I don t need money
I need feelings
words
words wisely chosen
flowers called thoughts
roses called presences
dreams living in trees
songs which make statues dance
stars whispering in the ears of lovers.
I need poetry
this magic burning
heaviness of words
awakening emotions and giving new colours
A vey simple poem considered like a hymn to the “the magic”of words and consequently to poetry.
Alda writes her self-portrait in the first line “I don’t need Money”, I need something more which can make a person alive, a wish to grasp life in perceptions and emotions, as we can see from the last line closing the internal circle of the verses “New emotions again and new colours”.
The poetry becomes magic as it is her universe where she can feel free and paint herself out of the death represented by the asylum: “life -death-rebirth”a circular path where Alda is compelled to survive ardently wishing to live .
In this sense I like to recall Dylan Thomas ‘s words during a “pressing interrogation” by the students of Utah University as to the duality life-death , a process connected with the conception of a universe which is unknown and unknowable, because of this he was charged to confound truth so he answered:
“it is impossible to be clear..we don’t know about anything. Especially people, nobody knows.There are scientific terms, but why doesn’t the water fly out of the ocean when the earth whirls?
Because it is a ball of magic.
Alda loved Dylan Thomas, like her he experienced the ups and downs of his hell, made of whiskey in the middle between exaltation given by his talent and the harsh bitterness of a life consumed in his prison with alcohol..
Alda considerd poetry like magical, her universe where a more balanced life was permitted, her talent and skill led her lines into the very form of art. Like D.Thomas she could prove to be a stunning artist when living the period of high level of sensations and exaltation , in these moments people were listening to her still. If in a low mood she was an ordinary person and such she pronounced few words, not deserving to be recorded, and she did know all of this.
TO MY DAUGHTER
My dear, I would like to write my love;
My dear,I would like to say you are like
a very pure vase cracking,
but if you want to succeed
in looking at my eyes as Psyche
did with Amore in the times gone
you will be disappointed, and then hurt.
No, do not turn back, the vestal vergin
slowly walks, looking ahead
always; no, do not get back
on what you have done, it may mean death:
it is said by an ancient prophet
that is a poor mother and loves you.
Her daughter affirms Alda was determined and stubborn, a woman searching for her personal freedom even if she spent her life “imprisoned” in asylums and a very little home ,in Italy this kind of houses are called “cosy house “di ringhiera”- railing house? 45mq wide along the charming place of “the Navigli”, in Milan, where she received intellectuals, artists, writers...
Emanuela tells that her mother had always written, poetry was inside her, it flowed as if she could not stop it..
She was able to dictate 30-40 sheets on the phone without breaking , it was natural to her. She was very fast in the choice of words and composing lines, yet Alda has loved her family her life more than poetry.
“Piu’ bella della poesia e’ stata la mia vita”-”Nicer than poetry there has been my life”
Four daughters, some were turned away in the dark periods of Alda, however she did know they belonged to her, she defined herself the poet of joy despite all the painful experiences since she was able to discover treasures of happiness inside her.
She was a lively woman, always lively also when she felt ill- My mother has been a woman tied to life, to the point of breathing it in any moment as she used to do with her cigarettes.
In the poem to the daughter it is evident Alda worries and cares of her, with tenderness not anxiety or anguish, slowly and careful she tries to warn the daughter to not look for mythical love or satisfaction, so that to protect her from sorrows and disappoinrments from life..
I consider the last lines as deeply touching in their bewildering simplicity which well decribe her awareness to be even alienated from her own life :
“Poor mother”, indicating many meanings or probably the only one- “I am a mother, not anything else”, so here I am, as I am , transparent direct, but your mother”-
and she loves her daughter-
thanks for reading and if you enjoy this lyrical vision from a woman -like poet,
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Alds merini, some lines from her life
So happy to have been introduced to her wonderful poetry Alessandra! Sending love.