As the most attentive of my twenty-five readers will have noticed, for some time I have decided to dedicate this space of mine not to the easy exercise of slating or to the sterile lamentation of the dominant ugliness, but to give space and voice to few events worthy of attention that I discover in my nomadic research: oases of beauty, sudden epiphanies, encounters with extraordinary men (and women). Flashes of poetic truth, almost always out of the spotlight of public debate, at best on the edge of the most esoteric niches.
In the last few weeks I have had the opportunity to go to the Marche three times, as a guest of three cultural festivals: I spoke to Popsophiato Pesarowith a contribution on the different conceptions of time in the history of philosophy, from Heraclitus to Vecna’s monologue in the last season of Stranger Things; subsequently, within the events of the Sferisterio Cultura of MacerataI was a guest of the Cultural Aperitifs, chatting with Cinzia Maroni in a confrontation between The Pagliacci by Ruggero Leoncavallo e The Circus by Charlie Chaplin. In both cases, I reiterate the rare quality of the organization, from the interventions to the reception. But I have already talked to you about Popsophia, and its merits, in this blog.
In particular, today I wanted to focus on an extraordinary event, held in the village of Valle Cascia. The fumes of the furnace, Feast of Poetry, it is truly a small miracle: as it has been said in an impressive formula by the local news, Valle Cascia looked like Athens. The prodigy created by the boys of the association Congerie it is not only that of making a corner of the province that is usually invisible “visible”, but of truly transforming it into an electric and mysterious cauldron of beauty. They brought hundreds of people to see meetings on Charles de Foucauld, to participate in postmodern processions, to attend solemnly heretical rituals, to discover the dizzying thought of Rubina Giorgi (in an exhibition curated with deep respect and moving care by Valentina Lauducci) . I thank Giorgiomaria Cornelio, magnet of decisive encounters, for inviting me to rave about mine auctores Blake and Baudelaire, alongside dear and esteemed figures such as Giuditta Chiaraluce and Alessandro Mazzi.
As we noted with Graziano Graziani, Luigi Lo Cascio and Roberto Paci Dalò (three fervent and wise minds in as many magistries, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in the festival): there is something true in the popular prejudice about “the fumes of the furnace” which, following an accident place, they would have intoxicated the generation of twenty-year-olds of the place: but with an intoxicating intoxication from Eleusinian initiation. Giorgiomaria Cornelio, Lucamatteo Rossi, Valentina Compagnucci, Elena Martusciello, Valentina Lauducci (and all the other guys from Congerie) seem like messengers of a superior alien race: they are wonderfully creatures abnormal, of a brilliant whimsy and an overwhelming charm. They are beautiful, very elegant, highly cultivated, unreally kind, overflowing with talent and inner ferment. They are living statues of Dionysus and incessant litanies to Mary, at the same time hieratic priestesses and bacchantes descended from timeless cults, and for this reason with a thousand forms. Not surprisingly, they attract poets of rare sensitivity and flamboyant prophets such as Francesco Scapecchi and Alessandro Mazzi, as well as hundreds of spiritual seekers and families from villages in the surrounding province.
If you still want to have some hope for human permanence on the planet, go to next year Cascia Valley and you will enter a parallel dimension of poetry and initiation. Or, go to the Hermetic Festival, Thursday 8 September in Piazza della Libertà in Tolentino, where some of them will stage the Book of Isaiah: second book from the theater project Antico Teatro Ebraico, directed by Lucamatteo Rossi. I had the thrill of attending the theatrical rite, more than the show, The crooked speciestaken from the verses of Cornelio who orchestrated the complex movements with Rossi, entrusted to the collective writing of the boys of Congerie: something that in the hands of others would have seemed the parody of Marina Abramovic of The great beauty appeared as a portal on the Sacred, in which popular melodies and ancestral prayers came united in the gestures, in the bodies, in the moving song of Omero Affede, Lerry B. Bordoni and Isabella Carloni. The deeper meaning of the theater, understood through the lesson of Bene e Artaudis saved thanks to a heretical coven of wonderful children.