We are here discussing the political space of poetry. And we are reflecting
the foundation of our bourgeois values, in our cultural community as well
as in those of other people and nations.
We are also here trying to make a critique of fanatic extremisms. And we
are also trying to consider the possibility of a cosmological humanitarian
and utopian world.
As a writer I cannot make these points the exclusive center of my
commitment to the art of poetry but I must bear in mind that in fact the
lucky chance that my words might produce an effect on the readers’ mind is
not merely remote. What is the role of the artist in a moment such as this,
of disproportionate global tension and worry? Unlike Moravia, I feel that
our role is not too different from that of the fighting partisans. Concrete
measures and theoretical spoken action are equally needed. In these
difficult moment of universal hostilities, the solution of our problems
requires a strenuous effort of participation and dialogue, confrontation
and moderation. In other times, the artists is authorized to be faithful in
the first place to the reasons of art. Not now. In these kind of
emergencies, there is of course the risk that we might feel uncomfortably
obliged to convey in poetry a concern imposed from above, by history
itself. But art lives in fact in time and nurture itself on the real
world’s events, whether happy or mournful. I am not soliciting you now to
write poetry of propaganda, in respect of the expectation of your political
party’s, community’s or family’s values, becoming their heralds, their
messengers, but to step beyond all this and write poetry which records all
the contradictions , the doubts, the miseries, the pains, the hopes, the
anxiety that each of us, globally, are experiencing. New artists and new
forms of art originates in response to history crisis and changes. To be
reactive and learn how to offer ones response, I am sure, it is a major
duty towards both the real world of our daily tragedies, with all its
uncertainties, losses or conquests, and the “abstract” sphere of art. I
would like to quote Pasolini’ s lines in the poem “ In memoriam of
Realism”: “ Sweet friends. I did not come here/With the claim to conquer
your hearts. I am no speaker, like Cassola seems to be/ but I am –
everybody knows – compromised/ for my passion, for that masscrated style of
mine…”
28 september 2001 Erminia Passannanti
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