CRONICLE OF A GENESIS: A POETIC PERFORMANCE _ALIMONO II

IV day
From Cavallino to Putignano-a crazy spinning top. My new lab-house is near Bari going to Taranto.

I cross the countryside between Adelfia and Putignano to arrive at the little Kunsthalle of Vito Intini.
Vito will host me for about a week at the second floor of his Kunsthalle. Despite of the little and cold place, I0m very happy to work here. honored. There are many lives in this place and works of different artists, such as Cristiano De Gaetano, Pierluca Cetera and other artists maybe I will write about before going

The little windows see the oldest part of Putignano, near the beauty S. Maria the Greak (here comes again Greece…)- Inside the church Vito shows me the wooden statue of the Pity. The big hand of Maria, the disarticulated body of Crist, the so visible ribs and the colors of Maria dresses, unusual…

Before entering in the Kunsthalle, I pass to the Chiesa Madre (San Pietro) and an odour of incense touches me. Odour. another shade in feeling, another immediate perception

I try to get in contact with the place. With me a speaker and a little mixer. With no money I use any thing I found but with extremely care and devotion

like rationing water on the lips of thirsty people

notes
Logos of Heraclitus. the fire is always present and it is always in mutation, form of a vital strength that is in all the things-the knowledge
“Mutual transformation of all the things in fire and fire in all the things”. (fr. 90)
“Neither Gods nor human being made this universal order, the same for each one, but it is and it will be alive fire, burning and ending according to a right misure” (fr. 30).

Oxopetra: also the name of this town it part of a path, maybe poetic, emotional… Odysseas Elytis published “The Oxopetra Elegies and West of Sorrow”.

EVERY MORNING

Every morning
Erasing dreams
With care building speeches
Our dresses, an iron nest.

Every morning
Saying hello to yesterday friends
The nights expand like the accordion
-Sounds, regrets, lost kisses

My childhood is full of beds of reeds.

I spent much wind to become adult.
This is the only way I followed
to distinguish the most imperceptible rustles,
to speak with precision into mysteries.

(Odysseus Elytis, translation Iula Marzulli)

fusoliera: 1 a kind of boat, extended and subtile, used on the river Po and near Venice, in order to
hunt the “, a water bird called also tuffetto or svasso 2 fuselage/structure of an airplane that link the different part it is made by, such as wings, central part and so on

I try to pass through the myths of Chiara’ s text. Ulysses still in the dream, Medea in an endless going, Elena liked to the shapes of the dreams, a ghost…and the history of Thebe, the wars, the changeable stories of gods and human beings….something harrowing in me, I’m not able to be clear

I’m trying to give a geographic collocation to this poetic map and Greece passes with its ragged adges, its mountains, the sea, the white, always present.
The island of Eubèa, that venetians called Negroponte. And the main city of Calcide.

Greek…Turks…Venetians, Albanians…many people, many cultures pass and go

Morosini*

Morea, name given to the Peloponnesus. The remains of Byzantium after the falling of Constantinople in 1453.The falling of Theodosius walls. “Finally crossed Morea doors” Why poetry?

Prometheus…and the damnation of the fire, fire of Heraclitus, again the fire

Cutrettola: the western yellow wagtail (Motacilla flava) is a small passerine in the wagtail family Motacillidae, which also includes the pipits and long claws. It is a slender 15–16 cm long bird, with the characteristic long, constantly wagging tail of its genus.
Cutrettola: emerges like a clear symbol through the words and It is like I feel the little body of the bird in my hands, aiming to fly or follow the herds that still cross this crushed hearth

today I feel angry, bad

I understand and I feel the urgency of poetry such as something that happens, that sediment

I feel all its shiny beauty

V day

to move only to move…I can’t do according my imagination, I need the precision…it’s a kind of path…pieces of body..objects…especially for the text of Medea. Who is speaking in Medea? Who calls Medea “the savage”?

Chiara is near me, I continue asking things and indications and I slowly realize that the border gets liquid…the border that divides the one who write from the other one who reads…in this liquid border I leave the indications of Chiara, her notes, in order to change her path in mine

It’s like a continue cycle, so it will be when other people will be involved in seeing the work, in reading the texts…

now I leave the hands of Chiara and I wonder about her poetries, like drunk

neither a mise en scène, nor a performance….I ask to Chiara the value of the “dream” and she speaks about Simone Weil and her theatrical writing “ Venezia saved”
I read about the work in an article of Cristina Campo—heart is exploding

I read “Like her spiritual masters ,the Greeks, Simone Weil is interested to a tragic event considering the action as language, like in art works: on the scene is developed a slow growth of an act, whit all the universe around – and then, that act fallen in the world” (quotation of Simone Weil in “Una tragedia di Simone Weil: <> of Cristina Campo in “Sotto falso nome”)
this key could be useful for me and for the development of this work

some things come out: hearth, chair, lime, wings, mirror, pieces of body

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