Words
POETRY 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
Pier Paolo
i. Easter Sunday
You understood in these eternal moments of life
and of understanding
these banal moments of time and of understanding
the framed close up of a life hard won
a thought hard won
struggled for
in this awkward world
you understood the poetry inherent in the image that is life's own
the thought that rises solemn and laughing towards the creation's sacredness
the sublime moment caught in the mere factuality of things and of people
of that that is
untarnished
beautiful
even in its often all too seeming ugliness
simply, ah, simply! because, 'it', that is, we and the world, exist.
Pier Paolo
they left your battered smashed body
a symbol of all that is wrong in the world
their ugliness, the ugliness of power
written there awful un-viewable
your beautiful frame
your beautiful thoughts mind and voice
your visceral beautiful dialectics
crushed smashed to a bloodied pulp of a face
did they turn you into some secular saint
the echo of that dark and bloody faith
with its crucified god and tortured saints
in any case
it should never of happened
this political existential assassination
it truly was a sin a profanity
here I speak as you did
with the open schizophrenia of spirituality
within late modernity
god without a god that is our own
what they showed finally in this
was their fear the fear of the ignorant
of the powerful
the fear of truth
the fear of the wide arcing mirror of the world
that you held up like a more earthly sun
but let us recall instead the greatness of your vision
the unspoilt vision of, as Celan, would say, one who speaks the shade,
who keeps yes and no unsplit
who speaks the world in its entirety -
a world you really did love regardless
or in spite of or even at times in delight of
its corruption and foulness -
the workers the ordinary people going about their daily business
trying to get by to find a laugh a love a fraction of time
a siesta in the shade of the sun
the sun that litters your works as it litters also the streets of Rome
of Friuli of Italy
'dove e Pasolini?
I remember calling out mock jokingly a little drunkenly amongst
the ferris wheel spectacle of total tourism in Campo di Fiori
ii.
what is it we are actually looking for in this flying world?
at the end of the day as at the beginning
the slight tremors of faint terrors that send one
briefly diving back beneath the covers
back into the organic anarchic tentacles of sleep
hey, hey there, wait for me, I won't be long
see
the friends stroll along the road of life
they laugh as the wine and the daily festival takes hold
to be intoxicated by the sight of it all
cloud buildings sky
dog trees leaves buildings sky
cars planes people people traffic sounds
constant moving living thinking feeling beings
a huge colossal organic energy sacred and profane simultaneously
beautiful and ugly
hot and cold
what are you looking for in this flying world?
©paul sakoilsky 2014