The verses of this extraordinary book by Luigia Sorrentino come alive like sound snaps.
They have the impetus and the ability to magnetize you in the pathos of an intimistic perception and not only, because they are the sign of a poetic maturity that captures the panorama and the inner emotional restlessness, to project them out of an exceptionally visual and olfactory memory , rippled by the becoming of things, almost to stop the private meaning and the reason for the painful involvement, to vivisect and decipher the transient, to chisel tones, variations and emotions that seal the temporal dimension always in progress: “we will be a bit / white near the sun / dust with other dust. ”
The birth, only the birth is a changing and articulated path of meditation, a lexical deflagration that seizes questions without answers, a testimony that deals with strong, changing reasons that run after each other in the daily stretch of our itinere, in a questioning and never pretentious way.
There are: life and death always fiercely “lurking” and referring to the latter: “death that I look / and hurts me / every syllable” and again: “// be blessed the water, the water that we will bring home / blessed water of the deluge “.
The sense of water as a symbolic element is perceived in a physical way, almost imprinted with the idea of birth (or rebirth) that unpredictably accelerates the extraordinary agony of this book, which in its vital passage, in the primordial act of coming into the world seals the extreme limit. Ab origine , already presupposes the irreparable crash and decline, in which man deeply intercepts death, the drama of the event, his painful and laborious “motu”.
But it is also a passion for this poetic that, inside and outside the landscape, can give unrepeatable suggestions, showing the profound knowledge of the means of expression, the refinement and the linguistic stability of the rhetorical and metaphorical tool.
It does not show formal complacency: the compact lyrical corpus of great dignity knows how to adhere to the spirit of the world with disturbing presentiment.
Luigia Sorrentino knows how to enter in the Spirit and in the Reason of being, she knows how to catch glimpses, interpreting an elegy that honors her for her expressive refinement: “the silence of the rose, of the steady peace / in the elbow on the forehead of April / you were born in the house was supposed to be / last in a spring where we were / really alone / we wore the same blood / … / “(p.41)
The referent always appears as immanent death that slides on the things and the destinies of men, and makes them say: “without respite / evil is absolute / I can not help but pass through / without great expressions / … / I do not believe in my eyes for all this / perfection “(p.66), it uses just an obsolete meaning to indicate the violence of death over life. The internal bonds between one poem and another bend to regret, but not to passive resignation.
This is the work of full maturity, for the high quality of language, which reaches happily fulfilled results, even through a pessimism that is identified with absence and silence.
Yet, there is a background in the background that broadly highlights a glimpse of faith, a thought that stamps his poetry of an apparent absence, even coy, caressed, almost touched by a god that the author is quick to write in tiny, almost to underline the maieutic essence of great creator and destroyer: “around this elsewhere / since childhood // enter into something unknown / … / and the god that descends leaves them / enter, welcomes nourishment / the god mild (p.77).
Epigraphic as a solemn sentence this text:
“Here is the stone / and the pain / here is the woman and the body / in the cloth of Holland /../ here is the funeral of the green eyes / the acrid smell / the liturgical death wrapped / in the white satin” (pag .52).
There is a dignity even in the bleak and disrupted landscape of the events that are part of the section: The weight of the earth . A poetics that has the material presence of transience, the weight of condemnation, the idea of a fierce and heavy exile in the earthly limbo, where we are called to question ourselves, to presage a second nature to metamorphosis. Moreover, the poet’s gaze succeeds in piercing the tragedy and the fragility of the existing making it the subject of singing: a song of incessant beauty, evocative and evocative architectures, which let Luigia Sorrentino sense as a cell of a microcosm, for the idea that permeates reason and instinct to relativity, such as to make it pronounce in the words: “from those arms we fell / from those arms we returned”, in the perennial cycle of the ontological ” perfection ” mentioned above.