Di Luca Atzori
This is an 'I did interview the author of The Pit and the Mirror, Gianni Culatoria, last year, when the opera was born.
L. The Pit and the mirror, could you explain more precisely why this title?
More precisely G is not to say anything, but (simply) is the name I give to this work, which in itself has no specific meaning, but rather has a value that it certainly does not reside in the paper and even less in the letters or verses. The value of this work lies in the fact that it exists. His quidditas, we could define it.
L. He wants to understand a kind of machine autopoietic in the sense that could be understood as the great works of art glass Duchamp and similar studies carried out by Maturana and Varela?
G, No I do not mean this, or at least my interest was not to write a book of poetry that he had "function autopoietic "as she wanted to call it. No, I wanted to write this because it was finally locked up a new myth.
L. E 'possible to think of new myths? Myths should be seen as something eternal.
G. This does not exclude that among these there will also be new ones. You must consider that the myth begins when it is said. What then is his eternal morphé that's another story.
L. I am not in agreement. In any case, what is the myth that she is?
G. The myth of the mirror and the shaft. A madman was in a hall of mirrors with a speculum in hand (note the play on words) trying to hear the heartbeat coming from reflections on the walls. Obviously he did not feel anything. The greater the surprise comes when he realizes that even his heart beats faster. And from there begins to be reflected in the well that he is in the middle of the room into which it sinks in the depths of his conscience which precipitated resides. Once out will always return to the hall of mirrors, but conscious and joyful, will be back between the mirrors on the walls to gaze at the changing reality itself thanks to the great gift regained, namely that of self
L. What is the meaning of this story?
G. This story does not have a specific sense. It is an allegory of living existence.
L. That of the author?
G. The poet, more precisely. The author is the one who tells, but is now almost entirely in the text. Who is the poet exists in life.
L. Although the job of the poet can not say certainly that there is today.
G. Because there has never existed. What the poet is not a job, but a character, such as shyness, extroversion, etc. melancholia. Far be it from me to have a job, I'm too good for that. I was too close to hell.
L. But it is also a skill.
G. Exactly. Who is the poet is because what is his character. The character of a person whose life almost any event. The skill lies in the peculiarities of all never say anything definitive, who then is forced to use a language different from the one commonly used. The poet is made of language, that is his character. It is rare to find poets, this is true, but simply because it is a diffuse character.
L. The poet is made of language.
G. The poet is unpoetic. The poet certainly brings another place in places, not just the poet is always in a different place than the places. The poet precisely because it is embodied in the very existence, can not that appear and communicate how it goes. The place of the poet is the true place, which is not always a place, because you can never be placed on anything.
L. Embodied existence?
G. Exactly.
L. Heidegger?
G. Not really. I would rather say that they are waiting for a rebirth at the total. That men are individuals and at the same time real centers of power. But I would not come here to speak of the sacred, nor do I embrace and Leibniz monadology. I will not be interested the sacred, nor shall a man or truth.
L. What then raise your interest?
G. The woman, only women. What she will never speak for itself.
L. Answer bizarre.
G. And possibly even interest me the streets clean.
L. Perhaps you are referring to the slightly rough tone of some of his verses.
G. I said I'm interested in the woman. Then, just as you said. Now please all.
L. Thank you deeply.
G. The pleasure was all mine, mine alone.
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