When in November 1975 the writer Alberto Moravia held the funeral oration on the death of his friend Pier Paolo Pasolini, with his voice a bit 'breathless and heartfelt said it was missing a great poet, and in every nation, in every century, not born more than four or five greatest poets. In fact, in Italy, accounts, Pasolini was one of the last great Italian poets of the twentieth century: the conservative tradition and authentic stylistic experimentation.
Unlike the fifty years between birth of the Italian state and the advent of fascism, where they were born at least a dozen great poets in the language ( Saba, Montale, Ungaretti , Caproni, Penna, Bertolucci) and the same dialect ( Noventa, Tessa , Marin, Trilussa ), the nearly century between the birth of Pasolini (1922) and today, poets has expressed interest, but not great poets, those exceeding the millennia and come in a great anthology. If I have to add that the most interesting poets, who communicate true emotions, they are now to be numbered among the followers of dialect poets ( War, Zanzotto , Loi, Baldini, Scataglini ) remains for me a difficult count list of names who were born after 1945 that have broken away from the quagmire of cloying informal. And if you really have to be honest the Italian singers (Tenco, Paoli, Guccini, De Andrè, Battiato, just to name a few) were, still are the real popular poets, that reach the hearts of people of middle and high culture, eschewing the banal or vacuous intellectualism. Often their verses are authentic and high poetry, who succeed in breaking without the use of melody. Moreover, if many songs, to be more seductive need of a tune, let us remember that poetry, for centuries and millennia, Greek lyric from the Renaissance, was born and survived up to us as a text in a song, a simple musical staff handed down from memory. Even the greatest poem of our brain Italian civilization, that the Divine Comedy, was sung by the people - and I can personally bear witness, having heard in my childhood than agro pastoralists falisco sing the melody of the song in the eighth rhyme long triplets Dante.
I do not think that the feeling of poetry is dead. E 'civilization in which we live, materialism, pragmatism, opportunism prevailing institutional bureaucracy of the teachers, the mediocrity of the cultural institutions that stifle or marginalize the genuine poets. Perhaps in twenty or thirty years we will discover a squad of great poets born after 1945, which operated with written and maybe even get published without the notoriety. At one time the various Alberto Moravia, Vincenzo Cardarelli, Eugenio Montale , who had not graduated from a curriculum, we are equally imposed, while today the curriculum of the poor, riddled with degrees in the medium or long-term, skills, certificates, may overshadow the works of poets or writers of the most authentic. I can not prove it rationally, but I feel in my heart that when a society or a civilization dies poetry, that same society or civilization is in the process of decay. The Dark Ages are just sad dark ages, where the highest capacity of human beings are unequal powers from cramped, lack of freedom, from poverty, fear and ignorance. Not enough to have a satellite dish on the roof to feel free men, if with this weapon CAPT all the rubbish we poison the soul. Small ones are disappearing permanently joys that belonged to ancient men of old, the smells of the rural areas, seasonal changes in the wonder, the very perception of nature. Maybe we're already living between mutants and my notes are the clinical signs of the last one of those men who are not resigned to leave the planet in the hands of fools rationalized.
(In the picture the poet Pier Paolo Pasolini)
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