We carry a beautiful poem by Aldo Palazzeschi, The Fountain ill. It 's a funny series of short verses in which one can see the intent to highlight the pretentiousness of the poetic tradition past and present, turning to a topos of the lyric of all time, that of the fountain and water. It 's interesting to note that the initial phonemes want to make the sound of a fountain that is hard to draw from his pipe the water jet, and then' cough ': the modern fountain is sick and stupid with his lament, anguish in its repetitiveness , annoying to the point that the poet is willing to do anything to shut him up, even perhaps die to the fountain.
Fountain sick (from Poems, 1930).
Clof, clop, cloche,
cloffete,
cloppete, clocked
,
chchch ...
E 'down,
in the courtyard, fountain
poor sick;
that agony!
hear coughing.
coughs, coughs
,
a little
is silent again ...
coughs. My poor
Fontana,
evil
you
heart I would.
It is silent,
does not throw anything.
It is silent, is heard not
noise whatsoever, which
maybe ... maybe
is dead?
Horror!
Ah! no.
here again,
still coughing.
Clof, clop, cloche,
cloffete,
cloppete, clocked
,
chchch ...
The Tuberculosis kills.
holy God, that his
eternal
cough
makes me die a little
is fine, but so
... What
complain! But Habel
!
Victory!
Go,
run,
close to the source,
kills me that his eternal
cough!
Go,
put something
end to make it, maybe ...
maybe die.
Madonna!
Jesus!
No more!
Not anymore. My poor
Fontana,
with evil,
you have, you end
see,
you kill me well.
Clof, clop, cloche,
cloffete,
cloppete, clocked
,
chchch ...
