Foscolo remembrances

Eternal loneliness in a vortex of life
you want the middle, you stand in line,
grasping parts and hearts
blasting hearts in parts
hiding with no seek
and still trying to find the bricks,
is it a mess, or the mess is fix?

Come to me sweet sensation
I need your careless inclination,
a pathway juggling on the crest,
I have you on my right,
I need you on my left.

The eternal nothingless:
for reason is a massacre;
or the only way to feel
free.

 


This poem was inspired by the track “Eternal loneliness” from I Hate Models.

I crash on you like (L’hostage)

I crash on you like porcelain
on the ground. I fall to pieces,
each of them with a story to tell.
Where to begin?
The monster with hundreds eyes?
The meal I ate yesterday?
A carillon plays in my head,
constantly, repeatedly.
I lose myself in it
I lose myself in you.
Magical mantra
Tangible tantra.
And then you take me down to earth, and
I can just feel alien to the Earth
you want to share.
And then I close my eyes
And the only thing I can see
is the light pale through my skin.
I crash on you like a car crash dummy on the dashboard:
low damage, epic impact.

Prayer for rain

Little Lilith smelling honey
come adorn our empty noses
they could be filled with roses
but they fancy only money.
Come and shine my little honey
put a barricade, haste and wonders
we want be something besonders
come and save the little donee.


Besonders: from German, particularly, especially, expressly 

Following the body

Feeling feels somehow different now:
I don’t know if I can
– oh, sure do I; but
I mean if I really can –
translate the buzzes in my brain;
anyone gets an analyst nowadays
I am still waiting for mine to take
my dirty laundry, to wash it,
my dirty dishes, to lick it,
even though reluctant I fight
against my own unwillingness.

I cry for the dolphins
– is it egoism too?
I may be a folded pine
when the water’s so blue
caught in rifles of chloride:
like the last requested smile
on the pond,
before you
drown and, finally
get lost
freed by submission

Eh?

Don’t get lost

Submission is freeing me?
No, I don’t think so
I may be apologetic…
But no, I don’t think so –
I just look at the stars
– so far, so true –
they are alcohol and dope
I am far, if I can feel them too
so near, so bright,
yet dark as night
– that’s their meaning of existence:
feeling disconnected
to everything connected.


The title is an homage to Zanias, from the music track “Follow the body”, To the core EP, 2016. This record and her whole production are amazing, by the way.

Confessions of a minstrel

Dear readers,

sorry I am not a good blogger. I cannot produce constant content, I write only when something really catches my interest and my attention (and my inspiration too…). I write to promote good art, good music, good events. I overthink my writings, because I want them to be precise, well written, of high quality. On the Internet, as a blogger (although I don’t feel this label so much) among million bloggers, I choose quality over quantity. I choose to talk about what positively inspires me, I have no interest in openly criticizing something I haven’t appreciated, because I think there is already enough negativity and criticism around and I want to be on the positive side; maybe it simply wasn’t my taste, maybe I didn’t get it –therefore, I won’t recommend it to you.

This said (to slightly justify myself too), it’s summertime here, and I may have partially put aside my hunger for culture; you can still decide to scroll through the old posts and read about Mark Rothko, about the exhibition Beauty from the designers Stefan Sagmeister and Jessica Walsh, about the visionary architects and artists Lucio and Duilio Forte, about the interview with Electric Indigo. I am sure you will find something appealing for your taste.

I am taking this time also to rethink about my blog, about what I’ve learned, about what I would like to change or improve. It’s been a year now, and many things have grown!

I would like to conclude with a poem I’ve written some time ago (not yet inserted in my poetry page) that nicely fits to this post. It is still raw, sounds a bit like a song from a minstrel: and minstrel, rather than blogger, is how I feel.

All my gratitude if you have followed me through this, and my warmest welcome if you have just started to read me.

See you the next chapter.

 

How to avoid disappearing

I sit and listen to music.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Nothing
else.
I am wasting my time

because I technically do
nothing.

Tic toc tic toc
Time is running and you are not producing
Tic toc tic toc
Time is passing and you are still unmoved
Wear your coat, get to work,
don’t be absurd
about live for love.

I am totally with you,
I need my dreams to come true.
Reality is tough, though,
even worse than
silence in ropes,
even if I change,
I can’t change.
Even if I change,
why do I?
To conformize?
Why do I?

Modify my shape
Shape my body
Get healthier, more active
Stop compromising

I sit and listen to music.

Meeting poetry: Precious Okoyomon

I’m going to Zurich for the weekend, visiting some friends.

I try to be a poet. Somehow I feel like I am one.

I am following a real one on Instagram (sentence I thought I would have never used, grumpy and sceptic as I am with these new “social” means, making you even less social than before).

I see on the same f@#g Instagram she is going to Zurich too. She is from New York.

I contact her immediately, maybe I have an occasion to meet your art..?

She replies yes! In few weeks. I am there for few days.

Then she says “well, we can hang out together then”.

OKAY.

We meet and greet. She is calm, sweet, with such a delicate voice. I love voices. I love delicate voices.

I would love my mind to be a recorder, like a proper one, able to keep every single word. I am just a human.

We have lunch together, we walk around during an unexpected sunny day.

I wasn’t expecting anything, but I am definitely impressed. Not by her words, or her aspect, or her shyness: rather by what she radiates. She IS poetry.

I talk more than her; it wasn’t my idea, actually the opposite; still I want to give her something too.

I met Precious Okoyomon, and this is our story.

 

Precious is a young and talented artist. Grown up between London and Lagos, she is currently living in New York. By connecting her daily writings – messages to friends, notes taken on the phone while walking in the streets – she has shaped her own style, still taking inspirations from the authors and artists who touch her soul. She is now introduced to Europe by the art guru Hans Ulrich Obrist, who fell immediately in love with her art. Currently she has her first solo exhibition in Zurich where she present her sculptures made with mixed materials and natural live elements –trees, mushrooms, plants that are constantly growing and blooming. Her three-dimensional poetry.

“My sculptures are a continuum with my poetry, it’s just a different form”.

The exhibition, A drop of Sun under the Earth, is open until the 20th of April  at the Schwarzescafè at Luma Westbau, the headquarter of a non-profit local foundation that supports emergent artists. If you have the chance, don’t miss it!