Too Many Lives Are Needed To Make

Against The Dark Background Of This Contemporary Civilization Of Well-being, Even The Arts Tend To Mingle, To Lose Their Identity.

This Proves That Great Lyric Poetry Can Die, Be Reborn, Die Again, But Will Always Remain One Of The Most Outstanding Creations Of The Human Soul.

Art Is The Production Of Objects For Consumption, To Be Used And Discarded While Waiting For A New World In Which Man Will Have Succeeded In Freeing Himself Of Everything, Even Of His Own Consciousness.

The Poet Does Not Know - Often He Will Never Know - Whom He Really Writes For.

The Real History, The One That Counts And Is Not To Be Found In Books, Is Precisely This One, The One Made By Simple Men; And It Is The Only One That Rules The World.