Fabrizio Ulivieri's Blog, page 16

The Little Book of the Dead - Fello

 

Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus— The ancient rose remains in name; we hold only empty names.
When I think of Fello, this is all I grasp: a name, a pure name.
Almost nothing else lingers in my memory.
I recall big eyes, a broad nose, full lips—a face forever caught in a smile. Nothing more.
It is a faded-away world that I resume to recall.
The faded-away world of my childhood, so far away as a distant planet in space.
Light years away.
Fello is one of the many stars lost in this space.
I endure his energy pulsing inside, nearly lost, nearly invisible.
No, people don't die, people stay.

The Little Book of the Dead - Luigi

 

In the beginning was the word, and the word was the beginning
all I know of him was the word—without the word I would never have known him, because I’ve never met my grandfather Luigi.
He died of tuberculosis long before I was born. 
All I know of him are words, words spoken by my mother and father.
My mother never loved him, her father, my grandfather—he was cattivo, she said.
They lived in Settefrati, a podere near le Mura, a bunch of houses in the comune of Montaione.
My mother was a little stubborn bull, she never changed her mind when she decided to do something.
I do not know why—one day her father was furious with her, he in a sudden rage hit her on the head with a sickle and cut her scalp deeply.
It was a new beginning, a different life from that day on.
She no longer trusted life—that blow distanced her from the world she had lived in before.
She withdrew from the world. 
A magician I met many years later, who came from South Korea, said—your mother as a little kid underwent a big shock that is the cause of all her illnesses she’s now suffering, do you know what it was? 
For many years my mother has been my angel, my protection, my center…
She even used to come to me after her death, until the pandemic.
As the pandemic finished as it started, my mother disappeared, she stopped visiting me,
I felt her distant, disinterested—she withdrew from me—I felt she hates me.
Why, mother? Why do you hate me? 
My father used to say that Luigi, my grandfather, was a good man, despite being a fascist.
My mother was the problem—she was mulish, she was a thorn in his side.
Luigi was a good man, I feel he was a good man, I pray for him.
He is in my blood, in my bones, in my flesh.
He is another living being I keep alive. I keep his word alive.

L' odore del sangue

Il sangue ha un odore
Il sangue di un padre
Nella figlia di una madre
Nel figlio ha un odore
Una linea che mai muore
E riconosce l'animale
Basta fiutare e sentir la pelle
Riconoscer il sapore dell'amore
Che ti ha legato quando
Alla luce la sua venuta ha urlato
Il figlio di un altro di altro
Ha il sentore e nega calore.

Claudia

 

Agradezco el azar al haberte recibido
eres un misterio—tu presencia cada día
algo que divino, hayas tú en mí vivido

The Little Book of the Dead - Ida

 

I sit here in front of the sea—blue water, light wind, hot is the sun, I sit among the cacti on a bench overlooking the sea along the small promenade that runs along the coves of the Castiglioncello sea.
Am I happy? Maybe. I am alone. And in my loneliness I remember you, Ida.
You saw the sea for the first time—you were 60—only one magic word it was until that day.
You, Ida, you believed that rain brings frogs from one place to another.
What a strange creature you have been? You, who at the age of 5 were riding a horse bareback through the forests near Volterra? You, who, when my grandfather saw you for the first time at eighteen, made him think—she has large, firm breasts like marble that I could sit on?
What a strange creature you have been in this world, you?
This sea has forgotten you, yet the wind whispers you—you dead whisper—you alive I keep.

Un nuovo sole

 

Già mi parla il giorno. Un nuovo sole.
Nella prima luce mi sorprendo
che ancora vivo dopo tanti anni.

L' Anticristo è già qua

Il Soprannaturale so, che esiste.
Le profezie sono vere, io dico.
I morti vivono vicino a noi.

Come il sole è - e la notte cala
I Santi ne postulano la prova
Che quel mondo è - e qua vive giù.

Ma una potenza d'inganno domina
Il mondo - e ciechi i dormienti vivono
In una vivida alba senza Dio.

The Little Book of the Dead - Sabatina and Silvano

 

You livefor a new life, I am going to die, Fabrizio.
Before, I had been in the bedroom, caressing my father, kissing his hair—goodsmell, like a baby.
He smiled at me, serene. Go, go, be happy. 
I left him lying in the bed. His last words.

 

Then I wentto my mother. I kissed her and left. Her eyes—her death inside.
I opened the door and disappeared.

They diedtwo months later.

 

I saw themmany times during the last years, walking with me, touching me.
At night, they stay hidden behind a door.
My father sometimes comes to my bed and touches me, at night.

They werewaiting for me behind a bend in the winding path that crosses the forest duringthe pandemic.
I turned, and they were there together under a tree, smiling at me.

I traveledto them in dreams and returned to Empoli, in the tomb-house, where they stilllive—dead—and are waiting for me, silent but happy, their son.

I prayedthey leave me in peace. I did all I could. Yet it was too much what they askedfor. It was unbearable to serve them twenty-four-seven and never sleep. Ibordered on folly.
They grew like vampires, sucking all my energy.

Now, nowthat my life has changed, I see the vacuum they left.
I look for the arm I once had; I feel it is still there, but it is not anymore.
Nothing is like before.

Asynnia

 

Io ho trovato la pace vicinoA te - e tu in me te hai riposato.Pace di vita ove il confino
Tu, Asynnia, da sola hai passato.
Per i vicoli di Firenze apparsa Sei come luce e mi hai stregato
Con biondi occhi cobalto trasparsaUn giorno. Ma qual era il tuo fine? Il fine del tuo venire qua persa
Te consegnata a un diverso termineChe il tuo non era? Dal freddo e gelo E neve del nord calata infine
Ai vicoli riarsi seguir tuo zeloa Firenze portata e rapita
Di tua azione a sollevar il velo.
Tu, Asynnia, dal silenzio partita
Spinta giù a un motore immobile
A me sei venuta ribelle ardita.
Da una terra bianca per qual stabileSpinta d' un volere che attendevo
Divino - aspettavo te, di me simile.

The Little Book of the Dead - Laura

 

Itis probably winter, from the window—a narrow window, quite low-positioned, notdistant from the floor—enters a strong white light, a winter light I suppose,outside the monastery where this scene happened has the appearance of beingcold but the sky is clear and sunny.
The room is completely dark, enlightened by the beam of light coming from thenarrow window. A Caravaggesque atmosphere throbbing in that chiaroscuro scene.

Atthe center of the room there is a big and high bed.
On the right side two women are standing by and talking, one is my mother she’salmost hidden in the dark, the other woman tall and slim in a white night-gownwith long and flowing grey hair her mother (my grandmother Laura) they talk.
I am close to the window and watch outside, I am scared, I do not listen totheir chats, I want to leave that place and get out into the light to thefreedom, I am choking there.
I am choking for a fault I don’t know yet, I feel guilty for a guilt yet tocome, a guilt I will nurture within me like a hard clot in my blood all my lifewhen I think of Laura - my grandmother.