To write about a book, one sometimes needs a thunderbolt, an impulse where head and heart coincide so that objective data do not get the better of a prefrator's personal taste and affinities and common feeling emerge, albeit with due manner.
This is the case with Giacomo Gusmeroli's new collection Colle Moncucco.
One breathes something new and ancient as one glances through its pages: certainly an extreme care for words, I would say, nothing is ever out of place or redundant in the various poetic movements that compose, like fractals, the body-book, but there is something more: a magmatic force emerges that captures the reader and digs down to the idea of an archetypal starting point that cannot be channelled, that exists in itself and must be accepted as necessary: pietas (from Ivan Fedeli's preface).