Let Them Come Out as the Mirror of the State…

I am in the final verses of another little volume of poems. In these nine or ten months of work, I am pleased to note that I have sat at the table only with a motivation similar to that of a Vigny, an Antero, a Leopardi. And as a result, the verses, all of them, came out heavy, totally devoid of that “grace” that Goethe spoke of. Or, at least, that is how it seems to me. I think it is unlikely, if not impossible, that I will ever submit myself to the extremely exhausting work of hunting for words to produce that “grace” that so delights. Even if a blessing falls into my bank account, even if I am in the best of moods, it operates something as if automated by habit: psychologically, sitting down to compose verses fulfills an almost religious sequence that fills my mind with a seriousness that repels the futile, the light, the “graceful”. If is to make verses, let them come out as the mirror of the state of someone’s soul that sees them as the last chance to express what pulses strongest in him. Let them come out disturbed, complex, unpleasant! And may they never look like the person who wrote them was having fun…