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CARBONES

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A Cappella, in via Petrara io vivo

 

A Cappella, in via Petrara io vivo, 

sempre qui ho vissuto, in casa

dei miei dove respiro e tesso

ombre e ricordi che s'intrecciano

con leggende di famiglia: papà Marco

andato come pavimentista- mosaicista

a Marsiglia, avventurosamente lì rimasto

molti anni- di lui, se chiudo gli occhi, 

mi torna un'immagine sfocata-; mamma

Consiglia, barista a tempo pieno.

Di lei soprattutto parlano la casa

e via Petrara, fino a più di due

lustri fa una lunga teoria di gradinate

in porfido: di qui tuttora

si va a Monte di Procida. Ricordo 

che, bambino, mi arrampicavo a perdifiato

per quelle sconnesse scale sommerse

da sterpi, da rovi -squisite le more!-,

al cui posto adesso c'è tanto

scorrevole asfalto preso d'assalto

dai motorini. C'erano serpenti, ricordo.

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This wonderful poem is one of the writings in which the poet presents himself, showing his lively attachment to the earth and its origins. In the verses he does not limit himself to talk about the land, but chooses to introduce also the figures of his parents and their relationship with Cappella. His father is a distant figure, who lives in a blurred memory of childhood: the years of work in Marseille mark in fact a gap with the poet and his territory. His mother, however, is closely linked to the places where Sovente lived, all the elements of the landscape retain a memory of her. The other protagonist of the verses is the road in which the poet lived, Via Petrara, which is described through a comparison between the past in which wild nature prevailed due to bushes, brambles and blackberries, and the present in which the chaos of modernity has taken over. The whole text is characterized by the semantic area of memory: indeed we find the anaphora of "ricordo" (l. 15 and l. 21), the word ricordi (l. 4) and the expressions "intrecciano con leggende" (l. 4 and l. 5) and "Torna un’immagine sfocata "(l. 9).

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Cóse sta léngua sperduta

 

Cóse sta léngua sperduta

conta sta léngua sturduta

scàrdule e cràstule ‘i vite

ca cchiù r’i suónne

‘int’ ‘u scuro so’ rummase.

Chiamma sta léngua furesta

nu rrevuóto na festa

‘i nuómme voce culure

sta léngua accussì scurnósa

sta léngua accussì annura.

 

Cuce questa lingua smarrita

racconta questa lingua stordita

schegge e cocci di esistenze

che più dei sogni

al buio sono restate.

 

Chiama questa lingua selvaggia

un turbinio una festa

di nomi voci colori

questa lingua così discreta

questa lingua così nuda.

 

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In this poem the poet describes his language as lost and stunned between the shards and splinters, but at the same time wild and swirling in a rush of chaos, voices, colours and parties. This confusion gives the idea of a language which is not unitary, but animated by several forces. The poet in fact does not choose only an idiom and this text is written both in Italian and ''Cappellese'', precisely because it is affected by the different thrusts coming from different languages. The poem is closed by an anaphora that highlights the vulnerability of this language, naked and modest, yet sincere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sparto ogne ghiuorno ‘u ppane

 

Sparto ogne ghiuorno 'u ppane

e' a fantasia,n'u ppane

r' 'u sbariò senza tiémpo

attuorno a macchie 'i mure, macchie

janche e scure, rint' a nu fujafuja

'i moscole, 'i palomme. Sparto

'i nummere, i' ccarte, ce vò

 n'at anno, n'ata vita pe' capì

 quanno furnesce 'u zzero

 addo accumènza 'u bblù.

 

Divido ogni giorno il pane

Divido ogni giorno il pane

e la fantasia, il pane

del vaneggiare atemporale

intorno a macchie sui muri, macchie

bianche e nere, in un viavai

di mosche, di farfalle. Divido

le cifre, le carte, ci vuole

un altro anno, un'altra vita per capire

 quando muore lo zero,

dove attecchisce il blu.

 

Cotidie divido panem

 

Cotidie divido panem

et phantasmata, panem

sine die fingendi, circum

parietum maculas, in sempiterna

muscarum fuga papilionumque.

Numeros cotidie ego divido

et chartas, alius oportet

annus, alia vita ad intelligendum

 quando vanescat nihilum,

ubinam caelum surgat.

 

COMMENT

These three poems are an example of trilingualism in the collection Carbones. The same text is in fact transcribed in “Cappellese” dialect, Latin and Italian and in each language the meaning takes on different shades . The choice of words is not accidental: for example, the term "zero" is translated into Latin with "nihilum" because the concept was foreign to Roman culture. The Latin text has more differences compared to the other two versions from the very first line: while in Italian and  “Cappellese” dialect poem opens with a verb, in Latin we have an adverb at the beginning of the poem. The construction of the Latin phrase differs from the Italian one and Sovente respects the syntax of the different languages, always searching for musicality.

 

 

Ferragosto europeo

 

Un ferragosto sciamante

avantindietro spinge

turisti desideranti deliranti

sotto un sole che stringe

in una morsa di afa e sistoli

«C'est tout très merveilleux ici

aussi cette mer de merde!»

è un sovrapporsi di fiati

per arse lingue di sabbia dove

pinguedini affondano raucedini

è un di miraggi e paesaggi per

troppa ansia di vita decomporsi

«the sea and the wind full

time and the love forever!»

è un ferragosto memorabile...

 

COMMENT

In this poem the poet describes a typical Assumption Day in a European city stormed by tourists.  The "sovrapporsi di fiati" corresponds to the different languages spoken by the tourists, these languages are used in everyday life and they are not literary. In the poem Michele Sovente describes with a paronomasia ("desideranti e deliranti", l. 3) the tourists while they are walking under the burning sun, rendered with the alliteration (‘’sotto un sole che stringe’’, l. 4). After the voices of the tourists, the poem ends with the poet’s remark about a special day.

 

 

 

 

Parla Agrippina

 

Qui di fronte al mare

di fronte al mare

intreccio il mio dolore

con le onde…

 

Dolore assai crudele per un figlio

che crudelmente mi affidò alle onde:

cieche ombre adesso c’inseguiamo…

 

Il tufo in sé nasconde i miei sospiri

e nella lunga salsedine rinnova

la mia rovina…

 

Di fronte a me dilaga il racconto

delle onde: la mia voce

con l’acqua si confonde…

 

Mai tace il mio cruccio, la mia spina.

In sonno qualcuno

-Nerone? - mi supplica ghignando

 Agrippina… Agrippina…

 

Da sempre questa

bieca eco mi accompagna mi attanaglia

e la dondola per chissà quanto ancora

il mare… il mare…

 

COMMENT

In his poems Michele Sovente evokes, in verse, myths and history of the Phlegraean Fields through three languages: Italian, Latin and Neapolitan dialect, the “Cappellese”, a variant of the Neapolitan dialect.

An example is this text, one of his most famous and evocative compositions, that is, Parla Agrippina.
In this poem, made up of three quatrains and three tercets, the figure of Agrippina appears, mother of Nero, who was murdered by order of her son because of the conflicting relationship between them. Nero was in Baia and called his mother, making her believe that he wanted to reconcile with her. His mother arrived after two days, by ship. In the evening he invited her to a banquet in her honour. The ship had been prepared by Anicetus and hid a deadly device: a huge load of lead had been piled on the top of the bed on which Agrippina was to rest. Agrippina got on the ship and at a signal, the roof of the cabin where she rested, weighed down by the lead, collapsed. One of Agrippina’s relatives died on the spot, while she and her housekeeper managed to escape. The ship collapsed and they ended up in the water. The housekeeper died, while Agrippina managed to escape. Nero, fearing of being discovered as the author of the attack and fearing Agrippina’s revenge, gave Anicetus the order to kill his mother who was stabbed on March 23rd, 59 AD. We know the details of this story thanks to the historian Tacitus, who talks about it in the 14th book of the Annales.

In this poem Agrippina begins to speak in front of the sea.

The poet here takes up one of the most controversial traditions of ancient history and supports the version of Tacitus according to which the tomb of Agrippina is located right between the territories of Baia and Bacoli. It is from that tuff cliff that Agrippina revives and tells us of her despair.

We can clearly perceive the anguish of the soul of this woman opposed in life by that only son so insane that still persecutes her.

The echo of her name returns in Nero’s dreams where, against his own will, he never stops invoking his mother whom he cannot free himself of, tormented by her spiritual presence.

Agrippina is still trapped in that fatal sea, where her own son had condemned her.

Each stanza ends with ellipses to indicate a sense of uncertainty: Agrippina is not finished, her story is still in the air and in the waves of the sea of Bacoli.