Accompanied by the encouragement of numerous presentations and critical notes ( a letter from Renato Minore, a presentation by Guido Oldani , a critique note of Matteo Vecchio at the end of the text, a back cover of Francesca Mastruzzo ), the volume is a collection of Luciana Dimartino of poems by the tone and coordinated cut and intensely detected in which glimpses of lacerating lyrical depth mate reads the broader reality . It is no coincidence Renato Minore speaks of " a diary and even nagging force , but without resentment , the continuous dialogue with you always in a scene , as if the other voice is that of the accompaniment which, respecting the rhythm and breathing , says a melody, prepares , collects , and sometimes it is interwoven without ever trying to fight it or disorient him , "the voice that I would / her voice calm / the smile that did not taste " "[1] . Oldani , however, more related to a kind of pictorial movement of the writing and its ripple coloristic and shiny found in the poetry of Letizia Dimartino a shadowy representative size and firm at the same time .
Its pages flow with the rhythm of the fluid that moves like an hourglass in an infinite continuity , almost a sweet torment of an eternal exhausted . Obvious that his face claustralità think of a Dickinson, but an existential second chapter , a Dickinson return . Everything is played indoors, as in certain paintings by Bonnard, but more in the shade, where it is rumored and thinks compulsively and incessantly circularly , with attenuated peaks and precipices almost real vicissitude . The room has the remains of a dinner or breakfast and comfortable tent , moved by the breeze , it is always busy , but then you are in a monastic cell , perhaps a Spanish mystic of a possible "[2] .
Finally, Matthew Elder in his final note to the text reveals the presence of a strong core of subjectivity that would compose herself torn in a new existential possibilities that helps to heal and to restore the integrity of the original cut, the gash , " the wound original " from which the flow poetic seems to be originated in a spring and , at the same time , painful :
"The writing deliberately trudging around the core assets , twists around the rage . Yet it is the other , with respect to it ; always has the soft warmth of life , has the breath of one who, through the labor of writing ( creative existence even before that ) , includes the pain of life and it brings forth a secular and censiva acceptance . Acceptance that pain is a passing: not irenic , but always competitive , combative . The interaction with the other - " communicate in the shadows " - almost by way of blue air of mountain forest , in some asprigni , green slants of life ... Early morning is the vital problem of the ego that in these words naked and torn writes his letter to the silent world. Understanding on the part of the other, if the eyes of the latter are blurred , unable to see beyond the veil of the actual , over the door of a room, " [3].
What can be gained , then, from this brief overview inspired by the words of the critics who accompany and support the path of the lyric poetic words of Letizia Di Martino ?
Surely the idea of a path internalized all of the death and rebirth, recovery of ego deeper than the surface of detachment and indifference , of mending of tears that mark the moral life, but at the same time , dialectically , allow the ' emergency mature truths it contains.
The poetry of Dimartino is dotted throughout , then, of these emergencies salvation necessitated by the desire to build a ' " final season " of knowledge, understanding of the world, recompactation the conflict that does not extinguish the need, but it includes the intimate reason , most secret and accomplished.
"What do you say if you ask me / this afternoon / that does not have a form / if my things are / line / in the order of time / or maybe the wind? / / You give me an hour of silence / phrases necessary / to the remote / loneliness pays off / on hair every gesture / that arm to which I tie / is a principle , I think, o / the end of your indulgence. / / Meanwhile, the tent rests on the chair / on the bed lit by the rest. / Clear in the morning , / you see? / Is like a line - forgetful . / / Find even away / but look , between the mesh / and perfumes / come alone in this house / and remains . / / Pretend to be forever " [4].
The secret of the poetry of Letizia Dimartino is, therefore, in reality and in the ability of expectation, in its wealth of imagination and wishful in its potential exhibited in creating situations in which the gap between what you want and what you get is recovered through the staging of the opera of the word, through the predominance of the objective cor inquietum respect to the logic of the newspaper issued and traced to the bodies that contain it.
And ' the need , then, to give order and shape to what he has not , to give voice to the moments of silence, filled with the presence of an absence that cut weight and that you would want to always recovered from the depths of unusual oblivion.
Life in the room coincides , therefore, with the existence outside it : the memory is still not enough to fill it with meaning and its being empty is recomposed in the necessary and despairing , searing desire to see her again inhabited , albeit provisional , linked to a distant that is made of words instead of gestures .
"I have shoes with no roads to cross / to align , the look / Then the face / head / coats waiting , / just / have colors , pleats, / my face pales / open the doors to the cabinets / and smell the odor of My bad / / so the afternoons pass / and then the days , stacked / / and then I feel cold and I try / hug that is not "[5] .
It 's always room in the place where they are mandatory labor of expectation and comparison: the cabinet , the daily routine , the bitterness of solitude that folds as " coats " that are waiting to be worn and used. It 's always waiting for the harsh mistress of life that forces us to consider the time the friend - enemy who turn their attention to life. It 's always the loneliness with which to confront the enemy and to find a remedy every time .
"I can not run / or extinguish the fire / m'attardo , I try , but / I do not follow : Have you ever waited so long ? " [6] .
The poem , however , would like to fill the void left in the heart restlessness produced from waiting in vain for the fulfillment of the dream possible and ongoing research .
The "fire " that no one knows (or can not? ) Turn off is the symbol of that expectation and the one represented by the unremitting desire to continue writing poetry that is enriched every day for signs that the reconfigured and represent.
The conclusion of the "diary " of which he writes in his letter to Minor Letizia , then , can not be that bitter , persistent and tough but always remains shiny , crystal clear , intense ( as has happened throughout the course of the collection ) , enclosed in clarity of his final farewell , performed as an interlude now closed in and by Time :
"And everything happens , / / because I could have you : / close we were unknowingly / / never think of it / for years and years / all mornings / and everything remained in place / and we lived so / / do not we were simply "[7] .
Giuseppe Panella
NOTE
[1] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione, Borgomanero (Novara), Giuliano Ladolfi Editore, 2012, p. 5.
[2] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione cit. , p. 7.
[3] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione cit. , pp. 165-166.
[4] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione cit. , p. 11.
[5] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione cit. , p. 88.
[6] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione cit. , p. 143.
[7] L. DIMARTINO, Ultima stagione cit. , p. 164.