Egle Bolognesi

“Research of being in the transformation of reality”

Biography:

Emilian of origin, Egle Bolognesi lives and works in Turin. Educationalist, writer, poet and essayist, writes articles for various publications. Curator of the text Teleintendo: TV between saying and doing Edizioni Junior, has written for Paideutika and Esodo. She writes short stories and fairy tales presented in competitions such as the Prize H.C Andersen and publication reported on anthologies. Her poems have received awards in numerous local and national competitions as L’albero di sicomoro in Orbassano and the Literary Prize Silvio Bellezza Città ofLanzo Torinese and have been included in anthologies such as the International Award San Domenichino 2004/06 edition, Il Litorale edition 2005 and Prato: a tissue of culture 2007 Edition. She plays performance and poetry readings in cultural circles, and during events such as Poetry Vagabond of Settimo TorineseBolognesi is co-author of the volume of poetry Confluence published by Edizioni Lazzaretti. Recently, the APICE Prize for Poetry has rewarded her with the third place and some poems are included in the collection edited by Poetry Prize City of Roddi.

Critical comment: In the poems of Egle Bolognesi we are captured by the lyrical sense with which she addresses the fringes of her realistic feel to turn them into a kind of a phantom clay where “the memories are divided into ephemeral trails of light“ and where everything becomes transparent or far opacity, perhaps the construction of the known or, more likely, of the simple dreamed. These images are proposed on the stage of existence, crowding one another in the search for an emergency lane that escapes in “the sailing of the days” and burns “ in the passion of a moment”. Sometimes, as on the arena of a Greek theater or, more cynically, as a carnival parade, she wears the mask of a smile, welcomes the audience bowing to the grip that grabs the substrate most intimate of the soul; so she meets the bitterness of strangeness, she finds herself absent in the distances of his own being, in that impalpable clash with the indifference of memories “that don’t hurt any longer “. Bolognesi is attentive to the signs that drill and engrave her poetic journey: the fingers of an harpist, the moth swallowed by a deadly beam of light, the opaque glass of a lamp, “flashes of images / thoughts away / in the untidy whirling/ of shattered phrases”. Perhaps there is in her poetic works a close reference to the Polemos (opposites) by Eraclito: reality/fiction, water/ earth, war/poetry, abyss/light, in a sort of law of Nature which doesn’t recompose in the harmony of depth, but in a more painful and quiet acceptance way of life. (Comment by Pier Luigi Coda)
The poems: FESTA DI NATALE Mi vestirò d’allegria e fingerò che tutto sia splendidamente in armonia. Modificata geneticamente come un corpuscolo ormai resistente alle intemperie di questa vita, imperturbabile agli imprevisti indosserò una maschera bianca, assente presenza di un palpito, nascosto tra pieghe di spessa sciarpa avvolta a ricordi che ormai non fanno più male. Christmas Feast: I’ll wear myself of jollity/and pretend/ that everything is beautifully/ in harmony./ Genetically modified/ as a corpuscle become/ resistant to the adversities/ of this life,/ imperturbable to the unexpected/ I’ll wear/ a white mask,/ absent presence of a thrill,/ hidden between folds/ of thick scarf/ wrapped in memories/ that are no longer hurting. L’ARPISTA Intrecci di suoni nell’euforia d’antico evocar di storie e leggende dove s’incontrano acqua e terra, guerra e poesia, abissi e luce. Agili dita disegnano ritmi su pentagrammi di fili sottili, tesi in forme sinuose. Le mani afferrano note invisibili da regalare al silenzio di sacre pietre. The Harpist: sound plots/ in the euphoria/ of ancient evoking/ of stories/ and legends/ where meet/ water and land,/ war and poetry,/ abyss and light./Quick fingers/ draw rhythms/ on staves/ of thin wires,/ thesis/ in sinuous forms./ Hands grab/ invisible notes/ to give/ to the silence/ of the sacred stones FUGACI ANIME Fugaci anime siamo, incerte creature padrone di un tempo fuori binario che scorre tra rivoli freschi, celati a sguardi indiscreti, in caduta libera su pietre affioranti. Fuggiamo cercando interstizi da clamore scevri, asintomatici spazi dove raccogliere quel poco di noi che ancora parla senza contratti. Siamo stanze di ricordi smembrati effimere scie di luce nella notte che prelude a nuovi natali. Piccole sfere siamo, tintinnanti di vita, trasparenti, opache, grinzose, lustre, virtualmente reali nel fluttuar dei giorni. Fleeting souls: fleeting souls/ we are,/ uncertain creatures/ master of a time/ out track/ that runs/ between fresh streams,/ hidden to indiscreet eyes,/ in free fall/ on outcropping rocks./We run away/looking for interstices/ free from clamor/ asymptomatic spaces/ where gathering/ the little of us/ that still speaks/ without contracts./ We are rooms/ of dismembered souvenirs/ ephemeral trails of light/ in the night that preludes/ to new births./ Small beads/ we are,/ tinkling of life,/ transparent, opaque,/ wrinkled, luster,/ virtually real/ in the fluctuating days. FALENA Ubriaca di luce sei vita a rimbalzo nel dibatterti in volo senza via d’uscita. Cieca creatura bruci le tue ali avvolte in passione che dura un attimo appena. Solo cenere rimane, polvere per l’opaco vetro del lampione, chino, immobile nella notte. Moth: Drunk of light/ you are bouncing life/ struggling in your flight/ no way out./ Blind creature/ burn your wings/ wrapped in passion/ that lasts/ just a moment./ Only ash remains,/ powder/ for the opaque glass lamp,/ bowed,/ immobile in the night. VIRTUALE MAGIA Luce fredda, tasti e dita, mute sillabe tradotte a colori. Flash di immagini, pensieri assenti nel turbinar sconnesso di frasi in frantumi. Suoni metallici interrotti a comando o lasciati in stand by, congelate note catturate dal glaciale ripetersi del ritmo. Ricerca di senso navigando invano tra scogli elettronici su rotte tracciate da sconosciute menti. Mondi infiniti di precarietà dove si fondono il tempo e lo spazio nel falso incanto d’una virtuale magia. Virtual magic: cold light,/ fingers and keys,/ mute syllables/ translated in color./ Flash of images,/ absent thoughts/ in the disjointed swirling/ of shattered phrases./ Sounds metallic/ interrupted at command/ or left in standby,/ frozen notes/ taken by the glacial/ recurrence of the rhythm/. Search of sense/ sailing in vain/ between electronic rocks/ on routes mapped out/ by unknown minds./ Infinite worlds/ of precariousness/ where blend/ time and space/ in the false charm/ of a virtual magic.

Critical comment:

In the poems of Egle Bolognesi we are captured by the lyrical sense with which she addresses the fringes of her realistic feel to turn them into a kind of a phantom clay where “the memories are divided into ephemeral trails of light“ and where everything becomes transparent or far opacity, perhaps the construction of the known or, more likely, of the simple dreamed. These images are proposed on the stage of existence, crowding one another in the search for an emergency lane that escapes in “the sailing of the days” and burns “ in the passion of a moment”.
Sometimes, as on the arena of a Greek theater or, more cynically, as a carnival parade, she wears the mask of a smile, welcomes the audience bowing to the grip that grabs the substrate most intimate of the soul; so she meets the bitterness of strangeness, she finds herself absent in the distances of his own being, in that impalpable clash with the indifference of memories “that don’t hurt any longer “.
Bolognesi is attentive to the signs that drill and engrave her poetic journey: the fingers of an harpist, the moth swallowed by a deadly beam of light, the opaque glass of a lamp, “flashes of images / thoughts away / in the untidy whirling/ of shattered phrases”.
Perhaps there is in her poetic works a close reference to the Polemos (opposites) by Eraclito: reality/fiction, water/ earth, war/poetry, abyss/light, in a sort of law of Nature which doesn’t recompose in the harmony of depth, but in a more painful and quiet acceptance way of life.
(Comment by Pier Luigi Coda)

The poems:

FESTA DI NATALE

Mi vestirò d’allegria
e fingerò
che tutto sia
splendidamente
in armonia.
Modificata
geneticamente
come un corpuscolo
ormai resistente
alle intemperie
di questa vita,
imperturbabile
agli imprevisti
indosserò
una maschera bianca,
assente presenza
di un palpito,
nascosto tra pieghe
di spessa sciarpa
avvolta a ricordi
che ormai
non fanno più male.
Christmas Feast: I’ll wear myself of jollity/and pretend/ that everything is beautifully/ in harmony./ Genetically modified/ as a corpuscle become/ resistant to the adversities/ of this life,/ imperturbable to the unexpected/ I’ll wear/ a white mask,/ absent presence of a thrill,/ hidden between folds/ of thick scarf/ wrapped in memories/ that are no longer hurting.

L’ARPISTA

Intrecci di suoni
nell’euforia
d’antico evocar
di storie
e leggende
dove s’incontrano
acqua e terra,
guerra e poesia,
abissi e luce.

Agili dita
disegnano ritmi
su pentagrammi
di fili sottili,
tesi
in forme sinuose.

Le mani
afferrano
note invisibili
da regalare
al silenzio
di sacre pietre.
The Harpist: sound plots/ in the euphoria/ of ancient evoking/ of stories/ and legends/ where meet/ water and land,/ war and poetry,/ abyss and light./Quick fingers/ draw rhythms/ on staves/ of thin wires,/ thesis/ in sinuous forms./ Hands grab/ invisible notes/ to give/ to the silence/ of the sacred stones

FUGACI ANIME

Fugaci anime
siamo,
incerte creature
padrone di un tempo
fuori binario
che scorre
tra rivoli freschi,
celati a sguardi indiscreti,
in caduta libera
su pietre affioranti.

Fuggiamo
cercando interstizi
da clamore scevri,
asintomatici spazi
dove raccogliere
quel poco di noi
che ancora parla
senza contratti.

Siamo stanze
di ricordi smembrati
effimere scie di luce
nella notte che prelude
a nuovi natali.

Piccole sfere
siamo,
tintinnanti di vita,
trasparenti, opache,
grinzose, lustre,
virtualmente reali
nel fluttuar dei giorni.
Fleeting souls: fleeting souls/ we are,/ uncertain creatures/ master of a time/ out track/ that runs/ between fresh streams,/ hidden to indiscreet eyes,/ in free fall/ on outcropping rocks./We run away/looking for interstices/ free from clamor/ asymptomatic spaces/ where gathering/ the little of us/ that still speaks/ without contracts./ We are rooms/ of dismembered souvenirs/ ephemeral trails of light/ in the night that preludes/ to new births./ Small beads/ we are,/ tinkling of life,/ transparent, opaque,/ wrinkled, luster,/ virtually real/ in the fluctuating days.

FALENA

Ubriaca di luce
sei vita a rimbalzo
nel dibatterti in volo
senza via d’uscita.

Cieca creatura
bruci le tue ali
avvolte in passione
che dura
un attimo appena.

Solo cenere rimane,
polvere
per l’opaco vetro
del lampione,
chino,
immobile nella notte.
Moth: Drunk of light/ you are bouncing life/ struggling in your flight/ no way out./ Blind creature/ burn your wings/ wrapped in passion/ that lasts/ just a moment./ Only ash remains,/ powder/ for the opaque glass lamp,/ bowed,/ immobile in the night.

VIRTUALE MAGIA

Luce fredda,
tasti e dita,
mute sillabe
tradotte a colori.

Flash di immagini,
pensieri assenti
nel turbinar sconnesso
di frasi in frantumi.

Suoni metallici
interrotti a comando
o lasciati in stand by,
congelate note
catturate dal glaciale
ripetersi del ritmo.

Ricerca di senso
navigando invano
tra scogli elettronici
su rotte tracciate
da sconosciute menti.

Mondi infiniti
di precarietà
dove si fondono
il tempo e lo spazio
nel falso incanto
d’una virtuale magia.
Virtual magic: cold light,/ fingers and keys,/ mute syllables/ translated in color./ Flash of images,/ absent thoughts/ in the disjointed swirling/ of shattered phrases./ Sounds metallic/ interrupted at command/ or left in standby,/ frozen notes/ taken by the glacial/ recurrence of the rhythm/. Search of sense/ sailing in vain/ between electronic rocks/ on routes mapped out/ by unknown minds./ Infinite worlds/ of precariousness/ where blend/ time and space/ in the false charm/ of a virtual magic.