DECEMBER 2023 V-9 N-9 ISSUE No. 105

 

A

WORLDWIDE WRITERS’ WEB

PRESENTATION!

 

PUBLISHED BY

 

OPA

 

OUR

POETRY ARCHIVE

ONLINE MONTHLY POETRY JOURNAL

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com

email us to:

ourpoetryarchive@gmail.com

**************************************

 

 

 

BARBARA DI SACCO - INTERVIEW

 

NILAVRONILL TALKING WITH

POET OF THE MONTH

BARBARA DI SACCO

DECEMBER 2023

NILAVRONILL: Welcome to Our Poetry Archive, dear poet. And congratulations as the poet of this month. I would like to know your personal views on literature or poetry in general.

 

BARBARA DI SACCO:  I express my honour, supreme and honourable Poet NilavroNill. I thank you infinitely for your attention to my humble writing, very happy for this great opportunity.

My heartfelt thanks.

 

NILAVRONILL: What are the factors that have influenced you immensely in the growing phase of your literary life. When, most probably you were not certain of your future as a poet or writer. Do you think society as a whole is the key factor in shaping up you as a poet, or your poetry altogether?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: In all honesty, I was addicted to other forms of art, literature fascinated me, but I only had written few small poems in the past. My poetic passion has fifteen months of life, since I dreamed of my mother, leaving happy and free, while she was really dying. In a few days I processed the pain and my sleep was interrupted by words that came like rivers in flood. This energy is my inspiration, really. Subsequently it has evolved and the environmental factor undoubtedly influences. I daydream and I am very curious, so I explore, study, inspired by historical events, epic events, philosophical thoughts, natural environments. I am struck, offended by the inhumanity that also hurts my writing.

 

NILAVRONILL: Is there anyone in your life, influenced you personally to develop your literary skills? Or inspire you to become a poet?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: No, only when my father learned that my mother's death had filled my heart with words, it was recommended that I take great care of my writing and spread it to the world as a precious gift. He asked that I promise him and eight months later he flew in search of my mother. My parents are the guardian angels of my poetry. Before this, no one had transmitted this great passion to me.

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you consider your literary life as an extension of your self-existence? If so, how it is related with the time around you?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: My literary life is my own life and yes, it is a further extension.

 

Suddenly he moved my hand, the pen to write.

A new poetic vision has enlightened her.

I paint what my soul sees, hears, captures.

The pen is a brush that paints with words.

The mind travels to new horizons.

The time that surrounds me

It leads to continuous deep reflections and questions.

My analysis of external factors and terrible world events continues.

I try to reconcile everything

But my impression is that I am guided by my poetry.

From the centrifugal force of my thinking,

I try to extract nourishing juices of emotions.

I chose to show a butterfly that accompanies my poems.

The butterfly has the meaning of the soul.

Everything comes from deep thought.

 

NILAVRONILL: According to you, what are the conditions to develop the creative soul of a poet in general?  We would like to know from your personal experiences.

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: I believe, in my opinion, that a discreet sensitivity is the expressive cradle of art. So for every artist. Pay attention to what surrounds us, the beauty, of nature, for example. Who looks and sees, already has a predisposition to certain arts, literary, pictorial, musical, photographic. It's a beautiful symphony. I create a musical atmosphere, also to paint. Music stirs the senses, stimulates them. Or in silence, listen to the song of nature, birds, cicadas or the nocturnal song of crickets and owls. A true poetic source. I am lucky enough to isolate myself in the countryside. Natural expressions favour the expression of writing. If rain or thunderstorm whether calm or stormy seas.

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you think in this age of information and technology the dimensions of literature have been largely extended beyond our preconceived ideas about literature in general?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: I am very rooted in ancient cultures, fascinated by the enormous and precious cultural baggage. I love old styles. Nevertheless, I appreciate and understand that the new dissemination systems are an interesting offer.  Every discovery brings positive things and less. Balancing is wise. As well as taste new flavours and smell them. Even more we have the beautiful possibility of real fusions, contaminations, cultural exchanges, an enormous enrichment. Let's say that now we have longer arms, to be able to embrace the world and the possibility of choice that is important. Expanded knowledge with fast access. Splendour of rich mosaics.

 

NILAVRONILL: As a poet, do socio-economy and politics in general influence your literary visions? If so how, and if not, why?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: Socio economics and politics. They believe that the word politics includes the dignity of Enlightenment politics that unfortunately I hear only from skeletons. in the closet. We are, in my opinion, in an obscurantist period where corruption makes pseudo-politics. This undermines the socio-economy. Poverty is growing for the poor and wealth for the ultra-rich. It is the strong signal that the issue is serious and weighs on the people, on culture. and education. My discomfort is evident in my writing that increasingly apologizes to migrants, to peoples oppressed by multinational market systems. Yes, my writing is upset, not only influenced, by the world's malaise. I have the presumption to believe strongly Peaceful war for freedom and peace.

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you consider, your national identity as an important factor to influence your literary creativity? Is your national identity an incentive for you to find your own literary voice?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: I have my own vision of national identity. Of course, I have absorbed customs and traditions that are found in my writing system, in quotations. They shape the style, bringing a certain musicality, theatricality a playful jump of the Verses. But I affirm that the world seen from the sky has no barriers except artificial. Man has circumnavigated the planet climbed mountain ranges. I love to consider myself a citizen of the world I want to travel know, compare and assimilate every culture. I have no national cultural closure. No closure. I feel open and welcoming even in writing.

 

NILAVRONILL: In between tradition and modernism, which one influence you most and why?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: I admit to having an ancient, nostalgic heart and to get closer to the old romantic style or to arrive at a modernism at the beat threshold. So for painting. It is perhaps one of my many limitations. Modernism intrigues me by stimulating new knowledge, but of impulse I respond to the literary, artistic and in any case not too modern past.  I love to feel free writing freely without forcing myself to fall into styles and metrics. I love Leopardi's liberation towards free writing.

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you think honest literary criticism has much to do with the development of a poet and the true understanding of his or her poetry?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: A special parenthesis: Initially I participated in some competitions.  We know how it works. Not in poetry groups but around my country. I was interested in an evaluation. I gave up the deluded come, paying a measly publication on huge anthologies paying and buying if anything a fair number. It makes no sense if not profit of whom, never mind.  In that case, no trust. On the contrary on groups such as OPA in the embrace of the wonderful supervising author. Then nice music seriousness in the evaluation No profit, indeed Far from it. Beautiful publications. And there is only to be honoured and very happy. I got to know this honest and fantastic world and here you do, full confidence. Good and honest criticism is a good seed And here, we are dealing with great masters, wise men like NilavroNill Shoovro.

 

NILAVRONILL: I would like to know, whether your contemporaries inspire your writings in any way.

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: In recent times I have read little because of work and little time. I will stock the library. I was influenced by South American authors, mostly, I. Allende. Banana Yoshimoto, O. Fallaci and his grit. A. Merini, U. Eco, Kerouac.... Neruda, Marquez... other. I want to find time to read and unfortunately, in these months I have not read.

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you believe, literature can eventually help people to uplift human conscience?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO:  I firmly believe that. I feel the need to read. True enrichment is very important. Reading opens mind and heart, enriching soul and conscience. It enriches its own language and spirit. Essential to grow by elevating.

 

NILAVRONILL: Humanity has suffered immensely in the past, and is still suffering around the world. We all know it well. As a poet or even as a literary person, how do you foresee the future of mankind?

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: A real arcane. I am hopeful because I trust the young boys, aware of the world they have found. My generation, in Europe, lived simpler times, they slept stunned by false myths. Our young people are intelligent, they have strength in their eyes, student workers. I join them. They know history and historical memory. In total decline. The school is the first to be hit, so that the hungry and ignorant poor people are blackmailed, piloted. So it has been since the dark night of time.   Money, malfeasance, war should disappear and not school. But I am a mother who gave birth to hope and freedom and I still want to believe in that. So wanting is power and at the same time it is great strength.

 

NILAVRONILL: We are almost at the end of the interview. I remain obliged to you for your participation. Now, personally I would like to know your honest opinion about Our Poetry Archive. Since April 2015 we are publishing and archiving contemporary world poetry each and every month. Thank you for sharing your views and spending much time with us.

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: All my best compliments to your fantastic archive. Proud to have made it and be part of it. Powerful excellent work great care of the authors and readers. A queen bee, honey bees in a fruitful hive. It is up to us writers, to support it, under the authoritative guide of the wonderful poet NilavroNill Shoovro that here I return to thank from the heart. Thank you very much, reply to this interview is my “good morning” to the Sun on the world.

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: Italian poet, Tuscan, defines herself as a painter of poetry, painting it. This is how she defines it: She is a regal lady, naked or in petticoat, so hurriedly she goes out, by day, by night. Vague, if you do not immediately welcome it into your feelings. Barbara loves art in all its forms and planet Earth. She has the presumption to save it through poetry.

 

BARBARA DI SACCO

 

Flame And Night

 

Sheet

quill

lit candle

in the room

the night, calm, in summer

who quietly listens

 a cricket in the distance.

 Such beautiful light

 and shadow games

 on the hand

 that flows and writes.

 High and long flame

 she doesn't tremble, she is still.

 Insomnia, sensation

 thought

 he doesn't give in to the dream

 tonight

 he doesn't abandon himself.

 Mystery is sitting here

 next to

 and the shadow dances

 inviting writing.

 Wax tear

 comes down, decorates

 like words in verse

 and verse.

 I'll get lost now

 hidden

 in an inspiration

 taking me far away

 with spots

 of ink.

 

Of tomorrow

find certainty

 

Noise

 

 stolen from the rain

 moan to the earth

 cyclamen colour.

 Faded is the rainbow

 faint voice to the birds.

 Mountain without whiteness

 the snow melted

 he won't have any for the river

 which is now salty

 he dries up his fish.

 Poor harvests

 among sandy arid dunes

 no oasis

 dry storms.

 Skinned and bare feet

 runaway

 in the lost route

 peoples at war

 and famine.

 Let anyone be happy

 on the vision of tomorrow.

 

The Ship

 

I have watertight doors

bulkheads for various compartments

to open

or close as needed.

Heart Tin Seal

so as not to flood

the engine room

which often comes to a standstill.

Chambers in equilibrium

or the hull bends.

From the bridge, free view

on sunrises and sunsets

from a galley porthole

towards coasts and islands.

On the bow, dolphin games

and scavenger sharks

a baby food.

Mechanical noise

discharge in wake and waves.

Hawks, gannets and terns

candlesticks to fly

they get carried away.

Rest at anchor

landing

the heavy anchor.

Rust accumulation

metallic noises

until next time

maintenance

maybe the last one

stove on construction sites

moored and bored.

I will be disposed of

or abandoned

phantom cart

in a hidden bay.

 

Babel

 

 Crazy social networks

 in debating

 show now

 membership

 to this Babel

 of misunderstanding.

 With spirit

 of self-denial

 good principles rebound on the selfish

 individualism

 which is not comparison

 but an arrogant expression of nothingness.

 Fruitful fruits

 they disperse seeds

 again, having intrinsic

 good, respect

 love, but

 in perplexity

 they give in and surrender

 to an arid land

 waterproof.

 A radioactive earth

 that everything burns

 producing crops poisoned with death

 developing cancer

 of humanity.

 The tumor that feeds

 of defenseless beings

 of the weak, of animals

 of those who cannot react

 in the sad society.

 Arrogant ignorance

 who doesn't learn

 which is empty, without a soul

 without any mercy

 which is evil.

 But good thinking

 love, respect

 the comprehension

 mercy, they fly high

 they fly above

 where nourishment rains

 for souls

 where there is beauty

 where nature

 shines free

 above hell

 above Babel

 punished

 in incomprehensible speech

 in not understanding.

 

 Babele

 

Social farneticanti

nel dibattere

mostrano ormai

appartenenza

a questa Babele

d' incomprensione.

Con spirito

d' abnegazione

i buoni principi rimbalzano sull' egoistico

individualismo

che non è confronto

ma espressione arrogante del nulla.

Frutti fecondi

disperdono semi

ancora, avendo intrinseco

il bene, il rispetto

l' amore, ma

nella perplessità

cedono e s' arrendono

ad una terra arida

impermeabile.

Una terra radioattiva

che tutto brucia

producendo colture avvelenate di morte

sviluppando il cancro

dell' umanità.

Il tumore che si nutre

di esseri indifesi

dei deboli, degli animali

di chi non può reagire

nella triste società.

Ignoranza arrogante

che non impara

che è vuota, senz' anima

senza pietà alcuna

che è maleficio.

Ma il buon pensiero

l' amore, il rispetto

la comprensione

la pietà, volano alti

volano sopra

dove piove nutrimento

per le anime

dove c' è bellezza

dove la natura

risplende libera

sopra l' inferno

sopra Babele

punita

nell' incomprensibile parlare

nel non capire.

 

Winged Hope

 

 Truth like contempt

 held back on the tongue

 gripped between my teeth

 liberating to scream or say

 succumbed to the silent thought

 in the inferable expression of denial

 in setting boundaries

 upon acceptance.

 Awareness

 compromise

 every word tires

 forced and deprived

 of irremediability.

 Mute explanation

 absent interest

 cold marble

 anticipates conclusion

 of saying and not saying

 speak and be silent

 don't explain.

 Only libertine

 escapist thinking

 escape from the finite

 worn out relationship

 not to be here, nor there.

 Lost orientation

 loss

 clouded clarity

 search for light.

 Drowned wandering spirit

 in the unconditional

 trespassing

 taking your breath away.

 Deprive yourself of astonishment and seduction

 giving in

 to annihilation

 to survive on the plate

 in suppressed feeling.

 Grope

 in the dark search

 of the beating of the heart.

 Winged hope

 untie the rope

 at anchor

 placed at her feet.

 

Alata Speranza

 

Verità come il disprezzo

frenato sulla lingua

stretto fra i denti

liberatorio urlare o dire

ceduto al tacito pensiero

nella desumibile espressione di diniego

nel porre confini

all' accettazione.

Consapevolezza

compromissione

stanca ogni parola

costretta e priva

di rimediabilità.

Muta spiegazione

assente interesse

freddo marmo

anticipa conclusione

del dire e non dire

parlare e tacere

non spiegare.

Solo libertino

pensiero d' evasione

fuggire dal finito

logoro rapporto

non esser qui, né lì.

Orientamento perduto

smarrimento

chiarezza annebbiata

ricerca di luce.

Annegato spirito vagante

nell' incondizionato

sconfinamento

togliendosi respiro.

Privarsi di stupore seduzione

cedendo

all' annichilimento

al piatto sopravvivere

nel soppresso sentimento.

Brancolar

nella buia ricerca

del sussultare del cuore.

Alata speranza

scioglie la corda

all' ancora

posta ai suoi piedi.

 

The Key

 

 Evoke moments

 in the exile of torments

 rummaging in that room

 now closed, over there

 where the key is lost.

 By the hand, the whim

 took me far

 between two faces of the moon

 one as dark as night.

 In that darkness

 I found a spring, I drank

 I sipped it

 his words, soothing me

 sitting there

 with in hand

 my soul.

 I set off again

 on thoughtful steps

 and I found light

 using stones

 of that source.

 I was surprised and happy.

 Joy took me

 with him, leading me

 and we dived

 in those waters

 and sitting among mirrors

 everything was clear

 of brightness I wrote.

 Vitreous quartz were pages

 and full chests

 of words, she stretched out

 like iridescent beams

 of rainbows.

 It gradually emptied

 the room

 the torments flew away

 and I felt light

 beautiful and radiant.

 Moon smiled

 in the white light

 reflexively covering

 everything around me.

 In its corners

 I sought shelter

 I found the hug

 in love verses

 and the key.

 Of a silent shadow

 her mouth painted

 it was my voice.

 We merged

 in a single soul

 breath.

 

 La chiave

 

Evocare momenti

nell' esilio dei tormenti

frugando in quella stanza

ora chiusa, laggiù

dove perduta è la chiave.

Per mano, il capriccio

mi portò lontano

fra due facce di luna

una scura come notte.

In quell' oscurità

trovai sorgente, bevvi

ne sorseggiai

le sue parole, pacandomi

lì seduta

con in mano

la mia anima.

Ripartii

su riflessivi passi

e trovai luce

usando pietre

di quella fonte.

Fui sorpresa e contenta.

Gioia mi prese

con sé conducendomi

e ci immergemmo

in quelle acque

e sedendomi fra specchi

tutto chiaro fu

di luminosità scrissi.

Vitrei quarzi furon pagine

e scrigni colmi

di parole, stese

come fasci cangianti

d' arcobaleni.

Pian piano si svuotò

la stanza

volarono via i tormenti

e mi sentii leggera

bella e radiosa.

Sorrideva luna

nella candida luce

coprendo di riflesso

tutto a me attorno.

Nei suoi angoli

cercai riparo

trovai l' abbraccio

in versi d' amore

e la chiave.

D' un ombra silenziosa

la sua bocca dipinta

fu mia voce.

Fondemmo

in un' unica anima

respiro.

 

Interior Caves

 

Inside us

there are caves

in which to shelter

hide

yes to climb.

On the walls

they carry rock graffiti

of the past

of the present.

A fire was burning there

now he rules

the sidereal cold.

Ice stalactites

they go down

stalagmitic blades

They go up.

Come organ pipes

they make sounds

vibration

waking up

the sleeping soul

on the lichen carpet

on which, stones

they rolled silently.

From torpor

suddenly, the lava arrives

sale, breaking the cone

the scream, the high-pitched,

strangled, regurgitated sound

of volcano.

In laughter, in tears

forcefully exits

vents anger lying down.

Cold breaths, they solidify

sharp black rocks

of lunar landscape

and it's silence again.

 

Grotte interiori

 

Dentro di noi

vi sono grotte

in cui ripararsi

nascondersi

si cui inerpicarsi.

Sulle pareti

portano rupestri graffiti

del passato

del presente.

Lì ardeva un fuoco

adesso fa da padrone

il freddo siderale.

Stalattiti di ghiaccio

scendono

lame stalagmitiche

salgono.

Come canne d' organo

emettono suoni

vibrazioni

svegliando

l' anima dormiente

sul tappeto di licheni

sul quale, pietre

sono rotolate mutamente.

Dal torpore

d' improvviso, come lava

sale, rompendo il cono

l' urlo, l' acuto suono strozzato, rigurgitato

di vulcano.

Nel riso, nel pianto

prepotentemente esce

sfoga rabbia giacente.

Aliti gelidi, solidificano

nere rocce taglienti

di paesaggio lunare

ed è nuovamente silenzio.

 

Ulysses

 

He returned home

From the fortress of Clotho

old Atropos

cut the thread.

Apnea bubbles

They go up

from the magma chamber

screaming.

Acherania flies

on exhaling breaths.

Crying of Sirens

waves of dissent.

Holy Family

they rest deeply

nativity scenes and huts

of hull scrap

of the Caronte ferries.

Children

in redeemed cradles

sinless souls.

Divided families

between abysses and coffins.

Shoe beaches

and baby bottles

no breaths.

Shores of death

ghost vessels

with black sails

aid denied.

Even the sea is dead.

 

          Man overboard

              he helps himself

                 and families

                    they are saved

 

Ulisse

 

tornò a casa

 

Dalla rocca di Cloto

la vecchia Atropo

taglia il filo.

Bolle d' apnee

salgono

dalla camera magmatica

d' urla.

Acherania vola

su esalanti respiri.

Pianto di sirene

onde di dissenso.

Sacre Famiglie

poggiano a fondo

presepi e capanne

di rottami di scafi

dei traghetti di Caronte.

Bambini

nelle culle redenti

anime senza peccato.

Famiglie divise

fra abissi e bare.

Spiagge di scarpe

e biberon

assenti respiri.

Lidi di morte

vascelli fantasma

dalle nere vele

soccorsi negati.

Morto anche il mare.

 

          Uomo a mare

          si soccorre

          e le famiglie

             si salvano

 

BARBARA DI SACCO

 

BARBARA DI SACCO: Italian poet, Tuscan, defines herself as a painter of poetry, painting it. This is how she defines it: She is a regal lady, naked or in petticoat, so hurriedly she goes out, by day, by night. Vague, if you do not immediately welcome it into your feelings. Barbara loves art in all its forms and planet Earth. She has the presumption to save it through poetry.