There are poets who do not seem to write poems. In their writing and their own voice they do not communicate a "literary gesture." So there are a lot of poets reading what you think here, I'm reading a poem. Others who are, so to speak, more fatal, their voice does not belong to a literary genre and even literature. Is before or after that that we are tempted to think - out of laziness or habit pseudoaccademica school - and the poetry. To lead us to wonder and to bewilderment.
Voice often worked over the years, but from the beginning blessed or perhaps cursed or veined, short of something undefined, communicates things, images, landslides, visions, kidnappings, ideas, without pointing the finger, "hey, look out! This is a poetry. "
They are popular poets and natural, which does not mean simply naive. The most popular of our poets, Dante, is not really a poet simple or naive. But in fact, there are poets among them Franco Loi, which have the virtue of saying things in one breath (key word of his poetry and his spirituralità biblical) which is the same breath that we use to say, cursing, kissing.
And this his extreme booklet offers a way if possible even more bare, unprotected and therefore bold and blunt, the voice of a man walking, ancient man and topical. He has the language and clothes, and the smagamenti the ire of Milan today, but it could be any place of the late modernity, age strangosciata (to use a term of Testori, another Milanese far from the style but close to the actual dispossession of Loi). Burnouts of the mind, the body, the deviations, the memories, the nothing that attracts attention enter the item Loi and from there are in a sort of lullaby rough and airy.
The biological presence, the world's historical and bodies, places of living, memories, are traversed by a tear (another key word of poetic Loi) which is the sign of the real drama taking place within the circumstances: the drama of consciousness . The book in which Loi more openly speaks of God, is a secular book, and I would say Lombard to the core, devoted to what the area around Milan is the fire on which they are deep thinking scholars and jurists and thinkers from academia and bar: consciousness. Such is the hunger for Starla attacked, hunger receipt for his father's legacy and a people that placed a seal of human dignity and policy, that the poet must look at the tear, the wound of our being from which it arises and is nourished. In this tear is seen and "steals" God His first nest in us.
So in a moment as he likes to say Loi repeating a popular adage "there is no religion," comes the poetry that invites to be really conscious men, free from rationality and poor mechanics.
Davide Rondoni
L'Avvenire