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Il continente perso < Works < Home

Il continente perso
(poems 1997 – 1999)
(Introduction by Plinio Perilli and liner note by Paolo Fresu)
Fermenti, Roma, 2000 (s.e. 2001)
Pp. 112, ISBN: 8887959285

“Book of debut of Domenico Cipriano, a still young poet who lives in Avellino. He perfectly succeeds to hold in equilibrium in his lyric, the mixture of prose and poetry, the linguistic radicality

and this concrete will of song, desire of a poetry to sing. Book of formation, invisible and continuous growth, now well metabolized between saucy verve and metaphysical alienation,

mass-mediological control and immense desire to indulge in a new poetry which is born really infringing to itself, and it saves the elegy, the only one today possible, really in one structured game of dissonances, or however performances, which aren’t only internal”.

(from introduction by Plinio Perilli)

“I don't believe to be wrong when I say the Jazz is still, through the language of the poetry, the tool of the ransom of Domenico Cipriano. A Jazz which is sometimes caressed, whispered, sometimes imposed or intentionally underlined in the rhythmic form of the text or in the apparent casualness and consequentiality of a phonetic order of the word.”

 (from liner note by Paolo Fresu)

“It is rare to find in a youth, to the first exit of his texts, such a marked textual incisiveness. Domenico Cipriano is inserted in the anxieties of his and our time with a lyric-formal approach that is sceptic, playful and wise. A poetic language that testifies us mnemonics personal convictions with the separation of the improvisation: also baring the same one in the rhythmic vibrations of his verses  which talk intimately and to distance. To submit to the narrow, as well as popular one, world of the Italian poetry a youth and promising author as Domenico Cipriano, is one of the most pleased prerogatives of the Jury of this prize. And it is not able whether to wish that this due recognition involves, for the young author, a greater appointment for his future and for that of the Italian poetry.” 

(Motivation of the Camaiore prize, Francesco Bellomi, president)

POEMS

With the trip I pretend me shade 

to mark passages in the time 

without trace not even mentioned, 

visible essence in the instant, doubt 

to have appeared, or to be a forgery.

****

On my mountains

there is the sea.

I look at it supporting

my shade at the pole.

Everywhere in tempest

it reflects the mind

of this people.

Who lives outside there

sees foggy days

repeat themselves, useless,

without dreams, without

expectation to change.

We are few

remained to look at

this sea.

It disappears

at noon,

when low tide

absorbs its clouds.

****

My love, I don't believe 

in the economy of scale 

in mass production      

for this it’s only  one 

the rose I give you 

because he is only in a way 

for each.

****

Reflex circle weak lamps 

thin rhythms been born by added

circles: mouths eyes throats 

of the dark centers saxophones 

(every circle is dark in its center 

it strikes insistent itself 

it reawaks in the intrusive signs 

of the world and the round symbols) 

lipstick on the edges tickles 

shapeless smile at half moon 

the note that swims in the curls: 

round ringlets put in the needle’s eye.

© Fermenti

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