Elegant and archaic are the verses of this new collection by Palermo poet Emilio Paolo Taormina entitled "Ore piccole" (Giuliano Ladolfi Editore, 2021; series "Perle poesia" directed by Roberto Carnero) and characterised by an unmistakable Taormina style. Verses, whose genesis is entrusted to the spontaneity of the senses and nothing else, not obsessed by the order of capital letters and punctuation - almost a counter-current choice in beat sauce of deconstruction of the classic metric form to support a flow of poetic consciousness that does not allow interruptions or unnecessary embellishments - and that propose an interesting Hungarian verticality: the reader is involved in a non-stop dive towards the welcoming but deep sea of memory and beauty experienced.
As in Taormina's previous collection, there is no lack of natural and 'homely' elements: Nature is witness to returns and epiphanies, it is faithful companion in the mnemonic processes and discoveries of the poet, in dusting off an "ancient", primordial self, forgotten it would seem because of time but not removed, indeed even more vivid in a reconstruction that bears all the weight of a long lived experience and that returns wrapped in the wise arms of poetry that makes eternal even the most obvious moment: moments of love, family affection, youthful experimentation. ...; the things of the house, the natural "objects", the strong symbolism that harmoniously connects everything, collaborate in the drafting of truths only apparently unearthed at the moment, but actually always present in the heart of the poet: only ordinary mortals do not see them; only those who really want to forget do not ask poetry for help.
The images in this collection are a nostalgic but never rhetorical balm, a maternal echo that resists the noises of an inexorably orphaned today, a touch of the ancestral character of existence hidden in the folds of reality: the premises of each lyric made up of natural descriptions, of personal memories recovered from the meanders of time (without ever lapsing into sterile autobiography), prepare the ground for intimate conclusions in the soul of a poet who is not afraid to reveal to the world the secrets that keep his inner universe alive; the search for these secrets is renewed in an ever-changing way because Taormina is an imaginative traveller heading for an Ithaca that does not die but renews itself and re-proposes itself each time with original nuances. Even loved ones do not die if they continue to be part of our memory and we glimpse them among everyday objects as constant presences in absence.
♦
sotto la cenere
dell’inverno
resistono le braci
squame di ore
brandelli di vele
reti strappate
remi spezzati
alberi di barche
abbandonate
sulla spiaggia
dalla marea
quando il maglio
del calafato
fascerà il mio scafo
tornerò ad andare
per i mari
itaca non muore
♦
la quiete
era opaca e densa
come il latte
che i pastori
strizzavano
dalle mammelle
delle capre
le colline appoggiate
l'una sull'altra
erano anfore
colme di grano
in attesa
d'essere imbarcate
ti chiedevi
sulla soglia del sonno
da quale vita
si fosse svegliato
quel giorno
così lontano
nel tempo
quando due monete
d'oro ti coprirono
gli occhi come soli
♦
io sono presente
assente
sono quello che
vedono
i miei occhi
sono vicino
lontano
sono nei miei passi
in quello che
toccano le mie mani
sono l’albero
la rondine
sono ladro e vagabondo
lascio un po’ di me
dovunque
io cerco il canto
ho dentro di me
un altro
vivo qui e altrove
non ho luce e ombra
giorno e notte
cerco sempre il canto
porto dentro di me
il peso di un altro
antico come il tempo
nuovo come l’attimo
Michele Nigro©2021