All language subtitles for Antonia (2015) English

Antonia Pozzi is one of the major
Italian poets of the 20th century.

None of her work was published
during her lifetime.

Come on!

(PROFESSOR READS
HOMER'S ODYSSEY IN ANCIENT GREEK)

"I am afraid,
and I don't know what of,

it's not what lies ahead, no,

because I place my hope and trust in that.

I am afraid of time..."

- Good morning, Miss Antonia.
- Good morning, Ivo.

- Antonia, where did you get that?
- In the courtyard.

Again?
What are you looking for?

That long, narrow vase,
the silver one.

Darling, it's here.

I'll frame it like the others.

- You have to press it in a book.
- Yes, you always say that.

But I'll have to pressher in a book.

She's a delphinium!

- Tidy yourself up.
- Yes.

- Dad.
- Antonia...

Come and listen to this.

- It's Wagner.
- Listen.

Can you hear its rigorousness?

Die Suche nach Gott.

What if it's the search
for something else?

I'm going to study.

- What's that?
- Nothing.

"...the Sirens tempt him with their limpid
song, as they sit there in the meadow

with a vast heap of mouldering corpses,
bones…"

I'm sorry you're leaving.

That's kind of you.
I'm sorry to leave too.

I've always loved Milan more
than Rome, this city suits me better.

Then why are you going?

I'm sorry, it's none of my business.

No. My mother lives in Rome

and she's getting too old
to do everything herself.

So, I won't be able to trouble you
with my questions anymore.

I'll send you some books.

Thank you.
I'll give you my address.

Here.

- Will you come back to Milan?
- Now and then.

My nephews would miss
their uncle's presents...

Uncles who live far away
buy the best presents.

Right then...

I wish you all the best, Antonia.

Say hello to the capital city.

…Say hello to the capital city.

I'm writing to tell you
I've received the famous book.

Don't send me any more
for three or four weeks.

I'm playing the hot-warm-cold
game here,

and in the meantime
I'll start consuming -

What a lovely word -
consuming this one.

My desire not to sleep
has become biological

and in bed, in the dark,
I lie with eyes open wide

and I write, I write so much.

So Gandini has prescribed me
some sleeping pills.

I'll stop now
because I've run out of space,

perhaps next time
I'll get another sheet,

so I won't have
to compose such mosaics.

"On the steep mountain face I spotted
a reddish stain and I believed

it was blood

TO FALLEN CLIMBERS

: they were lichens."

"Yes, It is good to die,
when our youth struggles

up through the rock,
conquering height.

It is good to fall..."

- What are you doing?
- Music!

- What?
- Music!

One daughter
and a mad one at that.

Come in.

- Good morning, Papa.
- Good morning.

- Are you working from home today?
- Yes.

You have no errands, things to do...

Perhaps you have to go out...

What are you talking about?
Am I a delivery man to you?

No.

But promise me you'll be here
when I get back.

- What do you...
- Promise.

- But why?
- Please!

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- Have you been waiting long?
- No.

Sweetie...

It will be over soon.

I will be close.

Yes.

I'll go then.

Good morning, Ivo.

Come in.

Professor Cervi is here,
he'd like to talk to you, sir.

Professor Cervi?

I asked him to wait.

Show him into the sitting-room.

Thank you.

- Professor Cervi...
- Good morning.

- I hope I'm not disturbing you.
- No, of course not.

My favourite activity
is to wait for gentlemen...

who turn up at my home uninvited.

Cigarette?

No, thank you.

If I had been sure of an invitation,

I assure you I would have
behaved differently.

But now you are here,
to what do I owe the honour?

No, wait!

You've brought me a copy
of that work on Nicomachean Ethics

that you edited with De Santis,
is that right?

My secretary has been looking
for it for the last two years.

Well?

No, I abandoned that project,
I'm working on something else.

- Abandoned?
- Yes.

A scholar of your calibre
should easily have finished that job.

You don't want to spend your life
marking Greek homework papers?

I say this for your own good.

An intellectual has essential needs,

like travelling, meeting people,

feeling free to buy
rare and expensive manuscripts.

How will you do that on your miserly
grammar school teacher's salary?

Take my advice, Cervi,

if you carry on like this, you'll find
yourself seeking an income

by marrying the first wealthy
student you come across -

that is, if the poor girl's father
is stupid enough to allow you.

Darling...

Antonia, come here!

You have no idea
how hot it was this summer

It drove me crazy, I swear.
The heat outdoors made you faint.

Was it cooler up there?

Of course it was, wasn't it!

Yes, it was cooler.

What's London like?

Beautiful, eh?

Of course, I bet it's wonderful.

All those museums,
the Tower of London!

And the Thames!

Did you go for walks
along the Thames?

I think it's the most romantic
river in the world.

Like a setting from a novel.

Everyone dreams of the Seine,
of Paris,

but I have always imagined
the Thames, I don't know why.

Perhaps because I'm half stupid,

like you say when you want
to make me angry.

What's this album?

Can I have a look?

This looks like Lauretta.
Do you remember her?

The girl in our class

who suddenly stopped coming
and no one knew why.

Do you remember?

What's wrong?

Are you sad because you're back?

First you were sad because you were
leaving, now because you're back.

You're so complicated!

Where's your notebook?

Found it!

Great,
you wrote a lot.

"Exile"

What are you doing?

LYING DOWN

"Now the bland annihilation
of swimming face-up, with sun in my face

brain pierced by red
through eyelids closed -.

Tonight, on my bed, in the same posture,
the dreamlike purity of drinking,

with wide pupils,
the white soul of the night."

THOUGHT

"To have two long wings of shade
and fold them on this pain of yours;

to be shade, peace of the evening
around your weak smile."

Hello, doggy!
You like being with people, eh?

You like it, you like it!

- This is a beautiful place.
- Thanks.

Will you stay for dinner?

No, I'm going back to Milan
with Vittorio.

- Dino, nearly everyone's staying.
- I can't, I have to work.

What, working on Saturday evening?

Well, yes...

You really are a strange fellow.

- I'll take that, Ivo.
- Good.

- Professor.
- Miss Pozzi.

You must try one,
they're delicious.

If you put it like that... thank you.

Listen, I realise this is
not the best moment,

but I want to ask you a favour.

You need more time
for your thesis?

Flaubert is really
troubling you,

but look, you're doing a good job.

Thank you, but that isn't
what I wanted to ask.

Can I ask you to read some poems?

Poems?

- Oh, you write poetry?
- Yes.

What did you tell the professor?

- Nothing.
- What do you mean, nothing?

- Nothing.
- Come on, tell me!

All right, you'll tell me later.

But what a bore you are
being so timid, Tonia.

Timid Tonia! That's you!

Remo. What's the matter?

- A lung infection.
- Is it serious?

They don't know, they told me to go
to the mountains for some fresh air.

So, seeing I'm fortunate
to live in Milan...

Don't tell me you have
a house in the mountains!

I'll ask my father.

What's more, Luciano is intelligent,
in his own way...

...can you hear me?

...he is intelligent.

But he's hopeless when it comes to
willpower, initiative...

he lets others lead him
like a dog on a leash.

But it's good that after
days of hearing Ruth say:

"Go away Keep away, you stink!",
he learned to wash himself.

And as he was staying at
my same boarding house,

I was able to see that
he had a bath every other day,

and I can tell you
it is a big event!

Why are you going away?

Please don't ask that.

You know it means a lot to me.

And I'll come back and visit.

We'll go up to our mountains,

you and me.

It will feel as if just one day has passed,

as though it were the day after tomorrow.

When you write something new,
you will send me a copy, right?

Right.

What about Banfi? What did he say?

- He'll read them.
- Gosh...

That's good though...

What time is it?

- It's early.
- Come on...

What time it is? I have that dinner.

Six o'clock.

I have to get dressed,
and put some make-up on!

Vain!

- Is Remo coming on Thursday?
- Yes, Thursday.

She goes

Her body in every heart

Seems like a knife

Without mercy she opens

More wounds besides mine.

And she goes

With her body

Along the road and the concrete

Is a theatre for her legs

Always ready to dance.

If you're late, here comes the wait,

My only weapon is a long silence.

I, among billions of gazes

Chasing each other on earth

I have chosen yours

And now, among billions of lives

I divide myself with you.

If you lose your patience

Thanks to a smile
you're mine again.

Then you open your hand

In a superhuman plan.

Your soul is playing in the garden

I hide and observe it

But where is your body?

We, to nourish our love

Face each other in a duel,

It will always be that way.

But my love

There is no enemy

More beautiful than you.

Dear Professor Banfi,
as we discussed,

I attach on these few pages
a collection of verses

that I wrote some time ago.

Antonia, we are leaving!

Wait, I'll be right there.

A DREAMT LIFE

I look forward to hearing
your opinion.

Thank you for your help,

kind regards,
Antonia Pozzi.

I'm going out for a walk, if you...

Don't worry...

Perhaps when you're finished
sorting out your library...

Goodness no I could never
let the mountain swallow me up.

It's too dangerous.

All I have to do is sleep
and breathe slowly.

And be with my friend Tonia!

How come your father's
left you on your own with a man?

A good fellow, a Cantoni,

a great family,
respectable people.

That's true.

What's this?
Did you take it?

It'll keep you company.

I like it.

- Good night!
- Yes.

WATERLILIES

"Waterlilies pale delicate resting on
the lake - pillow a fairy, awakened,

had left on the green blue water -

waterlilies - with long roots lost
in the discolouring depth -

I also have no roots
that bind my life - to earth -

I also grow from the depths of a lake -
filled with tears."

RENDEZVOUS

"In the room's air I do not gaze at you
but already the memory of your face

as it will rise to me in the void
and your eyes how they paused

now - in distant moments -
on my face."

- Good morning.
- Good morning, how are you?

- Fine, and you?
- Fine.

I'm taking a break.

- Right, I've read your poems.
- Yes.

As you know, I hold you
in great esteem.

I believe you have
a natural gift for writing,

but I'll get straight to the point:
poetry.

These poems of yours arise from
a personal, autobiographical urgency,

and their spontaneity, in fact,
is rather captivating,

but it's as though your vision
lacked perspective.

These poems satisfy
a personal escape,

not a real vision.

You naturally have to be
inside your subject

but at the same time distant

or the poem crumbles
because it's blind.

You need a committed style
that is permeated with experience.

I'm convinced
once you are a mature woman

you will write good things,

but for now I suggest
you look for something

that in itself requires
more of a structured thought

a novel, perhaps.

Think more carefully
about what surrounds us today

and also think about the value
you give to certain feelings.

I do understand,
in fact I agree with you.

Good, but don't worry Miss Pozzi.
Goodbye.

Remo!

Tonia! You're back!

I'm going to study under the tree.

How did it go in Milan?

What's wrong?

I've wasted so much time.

Yes, me too.

Why do you waste time?

This feeling of mine
is selfish, it's not real.

It's not real?
Then it serves no real purpose, sure.

I feel miserable.

Is feeling miserable not real?

It is if your feeling is genuine.

And what is yours?

Mine is a bad excuse.

Why do you need an excuse?

Because I can't seem
to abandon myself to a life that is...

You need to find more Will.

The Will is like a muscle,
you just need to exercise it.

“Now you accept you're a poet.”

You did some writing this morning.

I peeked.

- It's not finished yet.
- Isn't it?

It looked finished.

The words are still too... heavy.

I wouldn't say so.

I don't remember them much

but I could spend all afternoon
discussing

what was behind them, or above them...

but I won't.

You're barefoot?

I'm leaving for Bavaria on Tuesday.

At my Schwester's.

At least university will be
starting again soon.

What are the Germans like?

They're...

reasonable,

heavy-going,

military like.

Patatuc and plufer.

You could die of suffocation.
You'll like them.

Look, I'm going to miss you.

Don't worry about me.

You have a lot to think about yourself.

- Antonia!
- Hello!

Let's go, I feel that you're ready.

Ready when you are!

When from his room,
where he had taken refuge,

he hears the muffled sounds of
the dance coming from downstairs,

where he thinks
Hans and Inge are,

he decides to go down,
but takes the back stairs.

But why did he decide to go down
when he was enjoying his solitude?

He wants to understand.

So through the glass doors
he sees them, at the dance.

Two perfect people.

And he experiences again
the emotions he had felt years before,

that same love
that had destroyed him,

that desire to feel simple,
like them,

free from the curse
of knowledge and creative torment.

They dance, and he watches them
through the glass door

and feels the need
to say something to them

so that he may receive
something back, if only a smile.

But he knows
they would not understand,

and would listen to him,
baffled, as they always did.

So he gives up
and goes back to his room,

still hoping they have
seen him leave.

He imagines Inge
coming to look for him,

he goes to bed
and despite everything

he can still feel his heart living.

Think about it.

Off you go.

- Good morning, Miss Antonia.
- Good morning.

- Are you all right?
- Yes.

- Dad...
- How was your day?

Fine, the little monsters
were good today.

I'll go!

- Hello.
- Hello.

Come in!

- I was nearby, am I disturbing you?
- Not at all, I'll take that.

Careful, it's wet.

Dad, Dino's here.

- Good morning, sir.
- Good morning.

How are you?

I'll be right back.

I hear you're doing your thesis
with Banfi.

Yes. I haven't finished it yet,
but I'm getting there.

Have you got a date yet?

No, not yet.

But I'm very busy.

I'm pleased one of my daughter's
friends studies and has a job.

Dad, we're going now.

- Good day.
- Good day.

...and my thesis
is driving me crazy.

I sometimes sneak off
and come here to breathe fresh air.

Nothing ever changes here.

There's usually only a thing
that stands out from the rest,

even just the sound of a bird,
or some poppies that have flowered.

I just look and listen.

And every time I come here
it's like a recurring dream

in which something slightly differs.

And you dream too behind
those bright eyes, I know that now.

Dino I warn you, if you don't stop
showing me all this beauty,

I'll punch you in the ribs!

Do you understand?

Let's sit over here.

"And this terror: I lose myself,
I will never find myself again,

I will never regain myself.

Little things chip away at me,

miseries corrode me."

..is getting married, so my family is
throwing a little party.

My mother would be very happy to
meet you. It's just a little get-together.

Will you come?

Yes, of course. See you tomorrow then.

“Riding, riding, riding, through the day,
through the night, another day.

Riding, riding, riding.

And the heart has become so tired,
and the longing so vast.

There are no longer any mountains…"

- I was going to leave.
- Is that so?

I have waited so long
I was beginning to think bad thoughts.

I was held up at work,
I came as soon as I could.

You're pale.

Does it become me?

- Here are the four from London.
- Be more careful.

You read them, I'll be careful.

I'll give them back
as soon as I've read them.

How are things with Banfi?

I have to get the thesis together.

You're crazy to say
such a thing this late.

I'm too busy.

Just think in two months' time
when you'll have those 22 eyes on you.

You have to make the effort.

Yes.

- You're pale.
- I'm fine.

No, you're not, and you're
perspiring too, wait here.

What are you doing,
going to save my life?

Dino!

How do you feel?

Hello.

How long have you been
feeling like that?

You could have died, you know.

Died of appendicitis.

Like Rudolph Valentino,
how romantic!

You're crazy.

Don't look at me, I'm ugly.

You'd rather have saved
the Lolli girl, admit it!

The Lolli girl...

who gave you fiery looks
on the number 38 tram!

But you saved me
and that feels good.

You dirty rogue!

What you say about your writing
really moves me,

but it's not true that
the practical worries of the day

block the activity
of imagination and creativity.

I don't believe in miracles
and literary improvisations.

I believe in hard work,
with file and chisel,

the constant and bloody struggle
against oneself,

against one's own youthful tendencies,
convolution and excessive style.

Dinìn.

I hope you're not upset
about my postcard the other day.

I was so restless and melancholic,
I wanted you so much,

and a storm was brewing,

and a boy had died next door,

there were lots of flies
and I couldn't get it out of my head

that the flies that were coming
to tickle my cheek

were the same flies
that rested on the dead boy's face.

On another note
our Pasturo cures me well enough.

He lives - only by walking -
always in contact with nature,

but he feels excluded
even from nature.

He still feels himself a separate entity.

He says to his reader:

"Do you sit safely in your home
reading in the paper

that the government wants
to revise the civil servants' pay?

May God bless you!

I want to put the slice of apple
on my pancake before it's cooked,

because I want to turn it over
in the pan with the apple underneath

while I cook the other half.

Excellent technique."

But when he helps
a group of girls to find a hotel,

and he asks them all
to repay him with a kiss,

when it comes to Elide's turn...

he feels overwhelmed with emotion.

And that changes everything

His whole idealised world
falls apart in an instant.

He flees.

He starts thinking:

where will I go now?

And this is because
something has reached out to him.

And he doesn't...

he doesn't know...

how...

The words don't come to me.
They come to Hausmann though...

Did you get Banfi
to read your translation?

He's always so kind to you.

I haven't finished it yet, Mom.

- I'm showing it to Dad too.
- You'll see that...

No, Dad isn't interested in Hausmann.

- Would you like something to eat?
- No.

- Teresita is coming to visit, isn't she?
- Yes, she's staying four days.

Wait.

- Shall we wait here?
- All right.

He's not here.

Remo's here.

There's Dino.

Tonia!

Vittorio!

Hello, Teresita.

- Remo...
- We'll go take our seats.

I'll go then.

- Good evening, Miss Pozzi.
- Good evening, professor.

- Were you waiting for me?
- Of course I was.

I wanted to tell you
about a dream I had.

Right now?

I was in Pasturo, at first
I could only see the garden,

but then I wasn't in the garden,
I was looking at it through the window.

It was the window in the green room.

Do you remember it?

But it was a lot bigger
in my dream.

And even if
I've never slept in there,

it was my bedroom and you were
in bed with me, snoring away.

A curl fell on your nose.

Your arm was bent,
and you put it over your face.

You tossed and turned,
grinding your teeth.

You were the whiniest
brute in the world.

I was looking at you.

It wasn't enough for me
to touch your hair anymore,

to caress and kiss you
and all the rest...

It wasn't enough for you either.

Keep your voice down.

Do you remember
the girl from Lavaredo?

The one I was very close to?

She and her beau
were in the same situation as us.

Just think, today I received
news of their wedding.

Come on, don't be like that!

My father's really pleased you're...
He's very proud of you!

Antonia, we'll talk about this later.

Why?

Why are you saying
these things right now?

You know I've always worked hard,
and I have to carry on working.

Your father has also
talked to me but I can't,

I can't abandon my path for this.

You're the sweetest.

I'll always be bound to you,

but only as close friends.

Do you want me to sleep
at your place tonight?

I'll see you tomorrow.

Antonia Pozzi (Milan 13 February 1912 -
Chiaravalle 3 December 1938)

wrote hundreds of poems, which were found
in her drawer only after she was gone.

Her father privately published a
first edition of the verses in 1939.

Years later Eugenio Montale wrote the
following about Antonia's poetry:

“We've had and still have this desire,
this illusion, for a poet of a new

nature to rise, man or woman, that
doesn't matter; this poet may bring us

back to truth, to plainness, to style that
doesn't seem or feel like style.

Antonia is this messiah,
and she deserves to be

considered on equal terms with
the poetry of all times."