MORIANA
Guadato
il fiume, valicato il passo, l’uomo si trova di fronte tutt’a un tratto la città
di Moriana, con le porte d’alabastro trasparenti alla luce del sole, le colonne
di corallo che sostengono i frontoni incrostati di serpentina, le ville tutte di
vetro come acquari dove nuotano le ombre delle danzatrici dalle squame argentate
sotto i lampadari a forma di medusa. Se non è al suo primo viaggio l’uomo sa già
che le città come questa hanno un rovescio: basta percorrere un semicerchio e si
avrà in vista la faccia nascosta di Moriana, una distesa di lamiera arrugginita,
tela di sacco, assi irte di chiodi, tubi neri di fuliggine, mucchi di barattoli,
muri ciechi con scritte stinte, telai di sedie spagliate, corde buone solo per
impiccarsi a un trave marcio.
Da una
parte all’altra la città sembra continui in prospettiva moltiplicando il suo
repertorio d’immagini: invece non ha spessore, consiste solo in un dritto e in
un rovescio, come un foglio di carta, con una figura di qua e una di là, che non
possono staccarsi né guardarsi.
Italo
Calvino, Le città
invisibili
When you have forded the river, when you have
crossed the mountain pass, you suddenly find before
you the city of Moriana, its alabaster gates transparent
in the sunlight, its coral columns supporting
pediments encrusted with serpentine, its villas all of
glass like aquariums where the shadows of dancing
girls with silvery scales swim beneath the medusashaped
chandeliers. If this is not your first journey,
you already know that cities like this have an obverse:
you have only to walk in a semicircle and you
will come into view of Moriana's hidden face, an expanse
of rusting sheet metal, sackcloth, planks bristling
with spikes, pipes black with soot, piles of
tins, blind walls with fading signs, frames of stavedin
straw chairs, ropes good only for hanging oneself
from a rotten beam.
From one part to the other, the city seems to continue,
in perspective, multiplying its repertory of
images: but instead it has no thickness, it consists
only of a face and an obverse, like a sheet of paper,
with a figure on either side, which can neither be 105
separated nor look at each other.
crossed the mountain pass, you suddenly find before
you the city of Moriana, its alabaster gates transparent
in the sunlight, its coral columns supporting
pediments encrusted with serpentine, its villas all of
glass like aquariums where the shadows of dancing
girls with silvery scales swim beneath the medusashaped
chandeliers. If this is not your first journey,
you already know that cities like this have an obverse:
you have only to walk in a semicircle and you
will come into view of Moriana's hidden face, an expanse
of rusting sheet metal, sackcloth, planks bristling
with spikes, pipes black with soot, piles of
tins, blind walls with fading signs, frames of stavedin
straw chairs, ropes good only for hanging oneself
from a rotten beam.
From one part to the other, the city seems to continue,
in perspective, multiplying its repertory of
images: but instead it has no thickness, it consists
only of a face and an obverse, like a sheet of paper,
with a figure on either side, which can neither be 105
separated nor look at each other.
Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities
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