La Poesia

I'm fairly ignorant when it comes to poetry, but reading up a bit for an Italian poetry exam on Wednesday, I think I'm now beginning to understand a little better why we should all read and ideally write poetry. Professore Bertoni, who takes the class, has written a book which is apparently something of a cult hit on the Bologna poetry scene:

'La Poesia: Come si legge e come si scrive'

'Poetry: How to read and write it'

I'd like to offer an extract:

"A pensarci bene, la lettura (e la ricezione silenziosa, la scansione intima di un'opera scritta) è per noi condizione comunicativa cui non è facile rinunciare: veicolo di memoria acquisita secondo la mappa tracciata del libro, possibilità di rilettura e di reinterpretazione (misurando sulla partitura definitiva del testo la mobilità e la variabilità dei nostri punti di vista e dei nostri cambiamenti interiori), richiesta/dovere di concentrazione assoluta e di lenta, progressiva immersione in una parola che non ci appartiene d'acchito e che siamo anzi chiamati a decodificare, a delibare e a fare nostra a poco a poco, spinta al confronto fra tradizioni e lingue, dialettica storicamente aperta di vivi e morti, vecchi e giovani."

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"Thinking about it, the act of reading poetry (and the silent recitation, the intimate articulation of a written work) is a communicative act which is difficult to renounce: the 'transfer of memory', the chance to re-read and reinterpret (judging the mobility and variation of our points of view and the changes that can be made), the demand for absolute concentration and of gentle, progressive immersion in a word which isn't immediately clear, which we have to decode, deliberate over, try our best at, so that little by little we arrive at the comparisons between traditions and languages, aware of the historical dialectic between the living and the dead, the old and the young."

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Asides from the social/historical imperative to discover the collective 'memory of society', Bertoni also conveys the importance of poetry on more spiritual levels. He describes poetry as a way of combatting the feeling of emptiness, narcissism and the 'disposition to internal silence' rife in the so-called 'postmodern' age. He quotes Russian Nobel prize winner Josef Brodskij:

"poetry is not a form of 'entertainment', and in a certain way it's not even a form of 'art' either. I see it as an anthropological aim, genetic, a linguistic lighthouse. It's evolutionary".

I really like the 'evolutionary' idea. A kind of a fortification of the self; words enter your mind for you to puzzle over and ponder, usually on your own in a quiet space somewhere, and nobody can take away any revelations of understanding that may come with reading. Similarly, if you try to 'perform' your new-found poetic prowess trying to impress on others how much you enjoy Sanguineti's 'Postkarten' you will rightly feel like a pretentious wanker. Seems to be best left for the mind to enjoy.

...And yet I feel the need to put this in a blog. Ha ha ha ha ha...what a pretentious wanker I am.

Moving Sounds and Bodies

Musicians and Dancers as one- David Byrne show in Modena

David Byrne- Love has Come to Modena

A couple of weeks ago my parents visited me for a few days to celebrate my mum's 60th birthday. And what better gift from a loving son than a surprise trip to Modena's Teatro Communale to see David Byrne in concert? An entirely selfless act which I noblely endured without too much grumble: it was possibly one of the best concerts I've seen.

The setting was spectacular; a 19th century theatre shaped like a giant cylindrical sponge cake whose height exceeded its width. The lights went down. A 57-year-old Byrne promptly strutted to the microphone to discuss 'tonight's 20 course menu'. As he stood before a theatre-full of Italians he paused and quipped that 'you must excuse me; my English isn't very good'. He also made it explicitly clear that if emails had to be sent, phone calls had to be made, texts had to be sent, then go right ahead. It was all ironically formal. Then without further ado he struck up the band.

There's no point writing at length because it'll be painfully dull compared to what it was in the flesh. But it was electric. Cherry picking from the 3 Talking Heads collaborations with Brian Eno as well as the latest Byrne/Eno project, every song was a joy. A lot of personal favourites came up as well; 'I Zimbra' from Fear of Music, 'Strange Overtones' from the new album and an unbelievable version of 'Houses in Motion' from Remain in Light. The attitude is basically punk; forthright, sometimes a little obnoxious, sometimes sarcastic. Byrne is a lyrical genius. There are sardonic narratives, adapted anecdotes, pop philosophies, but he has also said that he likes to choose lyrics not with the idea of constructing a narrative, but simply because he likes the sound of the word. This is the joy of 'I Zimbra'; an adaption of Hugo Ball's Dadaist poem 'Gadgi beri bimba'. None of these words have specific meanings, but with the punchy polyrhythms, chanting and driving riffs, for me 'I Zimbra' conjures a tribal African dance sung in maybe a fictional Nigerian dialect. The music is fantastic in the true sense of the word.

It's music which captures the hips as well as the imagination. This was a sit-down concert in a formal setting, a throwback to the 19th century aristocracy. But the urge to dance still conquered the hearts and minds. First the heads nodded, then people were clapping, sometimes singing, and before long people were leaning right out pounding their fists and boogeying around the booths. It was like a compartmentalised gallery of dancing styles; some concetrating on the arms, others going for the legs. And this wasn't a young audience! But everybody seemed to feel so. The stroke of genius was the use of 3 dancers who were fully integrated into the show. The songs weren't just hacked out for the sake of a tour. There was a full choreography which Byrne himself weaved in and out of with his guitar. Spirals; jumps; twirls; handstands; integrating props; throws; sometimes swopping with the backing singers; taking over the stage for dance solos: a treat for both the eyes and the ears propelling bodies out of seats and arms into the air.

This is all getting embarrassingly carried away. But it's the effect of the music. It embodies Byrne's inexhaustible lust for life which goes into all that he does, whether that be in music, in the art studio, running his radio station or designing bike racks for New York. Modena is a very sleepy little middle-class town in Emilia-Romagna, but that evening in the Teatro love had come to town.



(subsides after foolishly writing at length)

Instruments in the Open Air

A bunch of happy musicians slowly making their way to the outskirts of Bologna, picking up people along the way like pied pipers.