The following is the full review (in a slightly reduced output in the Journal of Vicenza, 19 August 2010) I wrote the last collection of poems of Stephen Wilhelm. Fabio Giaretta
Among the many poets, or those self-styled, now active in the Northeast, the Wilhelm Stefano Schio is certainly among the most talented and knowledgeable. It is a further confirmation of his new poetry collection, There storm inside the mother (The spinning wheel, pp. 56, € 11) in which the author comes to terms with our present. The storm of the title alludes to the fact the economic crisis and the crisis of values \u200b\u200bthat has swept through of what Wilhelm calls the "mother". This term refers to the body in which we are engaged in the womb, now sick, that keeps us alive, we determined and from which we can not get out. The aim of the author becomes so that, as Cristina Annino writes in the preface, to "investigate reasonably real life collapses when." A survey compassionate and cruel at the same time, which is divided in 39 short but very dense texts, in which the poet describes the reality that surrounds us proceed to splinters and fragments, using images, thanks to their originality and strength polysemic, avoid the trap of cliché and banality. The verses, to join the world that is degraded descritto, si fanno asciutti e disadorni. Come per Montale, esplicitamente presente tra i modelli della raccolta fin dal titolo, anche per Guglielmin il poeta, pur non rinunciando al suo compito di denuncia del mondo mercificato e massificato, è in grado offrire solo "qualche storta sillaba e secca" che non può, e non vuole, mostrare rassicuranti soluzioni.
Nel libro, la bufera viene vista attraverso gli occhi di una terza persona dai contorni sfumati ma che può essere identificata, ad un primo livello, con il padrone di una fabbrica, un "unto del bendidìo". Egli appare scisso tra due dimensioni, una diurna, predominante, e una notturna. Di giorno segue in modo implacabile la logica del profitto ed è animato da un delirio of absolute control that leads him to say "I am the Lord my God / hairpin in the world." He is driven by a sense of masculine superiority, well represented by the image of phallic "branch", which often touches through his pockets as if to remind himself constantly to his power. Cain is born of a twin pregnancy that "establishes rules and city districts make. / Would like gardens around, but it craters, and when open, tears."
At night, however, becomes more vulnerable, "before going to sleep, pray Abel / not to leave." When darkness falls creeps in fact the worm of doubt and open up glimpses of larval torment and melancholy awareness that the storm seems to quiet down. He then perceived that what he built based on a "solid top and no where life hums." When you think of death all his life shaken: "do not fear death because sharecropping. After dinner, then / let the worms on the plate and gives the rest. He prefers / shop: give and take, buy. But death is a mouth / priceless, a cyst that goes in heat once the brushes. / when he touches it, the whole mother trembles. " But they are only brief moments, intended to evaporate with the dawn.
At a deeper level of reading the master's, however, becomes a kind of plural ego that embraces everyone, because we are all children of the Western system, its logic and its storture. Anche noi vorremmo intorno giardini, ma, piuttosto di rinunciare al nostro stile di vita, continuiamo a preferire i crateri. Se spalancassimo gli occhi sul solido nulla che ci circonda, anche noi ci renderemmo conto che "il crepo è totale, che smangia i bordi / anche al nido". Parafrasando la poesia 34, se inorridissimo davvero, se insabbiassimo il perno che ci lega alla pancia del denaro, se riuscissimo a scavare dentro “la madre” una pozza di vita vera, forse, la bufera, di cui anche noi siamo diretti responsabili, un po’ si quieterebbe.
Nel libro, la bufera viene vista attraverso gli occhi di una terza persona dai contorni sfumati ma che può essere identificata, ad un primo livello, con il padrone di una fabbrica, un "unto del bendidìo". Egli appare scisso tra due dimensioni, una diurna, predominante, e una notturna. Di giorno segue in modo implacabile la logica del profitto ed è animato da un delirio of absolute control that leads him to say "I am the Lord my God / hairpin in the world." He is driven by a sense of masculine superiority, well represented by the image of phallic "branch", which often touches through his pockets as if to remind himself constantly to his power. Cain is born of a twin pregnancy that "establishes rules and city districts make. / Would like gardens around, but it craters, and when open, tears."
At night, however, becomes more vulnerable, "before going to sleep, pray Abel / not to leave." When darkness falls creeps in fact the worm of doubt and open up glimpses of larval torment and melancholy awareness that the storm seems to quiet down. He then perceived that what he built based on a "solid top and no where life hums." When you think of death all his life shaken: "do not fear death because sharecropping. After dinner, then / let the worms on the plate and gives the rest. He prefers / shop: give and take, buy. But death is a mouth / priceless, a cyst that goes in heat once the brushes. / when he touches it, the whole mother trembles. " But they are only brief moments, intended to evaporate with the dawn.
At a deeper level of reading the master's, however, becomes a kind of plural ego that embraces everyone, because we are all children of the Western system, its logic and its storture. Anche noi vorremmo intorno giardini, ma, piuttosto di rinunciare al nostro stile di vita, continuiamo a preferire i crateri. Se spalancassimo gli occhi sul solido nulla che ci circonda, anche noi ci renderemmo conto che "il crepo è totale, che smangia i bordi / anche al nido". Parafrasando la poesia 34, se inorridissimo davvero, se insabbiassimo il perno che ci lega alla pancia del denaro, se riuscissimo a scavare dentro “la madre” una pozza di vita vera, forse, la bufera, di cui anche noi siamo diretti responsabili, un po’ si quieterebbe.
