[-8 literature]
"I am for you, the dawn and intact day" Ungaretti
This is Antonella Pizzo a feverish, visionary book that makes its way subtly and enters into the pores of the skin and breath. As air and wind. As the rain beats.
button. Incisive, disarming.
born from a project by cutting strictly private and autobiographical, dotted moments of lyrical prose and inspiration of great pathos, which runs "in a space that is not more space / in a place that is no longer necessary."
dedicated to Martin, the daughter who died prematurely in a car accident. Mostly a bit 'to all women and mothers' womb shrunken "which cry.
"Mothers cry for vengeance
every bone broken for every tooth
there will be at St. Nicholas
and money under the pillow ..."
(p.31)
E 'sorrow and heartfelt soul meat that passes through the collection "in stasis irregular", weighing punching the palms, which empties the orbits of dust in the blood or blood in the dust, the needles and nails driven through the wrists and ankles, because the pain of losing a child is the greatest in which the human being, and a mother specifically to meet the most difficult to sustain.
"... oh, and white linen wide horizontal bones bones bones
oh
pale chestnut hair and milk bones to
oh lunettes red
orbits emptied and vertical bones bones bones
where my blood, where my flesh, where the my bones
life I was torn on
like a sheet of paper here is an ash-colored
asleep in the shelter crck
and often yearn for a transparent glass. "
(p.11)
Here then is the way of a shipwreck and a "passion" with no escape, an ordeal that sometimes verges on the trespass and go beyond the line. A requiem. A poetic journey that winds through the streets being dark and not being, life and death, transience and eternity, between splendours dream, memories, fantasies rooted in everyday things and objects "his name broadened to excess and / lay / down a blind alley. "
"How I wish you came to visit me at night when the wind
heavy
hangs himself at the window when the vinegar becomes a habit and under the sheets
pain was prayed for hours and hours in the next grain
if you
you get closer to my door with the dirty clothes in the pockets of land
fat earthworms with your four bones in his hand
of bones in the hand and the empty sockets
with a handful of teeth to be counted one by one
not you be afraid of the sound of castanets
broken shells underfoot
I embrace you plan not to upset your delicate texture
but if you come back empty at night and fills you with leaves and straw and
empty and still in her hair and even flowers to necklaces
beam still intact as when
t'allontanasti without asking
if you could leave me rolling my eyes and kisses of a mother as well. "
(p. 41)
And the invocation of the dream of return. Pain of a "carnal" that flattens out and does not flatten on the back, but that gives life, power, energy, digging, you grab and look, that hungry swallows "the slow movement," détente "," peace- ". The inability of a resignation.
"Here comes the day, the night has passed already
morning, it snows in some places, and is a joy
but here there is this silly
rain that does not console and not soften the torments
rather multiplies them in a thousand drops erosive
and every drop that falls on the skin
opens a plague infects "
(p.60)
But from this perspective of stasis irregular, can not escape the attention in this beautiful and emblematic text on the back. Of the plot and the fulfillment of a circular dish. The return to being naked (barefoot and thin). The return to the mother. From mother to daughter.
"I went to my mother's bare feet, lean
with a long shirt, sleeveless
knocked on her door she was doing a thorough pedicure
under a yellow light steel lime
attention to the eye partridge in a memory
hardened, pain never eradicated
go home at night, distracted
a rain water, then go back in time to seek the keys
urgency, could not wake up and find the
my soft fat that my turn in the bed quietly reassuring
go home with a canoe, a pirogue
in the belly of a great ship
slip away in the middle of the outstretched arm
keys hanging in the air. "
(p. 45)
There is so much to say and keep quiet about these verses "sacred" soul, but on the back cover photo, the metaphor of the vortex, a scale / white spiral on the one hand narrows in the eye hole / black bottomless, on the other is free in a space that surrounds, encompasses and embraces and goes beyond. Besides the cover, as well as sheets, as well as the verses themselves. In addition.
This is Antonella Pizzo a feverish, visionary book that makes its way subtly and enters into the pores of the skin and breath. As air and wind. As the rain beats.
button. Incisive, disarming.
born from a project by cutting strictly private and autobiographical, dotted moments of lyrical prose and inspiration of great pathos, which runs "in a space that is not more space / in a place that is no longer necessary."
dedicated to Martin, the daughter who died prematurely in a car accident. Mostly a bit 'to all women and mothers' womb shrunken "which cry.
"Mothers cry for vengeance
every bone broken for every tooth
there will be at St. Nicholas
and money under the pillow ..."
(p.31)
E 'sorrow and heartfelt soul meat that passes through the collection "in stasis irregular", weighing punching the palms, which empties the orbits of dust in the blood or blood in the dust, the needles and nails driven through the wrists and ankles, because the pain of losing a child is the greatest in which the human being, and a mother specifically to meet the most difficult to sustain.
"... oh, and white linen wide horizontal bones bones bones
oh
pale chestnut hair and milk bones to
oh lunettes red
orbits emptied and vertical bones bones bones
where my blood, where my flesh, where the my bones
life I was torn on
like a sheet of paper here is an ash-colored
asleep in the shelter crck
and often yearn for a transparent glass. "
(p.11)
Here then is the way of a shipwreck and a "passion" with no escape, an ordeal that sometimes verges on the trespass and go beyond the line. A requiem. A poetic journey that winds through the streets being dark and not being, life and death, transience and eternity, between splendours dream, memories, fantasies rooted in everyday things and objects "his name broadened to excess and / lay / down a blind alley. "
"How I wish you came to visit me at night when the wind
heavy
hangs himself at the window when the vinegar becomes a habit and under the sheets
pain was prayed for hours and hours in the next grain
if you
you get closer to my door with the dirty clothes in the pockets of land
fat earthworms with your four bones in his hand
of bones in the hand and the empty sockets
with a handful of teeth to be counted one by one
not you be afraid of the sound of castanets
broken shells underfoot
I embrace you plan not to upset your delicate texture
but if you come back empty at night and fills you with leaves and straw and
empty and still in her hair and even flowers to necklaces
beam still intact as when
t'allontanasti without asking
if you could leave me rolling my eyes and kisses of a mother as well. "
(p. 41)
And the invocation of the dream of return. Pain of a "carnal" that flattens out and does not flatten on the back, but that gives life, power, energy, digging, you grab and look, that hungry swallows "the slow movement," détente "," peace- ". The inability of a resignation.
"Here comes the day, the night has passed already
morning, it snows in some places, and is a joy
but here there is this silly
rain that does not console and not soften the torments
rather multiplies them in a thousand drops erosive
and every drop that falls on the skin
opens a plague infects "
(p.60)
But from this perspective of stasis irregular, can not escape the attention in this beautiful and emblematic text on the back. Of the plot and the fulfillment of a circular dish. The return to being naked (barefoot and thin). The return to the mother. From mother to daughter.
"I went to my mother's bare feet, lean
with a long shirt, sleeveless
knocked on her door she was doing a thorough pedicure
under a yellow light steel lime
attention to the eye partridge in a memory
hardened, pain never eradicated
go home at night, distracted
a rain water, then go back in time to seek the keys
urgency, could not wake up and find the
my soft fat that my turn in the bed quietly reassuring
go home with a canoe, a pirogue
in the belly of a great ship
slip away in the middle of the outstretched arm
keys hanging in the air. "
(p. 45)
There is so much to say and keep quiet about these verses "sacred" soul, but on the back cover photo, the metaphor of the vortex, a scale / white spiral on the one hand narrows in the eye hole / black bottomless, on the other is free in a space that surrounds, encompasses and embraces and goes beyond. Besides the cover, as well as sheets, as well as the verses themselves. In addition.
Antonella Pizzo, irregular in stasis
Foreword by Gregory Scalise, afterword by Ivan Fedeli
Voices of the Moon Poetry Prize
Renato Days, published in 2007
viadellebelledonne
by Maria Pina Ciancio
