My rotting head
which will never fall of itself
like any decent pear.
It has the intention
of flying up to the sky,
but it will always trail in the dust:
eating grime and dirt,
screaming erotic songs,
begging all the world
to enter in it.
Queer Things by Emanuel Carnevali (via dontwatchthat-watchthis)
Emanuel Carnevali was an Italian American poet that left permanent traces in the history of modern literature.
Emanuel Carnevali was a name stuck in my head for many years. Like other young Italians I got fascinated by the mention of his name, in a song by Massimo Volume, a band that who was involved in underground music, honored like a small cult.
That song “Il primo dio" (The first god), lives of the same desolated beauty of the words of Carnevali himself.
"Emanuel Carnevali, morto di fame nelle cucine d’America,
Sfinito dalla stanchezza nelle sale da pranzo d’America,
E c’è forza nelle tue parole.
(Emanuel Carnevali, you, dying of hunger in the kitchens of America,
you, dead tired in the dining rooms of America,
And there is strength in your words)
Sopra le portate lasciate a metà, i tovaglioli usati,
Sopra le cicche macchiate di rossetto,
Sopra i posacenere colmi
Sapevi di trovare l’uragano.
Dire qualcosa mentre si e’ rapiti dall’uragano:
Ecco l’unico fatto che possa compensarmi
Di non essere io l’uragano.”
"on top of those half eaten meals,
lipstick stained cigarette butts,
you know you would find the hurricane.
Saying something while you’re taken by the hurricane is the only thing
that compensates the fact that I’m not that hurricane.”