the poet, again, boy! 
Vito Antonio Conte
living with his madness mine. Bell keeps me company. The Orphic Songs were long ago. Today is I poet of the night. This is a collection of unpublished letters by Dino Campana, published in the series yellow ocher Edizioni Via del Vento. A few years ago, on Musicaos, I wrote of several series (besides the aforementioned, I know two more: aquamarine and iquadernidiviadelvento ) from this publisher Tuscan (based in Florence) and the particularities and preciousness of this little book (of new texts in the 16 x 12), "using" are flowed Fernando Pessoa. Now do the opposite: the pretext is the wave editor to tell you to Campana. As I can. As I want. I will not tell of his biography: Marradi, in the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines, and his mother, Fanny, compulsive woman who neglected Dino (when he was born the second son, Manlio) to the point that the lack of affection and the abrupt maternal reactions marked the beginning of the evil that contributed to the demise of the poet in that Castle of Fleas. I will not tell of his divine rags wandering real and fantastic places, instead of being land as possible, often sharpened his existential malaise (Dino, who was pregnant with the nomadic soul, so as to have an anarchist conception of the existence and adventurous). Neither of these definitions will tell you, from time to time, critics and writers envious jealous, always late, cataloged his record as a result of a visionary poet, hallucinated, mad, Orphic, vagabond, Mediterranean. At best. Indeed, more often, Bell was opposed, marginalized, ridiculed, excluded, ignored. Meanwhile just trying to assert its right to exist. Nor will tell you Boine, Novaro, Cecchi, Serra, Soft and Papini (and others of his time). The last two, as known, lost the manuscript of the Orphic Songs (originally titled The longest day ) that Bell gave them in December 1913. Bell of the loss could never get over it. Soft Ardengo challenged to a duel. Threatened to kill Giovanni Papini (a memorable letter to the poet Papini dated 23/01/1916: " If within a week I will not have received the manuscript and other papers that I gave you three years have come to Florence with a good knife and I will judge wherever you find ). After having laboriously rewritten, published his collection, at his own expense (it is said-that was organized by fellow-Luigi Bandini a collection of eighty people, but in the end only half actually joined) in 1914 at the typographer Bruno Ravagli Marradi and personally sold copies in every way. The manuscript was found among the papers of Soft in 1971 by his daughter Valeria, and later (in 1973), published in two volumes by the publisher Vallecchi (which, ironically, more than half a century earlier, Bell had asked-in vain-to published). We will not say he loved the Authors: Poe, Nietzsche, Whitman, Rimbaud, Verlaine, Aeschylus ... and Sbarbaro. And, again, I will not tell his story with Sibilla (Rina Faccio) or that of Sibilla with Dino Campana (...) and believe me, I: It was the loving and sexual relationship not only the most turbulent of Italian literature, but also dense crossings, detours, derailments, curves and roads that are the envy prohibited the largest metropolis known. When I adjective the relationship between two loving and sexual, the disjunctive was intentional: love dell'Aleramo was told everything and more, but just read the correspondence between the Aleramo and Bell, published in the sixties, to understand what love was overwhelming and devastating. On the sexual services of Bell is said to be tireless and pretended dall'Aleramo more than (and, of course, was much) the same could. And then, on the manhood of the poet, moving several urban legends according to which, during periods of internment in a mental hospital, Bell masturbating up to fifteen times a day!?! But this does not tell you. Instead, in addition to being weak and neurotic, as well as the illusions of twilight and the future, over any vain hope of new literature, marked by the blood of Campana, tell of his aversion to the study and use of the metric, its feel the depositary of the secrets of the world, his way of revelation with the verses and his grief for nearsightedness around, the blindness of his anger that artificially forcing him to beg his life. And, after the rediscovery in 1968 by the Falqui (known in his Essay on Twentieth Century Literature Campanian), raises the sense to hear it again define the melodic and visual poet, music and color. Or, in the highest of the labels, the dean of modern poetry. There is the poetry of Dino Campana is not limited nell'alveo of a movement rather than another, it is not classifiable according to ordinary canons, escapes any kind of definition: it is unique, as only Dino Campana! And so emerges from the letters collected in I Poeta Notturno : I like to mention a few passages: " I am a poor man who writes like this: You probably will want to hear. I'm that guy that was presented by Mr Fluffy as a Futurist exhibition moved, someone who writes good things at times. I write poetry and poetic novels, no one wants to print and I need to be printed: to prove that there is, to write again I need to be printed. I would add that I deserve to be printed because I feel that what little I can do poetry has a purity of accent that is now uncommon to us. I'm not ambitious but I think that after being beaten for the world, after I did tear from life, my word that although salt has the right to be heard . "(From a letter dated 01/06/1914 Prezzolini). From these lines shows the fragility of man and despair Bell and, at the same time, all the awareness of the power of his being a poet and I like to highlight the use of the verb in place of the print publication Concept ... returning in a letter to Emilio Cecchi, dated 05/02 .1916, in which Bell slams "disgusting imagine with what I have to resort to these miserable suckers of the best blood of Italy who are called publishers. I have known for quite Maramaldo not abhor some new relationships. And in the hope of a few hundred pounds here I come to beg you to give me the address of one of these dogs whose murderous cowardice of the public by the authorities of stealing without dishonor the sweat of our tumblers. (...) I'm not a coward and I fear that my subject is out of heroism. Cardarelli wrote to me: he believes in a gay science: he blessed. (...) I am confident that he and others will know more than I love the phantom sunny glimpse of happiness that I thought there long ago on the Mediterranean. I do not think it really works. What should I do. The people are missing, lost consciousness and to become a mystic are not vile enough . (...) ". Bell is very disappointed and pissed off about the fate of his, of his poetry and poetry of his time, but continues to say, with violence, its condition and the negatives that come across for their right to live (Albeit, too) that condition. Until exhausted. So go ahead. Until the statement to be crazy in the spring of 1918, and that sort of calm resignation which is found in one of his last letters, written on 11 .4.1930 at Binazzi Bino, which, inter alia, said: " Everything goes well in the worst of all possible worlds ... .
And again I call your name Chimera!
Who does not know it yet read it. He is immortal. E Via del Vento is meritorious because circulate it in that format (also) easy accessibility.
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