The great north

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA








The paths going to west
are everyday less used
and there is not a trace
of any human foot

Yes I am the last one
that walks along this land
without knowing if it's
here all my destiny

We are in the moment of the great north 
each ray of light has a big worth 
and every day the light goes forth 
the old year is now ready to burst 

I pick the holy rare mistletoe 
to call abundance for my little world 
and I will give some to all my loves 
now that I am really alone 

The social year is at
its so desired end
I know that I have let
ghosts growing in my head

But I have got inside
still crumbles of my life
I have to nourish time
to find back my divine

We are in the moment of the great north 
each ray of light has a big worth 
and every day the light goes forth 
the old year is now ready to burst 

I pick the holy rare mistletoe 
to call abundance for my little world 
and I will give some to all my loves 
now that I am really alone

But it don't snow here, stays pretty green

Un natale di sole. Giornate terse che rendono gli spazi immobili, quasi fossero dipinti rinascimentali. I due bordi della pianura, ricamati di bianco, si osservano. Un natale fradicio di passato. Ma con il gusto di un futuro che non vuole palesarsi e che si osserva soltanto al di là di una vetrina. Giornate di voci assordanti e sere raccolte in una solitudine imperfetta. Cupa e mistica allo stesso tempo. Cosa sono io in questi giorni in cui la nuova luce fa capolino al di là delle colline dell'ovest? Dopo venti anni dalla mia grande rivoluzione, è forse il tempo per sconvolger di nuovo tutto? Ho le forze per creare una nuova sacralità? Per ribaltare l'altare e costruirne uno nuovo? Fra pochi giorni mi attenderanno 366 pagine bianche da riempire di lettere. Saranno parole stanche e trascinate come barche nel fango? Oppure parole leggere, di ispirazione nuova? Intanto, fuori, nel giardino che non sento più mio, una rosa è sbocciata. Come fosse primavera. Come per dire che la vita va avanti ed è pronta a sorprenderci sempre. Anche se teniamo gli occhi chiusi. “But it don't snow here, stays pretty green.... Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on”. 

Le parole in inglese sono tratte da “River” di Joni Mitchell

Call it Solstice or call it Christmas

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA








Call it Solstice or call it Christmas
but it is a change
by the fireplace I wait for
some crumbles of faith

When did start the dusk of it?
It was when I started to slay me

But the new light has come with 
the strength of the streams 
the sire of winter 
while wind hints at spring 

I feel a bit grateful 
along this wet field 
while I catch fresh herbs 
from darkness I flee 

I set forth to reach a place where
there are no more ghouls
but with grief I understand
they are in my soul

Since when have I this grim cast?
Since when I don this rapped mask

But the new light has come with 
the strength of the streams 
the sire of winter 
while wind hints at spring 

I feel a bit grateful 
along this wet field while 
I catch fresh herbs 
from darkness I flee

Between black and blue

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA







I want to sing, slowly
until comes midnight
some twinkles are showing
but there is no light

I sing without knowing
why I'm still alive
my spirit is scrawny
in the gut of mine

It's so far, it's so far that emotion 
that I have felt and so loved in past times 
I want to cry, I want to cry a vast ocean 
but I'm so gaunt that I cannot try 

My faith's like the flurry of snow 
it covers some soil and some not 

My notes are now dappling
the floor of my room
and my words are parrying
everything is true

I'm brittling and hissing
while my snarl is mute
and the night is rustling
between black and blue

It's so far, it's so far that emotion 
that I have felt and so loved in past times 
I want to cry, I want to cry a vast ocean 
but I'm so gaunt that I cannot try 

My faith's like the flurry of snow 
it covers some soil and some not

Everything is perspective

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA













You said me that there's a place
where I can be myself
completely, but I don't know where it is

Yes, a defiant I am
it's the sap in my veins
that flows only if I halt for a moment

Everything is perspective 
there is nothing else 
the way I use adjectives 
the tense of the verbs 
I understand everyday something more 
but the next day I'm still weak and so cold 

But everything is perspective 
and there is no shame 
It's not enough to be active 
to fight drowsy days 
I have to cling to my deepest desires 
reluctantly putting them in the fire 

I shimmer when I'm in peace
when I'm not on my knees
and from my perch I can see further

In those days I'm like an owl
that can hoot on its trunk
to say to the night there is a king

Everything is perspective 
there is nothing else 
the way I use adjectives 
the tense of the verbs 
I understand everyday something more 
but the next day I'm still weak and so cold 

But everything is perspective 
and there is no shame 
not enough to be active 
to fight drowsy days 
I have to cling to my deepest desires 
reluctantly to put them in the fire

Shalechet*

Le ultime a cadere
sono quelle del melo
ancora verdi e rigide
la veglia del solstizio
quando l'inverno bussa
alla porta socchiusa
del giardino segreto.

* “Foglie cadute” in ebraico

This house

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA











This house has been standing for some hundred years
Its big walls have been crossed by joy and by fear
I know that every room is full of ancient stories
Of birth and death, of shame and also of glory
But, now it’s my turn to show
That, I can be part of all
Through my heart and my work

Here I can discover everyday some more
About an ancient and so fascinating world
And I can see into every single stone
A message made of images and of words
Digging under the old floor
I reach the past in a blow
There is so much to learn

In this Land so ancient I was born 
And it will rot for sure my bones 
And in this house, I will build my nest 
To esc from the chaos and to find some rest 

Yes, my ancestors are looking at me 
They know that I need to believe 
That I’m protected when I stay here 
And I will be helped to dry my tears 

And while I discover in the old documents
some interesting stories and coincidence
There are the round pebbles under the next floor
and beams are made by elm or sometimes by oak
I am soaked into hope
while I tread on gutted floors
Is this the right weft to draw?

The toils will be faced through the will-power
until my mind is rapt in this way so utter
sometimes there will be bounty and mirth
among the oaks and the ash trees
but I guess some other times
the path will be upright
and I will need my forbearance  

In this Land so ancient I was born 
And it will rot for sure my bones 
And in this house, I will build my nest 
To esc from the chaos and to find some rest 

Yes, my ancestors are looking at me 
They know that I need to believe 
That I’m protected when I stay here 
And I will be helped to dry my tears

Non è venuto giorno

Non è venuto giorno:
solo rivoli di fumo
sulle strade incupite
e alfabeto di ghiaccio
mai decifrato.

Siamo ombre sospese
appese a un sole assente
marionette fradice
bisbigli delle Norne*.




* Nella mitologia norrena, le Norne - dall'antico Norreno "Norn" che significa "colei che bisbiglia un segreto” - sono le tre divinità che tessono l'arazzo del destino. La vita di ogni persona è un filo nel loro telaio e la sua lunghezza corrisponde alla lunghezza della vita dell'individuo.

When the winter howls to shoo the autumn

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA














In these late evenings
when the sky is grey but it's not so cold
After some praying
I push my thoughts away, put them on a boat

When it's evening and it's raining on the roof and my soul 
in these moments I remember all: the lovers, the friends and my hopes 
and there's a big graveyard for them all, and everyday someone else in the tombs 

Growing means also to stop to mull, to grizzle, to mutter and to frown 
I've to learn first of all to shrug, to heal the bruise on my heart 
Future shan't clad in, fear or love, it will hunch itself to take new forms 

In these late evenings
when the winter howls to shoo the autumn
I become a poacher
to kill the spiders on the spiderweb

When it's evening and it's raining on the roof and my soul 
in these moments I remember all: the lovers, the friends and my hopes 
and there is a big graveyard for them all, and everyday someone else in the tombs 

Growing means also to stop to mull, to grizzle, to mutter and to frown 
I've to learn first of all to shrug, to heal the bruise on my heart 
Future shan't clad in, fear or love, it will hunch itself to take new forms