Gas-O-Line-n ° 35-August 2004
2. Poems
[Constantine Simonelli]
This month I am pleased to submit to Gas-o-line a great new book poetry of our "bombers"-Sandra Alessandra Palombo: I Sea, published Editors characters A. Cassan - Liberodiscrivere, with photographs by Gloria Chilanti. Introduction of Manrico Murzi, note George Weiss.
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Women, Island, Ocean, these three elements in harmony with each other builds of this little poem ' Marine life experience and Sandra Palombo.
The title, I Sea, without conjunctions or prepositions acting as intermediaries in some way the report tells us how this is so narrow that even at times stretch the metaphorical identification. Beautiful
to that effect the first verse of this passage: "I've never seen the sea for the first time."
the first time I've never seen the sea, a few days I rested on the waves.
Since then we are together, your nose up, to scan the horizon, accompanied by winds in full uniform, the white waves, storms and rain in the mirror aqueous melancholy calm.
Perhaps the only sought mediation in this ratio underlies the second existential identification: one with his island, his little island of Elba. Why woman island is not like other women, as well as the land of the island is not like all other lands: it is a tiny universe him who is his relationship with the sea almost father-daughter. The woman is a woman of the island
gravel bank thickened,
is a woman of sea sand that spread his cloak on the sea salt
is innocent eyes bloodshot,
salt sprinkled on the motion of free waves,
is time that enters and leaves the cosmos,
the variation of the wind, is love
the small beach on the sand, groaning
The woman of the sea is a strange animal,
over the channel extends his gaze and then retracts
beyond the solar halo, as well Hibiscus
lies supine
dell'isola4
the woman is Mrs.
water is the island itself.
She remains silent and herself.
It 's the sea which gives you life, which protects el'ammonisce, the plasma, the educator, becoming his confessor and his confidant, preserves and provides memories, inspires him and voiced, the cadence of the seasons, and not only weather, the kind of life.
And 'from this multiplicity temporal - spatial images and scenarios that may have arisen the need to structure the collection of poems in more songs, numbering in the sense progressive: the first ... second ... third sea and attached to his lines and interspersed with numerous quotations from other, authoritative or not, even up to enter - as if to break the atmosphere of romance and stay anchored to reality - sidebars newspaper with the date of the period to which the verses are
relate. Experiment
unusual and somewhat daring, but overall payor.
E 'as if' by Sandra, to acquire a thick poematico, wanted to collect more items possible among those who on the one hand, those for the other, are dear to her.
partly also because the Fifth and the Sixth Ocean Sandra explicitly addressed theme of evasion literature, made reading and writing has become almost a requirement of 'soul to circumvent the physiological "isolation" and to project his imagination more than the usual horizon, in the everyday life of other worlds.
trembling fantasies
rustle in the smoke of my old habit
switched between his lips;
play in the mind, conscious oasis
between dream and waking, to reconcile the mind
with the horizon
of going daily,
that the whole man,
rarely, it is recalled.
to bypass the threshold
welcome, without hesitation,
visions
resulting from the union of words.
The food for the journey is, in this absorbing and be ready to make in his "poieo", the emblematic opening words of Calvin "If one night a traveler .." followed by other quotes, as if to form a dialogue the highest mysteries of making poetry.
After the above, offer the best verses of the work of Sandra Palumbo, is not easy. It should be read in full for all
reap harmony in diversity. However, to offer an inviting presentation at least, I try to spiluccare here and there by sea at sea.
Ocean Prime is the beginning, almost ancestral - have cited a few verses of Genesis - the path of self discovery. E 'focus in early childhood and early flattery and vanity of life, but - as noted Murzi Manrico, who oversaw the launch of the book - even deeper fishing, fishing in the' last story is silent of embryonic After a commonly misunderstood, but that exists and is nourished by the "amniotic sea, nostalgic tripping of every human being."
dissolve blood clots in the temple of my time
and the west wind takes me
through his hair uncombed of girl posing on a cleat.
Find me in my sea,
to understand who I am, how, why and if I
change the frame of my breast.
According Sea are gathered in the first burglary that life has brought to his adolescence, early failures. In a scenario of an old Livorno you see a grandmother and her thoughtful take it to sea and there, together, in the manifold variety of life of a beach, trying to allay the anxieties first.
The little girl, wounded before time, listened to the grandmother with the braid on her head to dispel the ghosts of nell'afa August
Livorno the old, still hears the rattling old train
. Among
wings of asphalt leading to the sea
grandmothers and children, men and women sitting on wooden
,
between odors of smoke, cutting the blue.
stony path,
between golden green, already burned by the sun, leading to the dining :
orange,
a piece of crushed salt and sand, smelling of shade
wood cabin.explodes in the Third Ocean youth, the desire for love, recklessness, boldness, and the sea becomes a vehicle for freedom, a desire for research of new lands.
Three girls in the evening gown
spiluccavano the dark
indigestible texts and wine from Puglia. The blonde
aspired to pleasure,
blackberry love of a black
the red glow of a flame.
scratching the walls with the palms,
robbed
day in the old palace on the course.
Stillato
liquor from the leaves of the myrtle, with its fluorescent
I and garlandramificai sod bare vines.
crazy daylight bluefish
squirted drops of silver.
Among the gulls intent stirring in the street corner
flirting with the sun, the water ranged
to observe the sailor.
Throw the words to sirocco,
flew eastward
enough bread and anchovies,
turn to new lands.
Let go the lines, in solitary
annihilating the panic fear of the unknown;
she fell off
thoughts that she came back, clean by the waves,
form of crystals.
In the Fourth Sea poetry is watercolor. And that depicts scenes of everyday life on the island and the sea make the trade: flying fisherman, lifeguard ... Become prey: fish, crab ... And she matures in the verses of this species belonging to the life and thought of the sea and the island.
the day dozing,
Roll the ships at anchor.
In a bend of the ocean within
ruffled by hypothesis, a lifeguard
puts on hold the rake of the thesis.
Loose hair waves dancing
the barometer, the seagulls call
water binoculars, tarnished by salt,
learned to respect the wind.
yank trammel the fisherman. Deaf
the petition, coving to the network
prey meat valuable.
The fish disappears, leaving the scene.
A crab wise
the rock to gain the beach:
the result is not guaranteed.
Unfazed, the underlying sea foam.
Sounds foreign
rumati
centuries in a single infusion
give tone to the voice of the island;
Apolide spongy stone, incorporates
promiscuous spellings smoking ink;
Forest, book air
melancholy dirge
in extreme synthesis
be with my island.
the fifth and sixth Ocean we have already said as much as possible, as the prevailing theme. But such
interspersed this time with the artificial poetic life burning lived here these beautiful lines:
In the dark, blue-green, to the rhythm.
Depending on the sound of sound, or mute
viravo listening.
to emulate the moves I was unconscious.
A lighthouse and the moon to kiss in the dark
and so the waves to roll
drops.
In the seventh and final sea journey of self-worth is achieved. It is certainly not definitive. Neither life nor as as poetry. But the journey has enriched further questions but also some more awareness. E d was certainly refreshing.
breeze Caress / Flooded with spray /
cleans out his cheeks and sucks his limbs,
paths in reverse osmosis / symbiosis
disperse the anxieties
find pleasure / Retry reborn
And as a final thanks to its sea:
There, beyond the evanescent waves, I return to exist, at dawn, as the crystal of salt, and the sea around me and I dress with lace.
But there is a postscript in which Sandra builds a sense of life. Definitive? From certain categorical statements:
"And there are questions and answers do not / do not need anything in the cradle of the water / not need anything ... or
the horizon is deep / I'm the horizon / No one, not even my flesh will do its
"
would seem so. So why this your quotation Sandra?
to spaces but not explicitly indicated by writing: and this is partly the reason why no author
characterize their work as definitive. (M. Corti)
And so life like poetry, dear Sandra. There is a something that escapes us. Until the end of each horizon, the largest, that we can build.
The room smells of coffee and croissants. On the passenger seats
the first race was dozing. The dark
unbuttoning her dress to make way for light.
Draw the door and move forward to discover
the horizon,
to discover that the horizon is not.
The boundary between sea and sky
is nothing but a shapeless mass
the color pink, pink skin of a newborn.
And it is here in my solitude
which is not solitude, surrounded by nature
that is not nature,
on a ship at sea
understand to be the seagull
searching for food among the gentle waves produced by the propeller.
And there are not questions and answers.
not need anything in the cradle of water.
not need anything Do not need anything.
.
On the benches, plastic, wipe,
with a handkerchief, the salty dew,
repeating the exact same act of millions of people over the centuries
have moved into the sea at dawn.
The coast disappeared,
the ship is at sea.
extended seat legs, I cling
feather in the wind
offer only the skin of the face. And there is
between evil and sky, the hour when the mist
joins the first rays,
hour when the horizon is a reflection
gradient
I belong. The horizon is
I am deep in the skyline.
Nobody, not even my flesh,
will kidnap him and make it his own.
Alessandra Palombo, lives and works on the Island of Elba. She graduated in Literature and Philosophy at the University of Pisa, in 1989, on behalf of the Superintendent of Pisa, oversaw the selection of books to be displayed in the exhibition "Lector in Insula - The Library of Napoleon on Elba Island, staged at the Museum of San Martino in Portoferraio, and later in Paris and the Palace of Fontainebleau.
Member of the Steering Committee of the National Center for the Study of History and Napoleon on Elba, Napoleon player on his studies and in particular the collection of exile Elba, were published in the Journal of the Centre, as well as in various books and newspapers. While not abandoning the historical research for some years he devoted himself to poetry and prose. One of his short story entitled "Evening Ritual" is present "Tales 2002 - Collection Various Authors", Genova, Liberodiscrivere, 2002, and some poems were published in the Journal of the poem "Poets & Poetry."
Constantine
Simonelli.
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