gastone.lomazzi

BELVIO POET (Gastone Lomazzi)

What does it mean today, to be a bèlvio poet?
Maybe we are all insolzati?

A wing glitters. Dragonflies fly across the grippia.
Tibetan astragalus? Or rather the fonci?
Down there, the sweet strubire of the Dawn.
And deans of involute arzette on the wave of the olce.

Remember the phrase of the fathers:
the phrases that insubero oddora.
At good lostumbo, don’t t’arraccare.
To a bèlvio poet, double garzana.


SHOOTING STAR (Gastone Lomazzi)
(For S.)

Putrella you,
sweet zòmpico flower
velastre balugini
in the land of miedo.

In your eyes the fùlpia
of parsate seasons
Your hair shines
a svarsa music.

Let the nibbio and the altana wander,
let the lurchi and the sombra wander
Oh! Rabidi nustri, glance of tònfola!
Would you drink a simpio with the malli valtate?
Would you purresti a senzia?
How many times, the dùmbilo?

Although flòrimi,
tompi.
With vast fùlcili,
essìa.

Anyway, thank you,
for the sweet verbezza.


GRANZEVOLA (Elia Manzacchi)

Granzevola
pink shell, warm flesh
bittersweet in the stomach
And yet you are, Granzevola

Granzevola
an almost damp life
how many things we have in common
And yet you are, Granzevola

Granzevola
this pasta doesn’t deserve you
these claws I don’t like
And yet you are, Granzevola

Granzevola
digesting you is almost lùdico
a very fragile story
And yet you are, Granzevola

Granzevola
little butter, lots of celery
very tepid hospitality
for me and for you, Granzevola.


FEAR AT ELEVEN-TWENTY (Gastone Lomazzi)

Express Distracted Impèrvuri Of Ottana Hunt With Bolse Fràngiple.
The Folza, Pressed In Trèbice, Suppa Goes Towards Colde Màdide.
Come Double Grazane, Tiepide Puless, The Bischia In Pòndulo!
Come The Bissa That Frongia, Come The Most Complicit Posillo, Here Comes The Purvia!
Ribidàn Ribidàm, One Does Not Scappella An Ostrico, Refund At Four Evvìa.
And You? Cùgliati The Bisolzo, Federino Spàrrulo! Can't You See The Biccia Anymore?
Asinbobato, A Little Frèmpulo, Double Irte Risonde Of Pùrruli.
Grab The Cuperna, Go! Jump The Sombra, Recite The Spalmo, And Struffati!


MORNING (Bustaffa)

I saw
good things
in a cup
embroidered
with beautiful hopes
on the vase
inside the face
and yet roses
tabula rasa
dreams returned
to the rightful owner.


LIFE (Bustaffa)

I look at the light
and the light does not look at me.
I look at the colors
and the colors go away.
I look at the women
and the women, maybe.
I look at my son
and my son is now my father.
How time flies
when you’re having fun.
Who would have thought?
It's already time to die.


DOUBTS (Bustaffa)

I am perfectly aware
I fully realize
It is absolutely obvious
There is no shadow of doubt
That it’s not raining here!

What a pity, though.


ORDER AND DISCIPLINE (Bustaffa)

Under my feet there is the carpet
Under the carpet there is the floor
Under the floor there is the earth
Under the earth there are the dead
And under the dead, there are the living.


IO FLAMPO (E.Manzacchi - G.Lomazzi)

The fresh morning garbage
the smell that slowly spreads
the toilet that doesn't flush
my son doesn't communicate
he only thinks of Monica, that slut...

An old man messing about on a child
the mud I stepped on this morning
the beauty that will smile
the lie that won't go by
the bubble that will burst later
for this and what's to come...

I flampo
feet in my pocket and flampo
cavities in my mouth and flampo

For those who struff me, I flampo
baguette on my head and flampo
I shoot myself in the belly and flampo

for those who will struff me...
I want to struff, always struff...

The sun popping out in the sky
your dog's shit among the flowers
and it's only Tuesday
but more unlucky than this
this year even in Serie B, from bad to worse...

A dead cat lying on the balcony
a fool walking all alone
the sun that will set
the night that will sneak in
I feel like Carrà
for this and what's to come...

I flampo
ears in my mouth and flampo
my pelvis hurts and flampo

For those who struff me, I flampo
biacca on my face and flampo
fat in my pocket and flampo

For those who will struff me...
I want to struff, always struff...


BELVIA MUSIC IN THE SKY (zaireeka)

The notes fartano the inviolino
like the Antarctic sviolante
the last fole of my dreams.
Everything harmonizes the sky.
The cloud shaped like a heart
the heart shaped like a sun.
Moved in the day that flutters.


THE FEAR (Bustaffa)

The fear
very hard
is the most
secure cure.
The fear
is culture.
Often it is pure.
Are you insecure?
But the most secure cure
for the fear
is the fear.


CONSECUTIO TEMPORUM (Bustaffa)

Let's see what can be done.
Let's do what can be seen.
Let's live what can be supposed.
Let's suppose what can be cried.
Let's love what can be lived.
Let's die what can be loved.