ed equilibrato un sovrano “assoluto”, portato a esercitare violenza e sopraffazione sugli altri e ad alienare se stesso; lo trascina dall’apice della fortuna all’abisso della rovina. Tragico è dunque il corto circuito innescato da vocaboli come “tirannide” : parole che nella Grecia antica risultano ambivalenti e che, nell’Atene di V e IV secolo a.C., si caricano di valenze inusitate (all’origine il termine è un concetto positivo: indica il grande pacificatore).
La metafora del potere è metafora della vita stessa, è apologo morale che ci obbliga a riflettere sulla precarietà della sorte umana, sulla sua mutevolezza imperscrutabile e spesso irragionevole. Intorno a questa riflessione si aggrovigliano i nodi esistenziali degli eroi – positivi e negativi – della tragedia greca. Le biografie dei tiranni della storia greca si colorano dei tratti topici delle biografie degli eroi del mito: infanzia marginale e predestinazione, segnalate talora da una qualche deformità, fisica e/o morale, matrimonio importante e ascesa sociale, gesta di conquista e attività di fondazione, tracollo del potere e morte eccezionale – in definitiva, squilibrio e disarmonia, che si estrinsecano in un impulso alla contraddizione e all’eccesso. Nel bene e nel male. Ed è così che eroe e antieroe diventano facce della stessa medaglia e della stessa persona, ed è così che nella tragedia greca il tiranno diviene figura titanica nella sua grandezza, il cui prestigio e potere si ritorcono anche, anzi soprattutto, contro se stesso: persino al di là della sua stessa volontà. Il tiranno è infatti costretto alla solitudine e al crimine, e diviene perciò vittima di se stesso.
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..insignia Thought poetante
Persevering objective prince – It puts it this way Lucia Arsi – ie raise the Syracusans to rethink, Cultural Centre Epicarmo conveys intelligence island because they pass through the human events and more from various points of view. It is therefore an inter and extra textual reading of the proposed theme, to allow the conscience of experience with the past and not surrender to the unexpected future. Thus the “Beast” would Dionysus, God's yes and no at the same time. The archetypal force, when the ego takes hold, determines rape and murder. For us to say. To say that God visits man, that, sa only, Riesce to master.
Getting drunk with mugs of Dionysus and more “grain of salt”.
And 'the Arsi that sheds light on "The Beast”.
“The 27 January 2003 It will be held the second meeting prepared by the Center Cult. Epicarmo. The protagonist is the Word not only referential. Word heated by souls that relate to the mind and therefore the living word and perhaps true, only if more allow to listen and sharing it. E November, with the look short and intense, We attempt a reading of fatal real problems. L’ shame of a murder committed in the sound of blows and the desecration – crudely, rape – dell’ ancestral modesty with which the “Donna” He guards its mystery, It will lead us to quote mythologems relive that day after day and in every person and in every event. And back Zeus womanizer and Juno blood for defaillances husband and Hermes ambiguous messages, and Arethusa, the source that contains it and pours it all, and Elena, the beautiful and not just to the waist measurement, kissing her and inevitably destroys, perhaps without realizing it. And the Great (Homer Stesichorus Euripides Gorgias…) They have enhanced the features and counted the dead. For man “lost” the Great evoked the eternal feminine. Meanwhile, the reality continues to propose the Man computer, who knows well move checkers, well able to label and cap the mouth women, unaware (who knows!…) Elena each contains the essence and mystery of life: warms the heart of her husband, dell’ lover, old Trojans and determines fight, catastrophe, death. And the man continued to babble and ignore the female god ambiguous, god of unbridled ecstasy and lapidary silences: Dionysus. When the beast visit, when the’ extreme plant the banner, the mind boggles, It is less than the measure and is the end. It is vital to know, prevent the god and with roundabouts and narrow hands and without specific labels that aim to power egotist. "... Evil is always lurking?, we wonder. Forever and For Always, if we define it by the yardstick of secularization. Let us return to an aristocratic culture in which they live the seeds of life, that we intend to convey among ordinary people, without claiming to offer certainties or collect ephemeral consensus.
Awaken dormant and indifferent souls, this is what we propose.”
All that remains is to wish all’ Epicarmo: To greater!

….get moving
courted by maenads invaded
deeply only
his…the god of mugs
God smut infrenata
the sublime wholeness
get moving…

Euhoé Euhoé
Starboard to miss going crazy
flowing hair smooth cobblestones
the index is combined with the thumb
gasps the belly
the mind…the mind boggles.

E li
where silence his fencing where
where a thousand voices dart
there everything is purple
absent because.

The Lord the Latent the One
now here.
E November…We feel the buskins press
We breathe the white of his robe
who groped our hips.
The human is aroused
magma slips
get moving.. .get moving.. .Dionysus…

Dion: Dionysus Michele Fransisco.cosa matter! Call me ” dynamite ”
D.Enèrgheia, forza.
A:The strength of the hero or the strength of the tyrant?
D: It is up to man the choice. Man Law. The God visits.
A: Eh…Yup…you suddenly leads, shake, transform the inside and the mind reels…the mind is not there…
D: Creo lapidary silences
A: Even mounds lack of suspension… oceans of empty
D: Awake consciences soothed
A: Ho tanta paura. “Dionysus and Hades are the same. Eros e thanatos. Joy and sorrow. High and low. L’extreme”, so sentences Heraclitus, l'dark
D: Be wise!
A: What do you mean?
D:Not the wisdom of Reason tyrant, but the name of the servant Feel.
A:The name of the senses. Tonight, a gust of wind thickened around; I turn, no one around, SOLA e mi Basto mentre viluppo…
D:And you no longer shapeless, thingly, puppet. Your living.
A:At what price!
D:to the limit…pay the toll.
A:Cruel awareness.
D:Your weapon is courage; courage to say, to give,act, the courage of the measure: medén barren, nothing too.
A: your, god dismembering, I drunk the poison and I scream my no divine love, blocking my foot when paradise awaits me.
D: your…said MATERNA,brilliant educator, fiery mind.
A: Yup…Light Up My Soul.
the…Free from the shackles
I guess…
I imagine a garden…the sun beats down, the earth awakens the sleepy seeds.
The pines well aligned welcome sparrows shivering, then bow down to murmurs of Zephyr;
those pines lace wall, and the crest of the vision of the feeds
great. There a farmer pauses, carezza la zagara, grows the hope that the fruit
It gives and the harvest is fat and his children celebrating…
ecco..sono in my garden…Eden ..I and my land faithful friends.
Bush and Saddam smile, are friends.
Too bad not stand the test of time.
D: It depends on you, It depends on the world that is the valley that makes soul.
A:Because man does not seek its garden? Why always distracted and attracted by lethal treats?
D:Men sconoscono the gods in stir.
A:Then you arrive…
D:Check when boredom and indifference surrounds you tip the banner.
A:And we oscillate between immense spaces and the darkest abyss
D:E’ Time to go away…
A: Revere God, May disconoscerlo.
E’ always within us.
When knocks, noi all’erta, always with the balance.
E’ the only salvation. The only truth.
Agave docet.
CROWD AT PALAZZO IMPELLIZZERI concluded the seminar ” The beast ”

This concludes the seminar”The beast”and eight o'clock on Monday 27 January 2003. A strong charge of enthousiasmos floods the Palace of Culture. The cold burns the cheeks when we leave the door. But perhaps it is the other side of the coin. The heat, we invested, who left reflect the words announced, He is at odds with the harsh reality. And I just heard back dialogue. Dionysus advances in the room.” E’ which..”, announced poetically the young Vittorio De Grande. And Dionysus appears and converses with the Other. A poetic dialogue between the actor Saro Miano and Professor Lucia Arsi, author of the text. God visit, evokes drunkenness, dismemberment, It sharpens the senses, It makes women maenads nursery. The dual face of Dionysus, It provides the dark Heraclitus, evokes light and shadow, good and evil.
Really hands have touched madness, when in simple but touching the young Elisa Carbone relives the sad night of August of 1999.” I came home and my brother was sick, vomitava. We took him to hospital and remained in the operating room for hours and waiting us out…then, only after days of doubt, We discovered the truth. The fall from a tree could never smash the insides of his body. It took a cruel beating of friends and he always defend them and hope that everything would end well, but not so, since massive bleeding finished it ..:” And we feel the beast in assault, also for the trivial reason of a glance, directed by David Carbone to the panty of the sister of a friend of his.
Raising the voice of Bibi Bruschi echoes the cry of anger of a woman, he feels the danger of the rapist. A wonderful piece based on the novel by Marie Cardinal ” In other words”. The question posed to Mr dall'Arsi. Egidio Ortisi if the madness in the ancient world was regarded as bestial or not, il grecista, with clear and specific diagnosis, answers that are different diagnoses on the mentally ill, It is the only therapy: restrictive and ghetto. And even today, and not only on the mentally ill, but on the other generally, struggling to establish a culture of understanding and acceptance.
“Challenges to the death are the initiations of youth, – so Dr.. Pasqualino Ancona, psychiatrist, deep analyst and professor in a graduate school of psychotherapy in Rome -l'iniziazione is recognition of the important steps in the stages of life of each individual and helps psychological development. Excessive protection and mammismo take away the ability of the youth to conquer anxiety and also deprive him of the emotional resonance, needed to recognize that conquered a space in its achievements. And the young man puts at risk to experience these emotions, that culture denies. The young man who infected the AIDS virus has behind a thrill seeking risk, which led him to become infected. The reading of the myth of Heracles gives us the opportunity to read the heroic destiny of AIDS victims, because it develops a heroic mythology unknowingly. Heracles develops the heroic destiny to become a demigod through contamination of clothing donated by Deianira, dress sprinkled the blood and semen of the centaur Nessus, in an attempt to rape. In ancient societies initiations with acts of heroism and defiance of death they were institutionalized and then simulated and healthy; today, the size aggressive,heroic, denied and culture and sterile affective manifestations, often leaps out so beastly(white-drug-AIDS).
Another testimony of Dr.. Antonina Franco, The specialist infettivologa all'osp.Umberto of SR, that, with humanity that distinguishes, He recalled the discomfort of the infected young, nursing, today, the hope of physical and psychological recovery, not responding to evil with evil, instead illuminated by the light of God. Completes meeting” guys Cavat lapidem” Daniel Amato, a young lover of knowledge, sensitive revival of Our Town, that you are not prepared to visit ” Beast”. Literature reveals essential text for Life; Memory seems to sap the future.
Lucia Arsì


On Poetry
Note Lucia Arsi

E 'it is given to man by placing limits definitional Poetry? Absolutely no.
Perché la Poesia is un "agere cultuale", Soul is the thrill that s'invaga breath of the Cosmos, It is the emotional participation in the re-revelation of the mystery of life, is promptly reporting that Sapora compassion.
The act of Poetry leads through the labyrinthine path of truth, the truth that gives me the perfect square but perfectible; not the truth drawn in protocols and a few power and in favor dell'egoico, but it tickles me to watch on shared standards, to provide joy, hope and love.
Poetry, enigmatic classmate.
I imagine the poem to the way a girl, tenderly clinging to an oak; I follow, while, barefoot, He is lifting the arms of Eros fanete; now his eyes, veiled loneliness, They turn their eyes ... or do not seek more flickering dress provocatively ... his eyes slips on snowy slopes traversing steep ravines; that look, that s'afforza and elbowed asks more space, meets and images are the primary images, those that have shaped the world of here: crazed rampage, bloodthirsty tyrants, daimones imposing incest, bloodsucking brothers, separating tycoons and beggars because the first live of ravenous hunger; Meanwhile the eye and truth imbued, out of the darkness that suffocates, turns up more, wraps of light and there women who wrap themselves in the mantle blue to preserve the honest uprightness, but they are few and women are iron mo 'boulders they fill vast spaces and launch intense sparks of goodness; in that place-no place gaze meets the good-natured suffering of men who teach the measure in saying and doing, men burdened with all the pain of the world, and so wise and so ready to give themselves.
Now the girl flashed my imagination, It takes the stylus and, with a language far from simple, – It is easy to say the unsayable? – attempts to reveal in morphemes as "saw", and therefore knows.
Arduous undertaking!
Quite rightly, we read in a small piece of the Author Derveni: "Put doors to the ears". The metaphor is paid to many uninitiated to Poetry.
Techne and pathos are the ingredients needed to say poetic and the baggage is heavy and not all carry the load.
Most know how to read the agony of a soul that lives the eternal presence of absence?
Able to appreciate the constant and not split the yes and no, that blocks every step and makes man the Archegeta the mystery of mysteries?
Maybe that's Poetry?


Yesterday, you, new Theseus, con dedalea Maestría, sprofondavi in ​​your labyrinth, you specchiavi the monstrous image and you came back to fly ...
Today, you, the monstrous intricate and complex network of your Life, no more craftsman of your encouragement, trapped and mocked, the manner of Aphrodite and Ares, by a demiurge (Efesto?o da te, inevitable executioner?), eternally anguished, You can not fly, or you do not know ... maybe ....


A day. I do not remember the date. My memory deletes details. It goes beyond. E, in overcoming that limit, perceive, the mystery. And 'good or bad cross the threshold, hole in the wall that leads to Hades?
The mystery farfalleggia, claims consents.

A day. Usually day. While a glow creeps and imposes awakening, while the spasm greenhouse breath, while a thousand stray dogs rub the walls, a re-thinking back….the amazement of her.
Whispers:” Theseus…Arianna….”.
Un big event. Not by snacking. Go in with the thought of the heart.

And there are….in the labyrinth. Not for courage. Alone, dramatically reduced, vibrant humanity, I feel called. A voice. A Force attracts me…..l treacherous Case?… The Good News?…….

Within. I head there, where the monstrum lurks, the bottom more’ background. Fasten, see me with his eye lopsided and return back. Bearmi different light. Claim victory. For me and for others.
” Possible ?” and waving her hair. E’ possible… …if the will succor.
” Force, taurine strength, that dance and laugh insolent, deaf to all prayers, leave the house, lends help….!!!” I invoke.

Already inside….lost…exhausted.
After a few steps not giant, I curl up in a corner, a place shadowed, a hollow dug by others. On one point winds a pavement gutted, sterposo, then, the curve, a slice of proper road and still burrows, protrusions and recesses and branches left and right.
“Weirs, if not t'avvedi that the ground is riddled with holes, Who Swallow and cancel.”
That land tortuous foments remember: We hope. Indonesia. For nine nights, in nine different places, nine families of men perform a dance for three voices : the maro dance. Five thousand years ago. At the center lei, Rabie named, the maiden moon. Every night of lavish gifts: chinaware, gold jewelry, objects of copper.
Men feel envy. The bury. “Pay the penalty ” It enshrines one that is very high.
It begins the ponos, the effort of living, the journey through the door to nine scrolls. The maze. They will be men who will be crossing, the rest wandering souls or beasts.

And Persephone ? She too maiden lunar, in proposing the eternal cycle of birth fertile growing death.
Persephone: great insight….all that glitters in the sunlight reveals a ” justness “, whose origins are obscure, rooted in the border of the non-being.
It is given to man to capture the essence of non-being through the mysterious message, the dark path, the deep yearning. Magnificent gifts of an ambiguous goddess.

And I go back to the labyrinth, to my trip. Pre-see and re-injure. That's the way. A faint whiff. A muffled breathing. Who does not want to appear. Scrutinize and unseen. Next to me is he. Man Metis, Theseus. So tanto di lui. Plutarch revealed the exploits, immortalized the memory. They are a step away from the man secret. E’ immense in size unreal. Godlike: Jesus', Krishna. It has a mission. Purifying. The miasma contaminate men, things.
It is not affecting the normal position.
E Pasifae, victim of plots thin, beyond common eye, He has dared so much:an unusual story.
Burns with love.
A relationship that evokes roots beastly, source of many misdeeds. It joins with the bull, his father, Zeus celeste.

Eterno dilemma:
tightened in reduced spaces, where cement cockpits oppress the senses, where sheets attractive imprison even breathlessness, and there is crack of starvation, battered by lashing wind and sometimes dried by the hot sun or…fly so high and disappearing light light….

Wings dedalee succor. A flight” cultuale ” free from the tentacles of the maze. The chorus of women Trezene, nell'Ippolito, sobs:” If in inaccessible places on earth I was….or bird, that the door wings, levarmi in volo…..”

The hellish despair creates a yearning for high spaces.

And Pasiphae was open to the sky, making the impossible, destroying taboos'. The result is a dual nature:half man, half beast.

your, that you immerse yourself in this reading,
you, that nothing arrogarti, budgets thought,
headstrong, hammers rock hardened holes…holes…e
your mind is full of vain bravado,
oil gushes
It offers bullion
e tu, you destroyed the earth, rejoice…

….suddenly the smile off
show your nakedness
You put your clothes to what you've played
….from the rubble and the debris forward thrust,more’ their…

The life :”Crossing from one end.”
Inside the arch you're there with joys and worries, instinct and reflection.

I'm afraid. That place, shaped guts, It reminds me Chumbaba, a demon. Gilgamesh has approached. He killed him, He has solved the problem.
He found that only the gods is not given die.
Man dies more’ times and each time suffering from the most '.
Perhaps they are in Hades. In total darkness. I sensi all’erta. The veil, overshadowing the objects in any way, It disappears and I see more '.

I see larvae that do not twist the neck.
Animal remains rapaci.Una wall splattered with red.
Man has left a trail.
An old man about to drink…..the milk of wisdom.
Leans against a rock checked
a woman…without hair….stagnata….
blocked by common sense. And giant worms.
Satiated with every filth. And syllables, launched so.
They wait for strong hands and remain in the balance.

Chi sa dare forma all’informe? Which voice, emerging from the labyrinth, prophet of what will?

E’ too much for fear me.Torna. Theseus is ahead, away from me. I have broken wings. There is a way to stand by him. The rhythm of the heart. My legs, Pure farm, beating up, Now tenacious now urgent, and hands, Calcanti hips, parade through the wire.
Yup, the ball. There salvation, the ability to sdipanarlo and raggomitolarlo. Meanwhile discover “the direction”, the much sought. "De-line" is out of the commonplace, tax, selfishly adjusted. I want to "limp", how Oedipus, to look at the complexity at that line of reasoning I cling.

With the help of the hero advances Arianna. Sfingeo, ambiguous in research. A slow steps proceeds, spurred by the subtle charm of the doubt, by the tension that the greenhouse throat, the pleasure of being there to groped the company. Theseus proves master at unraveling the thread. His step is a dance, a movement in perfect cadence, “a rescue “. E’ dance in the life. We must proceed with respect for the right fit. Of ” dance of the cranes ” Plutarch speaks. Theseus dance in honor of Ariadne, a Delo, imitating the maze.
The gru….mystery….sense autumn…l'al in là….
Even in Homer I read the dance of Theseus.” They danced a row against row, a Front of the other. A movement to circle. Then the head moves in the opposite direction….”

It not dances a moment of ecstasy,
a moment of absolute freedom,
” where the” you want?…..

Theseus holds a knotty stick. It blocks. Nell'effigie has run across a man. Astute in handling a pair of dice. The sum is always the one desired. Senno subtly shrewd. Get what you want. Si ode un rantolo. A groove is impious drops. A pour is his soul. Left blank, tired, spotless. A man in the middle.
Theseus lingers. Just a moment. Legs powerless. More’ in there waving a flag. It reads a dictate, dwarfing :” Engaged in sunlight”. A dictate fitting, inevitable. The times polluted. The prelates are, to pull the reins, to sever hearts.

If you cancel the Silence,
whether prohibiting the two a secluded place,
if you suppress the heat that the mystery of the doubt foments,
what about love?.

Not sperdiamo what little remains with radical judgments,
that lead to nothing!!!!….

There is a man who worships the Net. invokes, He loves and hates his brother, friends, does not remember the work of the ancestors, bloodshed. In the name of profit, the ancient Athenians emasculated the Meli, depriving them of their liberty.
Theseus curves on a. A strange, anomalous. Wavy hair, long neck. A white coat comes down and covers her feet. Slender hands, devoid of nails, fanned. And that look on which I do not know the laws and the will of the yes.
Method Oedipal, not many discovered.
The hero, tempered in the forge of hell of a master, who supplied him with weapons vital, animosity and rationality, ode un lamento. A few more steps.
Pasiphae with son: the minotaur.
Cries the mother, crying son. Hungry monster, human flesh. Slow in coming.
The great Mother feels guilty. Does not accept so much heartbreak. But she is not guilty. Only a God can stay in Eden, where faith reigns, where the great non s'incaponisce nor fight for himself.
In the enclosure of the human being a mixture of odors flavors colors.
The choice is up to man.
Theseus pities. It includes. In the darkness of Hades light more’ chiara. E, portraying hands, He threw the stick into a corner, convinced that violence, however operated, It is a bad and his darts still lethal, begins the journey back. A journey without injuries. In return a knot of joy.
” If is MATHIS “.
He learned wisdom through pain.

Wise not to kill the man in the middle.
The observed, spied, approved.

Theseus will send, blow harmony, learned in the hidden access…?
I know, after being there sunk, return back, fly without spikes…?
I may be wandering forever…?


The Supplici Aeschylus, tragedy that will be represented at the greek theater of Syracuse during the months of May and June 2015, reveal a great truth: DEMOCRACY is the ” sovereign hand of the people (demou kratousa Xeir)”, and the people Argive, just and merciful, approached by the sovereign Pelasgus, decided democratically to offer hospitality to 50 daughters of Danaus, that, lowly, fleeing cousins ​​very violent.

Justice follow these laws:

  • Resolve conflicts without bloodshed
  • Honors the Gods
  • Respects parents (vv.707)

Iphigenia in Aulis Aeschylus

The ambition is sweet,,it,but when you clings,,it,leaves you restless,,it,

ma quando ti avvinghia

ti lascia inquieto….

Come and discover the beauty of syracuse…

test news article….