Perhaps the reader will ask himself why I have placed a painting by the painter Lucio Fontana next to the lines of this poem.
Just as Fontana interrupted the uniform, but also flat, unity of the canvas with cuts that break, tear and ruin the common imagination, so my verses highlight “cuts” that interrupt the harmony of the elements that make up the imaginary of life of man.
Cut into quarters between the branches of the plane trees
the sun cries out its indemonstrable faith in the light.
But I feel the faith wavering in the seeming
tranquility of these lawns
crossed by a long and winding avenue.
Some walk slowly
look at the tips of their shoes
search the mind for memories
that give life to their existence.
Others run listening to the song
of music like piano and violins
by an open forgotten window
by a melancholic lover.
Everyone is thinking, smiling to themselves, moving
the dead leaves fallen at their feet.
A couple of young people look at each other enchanted
they recognize each other by kissing
they use the words of the most famous lovers
they prove that there is happiness and a future.
Another couple with a few more years
argues and cries out loud. They invoke
shadows despair and fear. They claim
the death of a horrible past
and the resurrection of the individual.
Sitting at the foot of a tree trunk on the edge
between the avenue and the lawn a man stretches out his hand.
Another stops, cautiously opens his wallet
count the change thoughtfully
look her in the palm of her hand
like an Achilles the corpse of Patroclus
and he advances indifferently.
A woman with an ineffable face
proud to be young
beautiful and mother bend over face
of the newborn in the stroller.
He smiles, fidgets, moves his fingers
he close them open them suck them while dreaming
the softness of the mother’s breast.
Waiting that his spirit
get used to thinking about something else
already gather the fragments
disordered from his visions
tender and carnal
like his mother’s skin
that tomorrow her fingers will caress
in another woman
like a fruit of the forbidden tree.
I look at the clear sky, the calm air
the sun among the leaves. But something is missing
to I can say
that men are happy.
By the unnoticed interruption of dreams
at the faith indemonstrable faith in the light
who dies in the silence of the night
at the end of the long avenue.
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Image: Lucio Fontana, Attese, 1959
