The poetic journey of Luigia Sorrentino towards the roots of humanity
It has the strength of the abysses, the voice that Luigia Sorrentino , one of the most refined poetesses of the contemporary literary scene.
Intones and embroideres in his Olimpia (Interlinea, 2013, pp.104, € 14), a work not earlier but primordial in which poetry and prose live together in the name of opera. The physical journey, in Greece, in the city that gives title and environments (and, as old as it is, the stylistic coupling of a writing that reaches the uniqueness and compactness thanks to a calibrated yet powerful ‘fragmentism’), is the narrative pretext to substantiate the mental journey, not metaphysical or mystical, not spiritual but biological, in search of that origin which has always been a source of science and poetry.
It is with a language that is both rarefied and material, a language that looks to Hölderlin (whose Hyperion , in addition to being explicitly mentioned in epigraph, occurs on several occasions) and perhaps to the first Ungaretti (at times it seems to hear the rhythmic echo of some verses of The buried port : “touched by the hand / his being only the question / is that the door? “), a language that breathes life and refuses as much as the hierarchies of capital and the violence of the fixed point, which Sorrentino scans the nature and antiquity of Greece and its myths to deliver a drop of what it has heard, that is seen, in that continuous return without ever going that is the poetic investigation. But we should perhaps say ‘human investigation’ because here: Sorrentino vibrates with humanism, and the eyes and ears of his poetry are tended to recover that thread that unites all human beings, that thread that exists and is taken not by faith in a some god, but out of trust in humanity (for every “divine” “weaves it … the human”).
And without modesty, with the risk of being taken for anachronistic and deluded (we see, today, that Greece our mother, and we see ourselves humans, bloody evolved) that Sorrentino wire binds us around the wrists, no matter who we are or where let’s go, because (she knows) “there is an archaic night in each of us / one night from which we all come”. Yes all.