Il Viaggiatore Insonne canzoniere per Sandro Penna
regia
Lisa Ferlazzo Natoli
con
Lisa Ferlazzo Natoli voce
Gabriele Coen clarinetto and saxophones
Luigi Biondi lights
Francis Bala sound
Alice Palazzi assistant director
Maddalena Parise images
music
Gabriele Coen
notes
"Back then the time of my wandering?"
if I look at the thread on which you made the choice of this little song, I realize that he had tried to capture a movement, a journey that, like a pendulum sharp, has not ceased to oscillate between a light pulse, a wonder of life, and the sense of a sudden awakening, an exile in which life itself is transformed, just that impulse is consumed. The wave that is produced in this movement in the nature of a song, sometimes sudden, sometimes prolonged, which sings a 'discourse on desire' and shaking in ways long enough to see a body, a happy childhood and aquatic , that makes it livable world experience. At that moment, which lasts for a maximum time of a song, that world that has looked and looked and looked, and leave you open tap. And it is there, that is consumed in quell'interstizio the poetic word, between the instant in which life and finally live his prolonged painful memories, because the light does not know the rain and the rain does not know the light, in a fault from which tear a few sounds, a quick stroke, the impression of a dream, a change of tone, a song and a sinking heart that lasts only a short time of an epigram. Feast of secret words. And the impression remains that are dug out from a fold in the world, from a 'here and now' button piercing, still entangled in a light, the pace of a race at breakneck speed, in the held breath of those who would last forever. Penn then discovered on a trip without pause, does not seem strange, for that very sharp pendulum, an Italy in concrete, which rob trains and bells, inns beaches and hearses, but like in a dream, with the solitary joy of exile, the radical and mysterious joy of anonymity. Everything becomes a dream, torn in half-sleep or sleep, as if the whole body refuses to belong to reality and, in absolute indifference to him, only to be dissolved in a drive, a desire, 'infringement' terrible, simply because this, sung and repeated, happily ill.
There is always something that worries the world-love, maybe call it a pen-down when not to terms with reality, it does indeed out for an indecent vocandosi dissipation, rather than maintaining and retaining a stable meaning. E 'fault that the wave of new enchants and I say that leaves just trying to gather a 'conversation sentimentale' long-desired and born there and then, asymmetric means of a thought, backbeat - between poetry and poetry, voice and speech, saxophone and a diptych fast, between a whisper and laughter loud night of a farewell, the prolonged sound of the clarinet and broken rhythm of the rain beating on the doors of the world.
E 'perhaps days. From the road
the whistle of a fisherman and his warm voice.
He answered a sleepy voice.
startle the senses - with the sails,
outside in the wind? - I dream a little longer.
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