Alessandra Forte Cesselon

“The caustic bitterness of the epigrams”

Biography:

(“…I write ever since my childhood. Accidentally I have been graduated in letters, but I come from the Academy of Fine Arts, from medieval and Renaissance music, the dance. I have published stories and poetries in collections, but I have also suspended them from the walls of the roads in order to make them legible to all. I paint abstract and often link the texts I write to pictorial images, some time I also dance and sing them … and this is still more amusing… although my parents who, as it is deduced from the last name, were attested very above the gothic-line, I was born in Rome where I live. I considers myself a chimera…at half road between the Nordic rigor and the joyful thoughtlessness of the South”.)

Commento critico: I think it is not possible to read the lyrics of Alessandra Forte Cesselon without tying up with the great satirical and epigrammatic tradition of the Latin literature: the voices of Martial, Giovenale, Persio, Petronio re-echo in a drumming foundation of irony, suffering, pietas, intolerance bordering on “aculeus”, “aliquid luminis”, (the final witticism as we would define it today) that determines the proportions and records the essence of her thought. Moreover the historical evocation does not astonish; it is sufficient to remember the First Satira by Giovenale in order to find scornful and astonishing analogies with the society of our days. Corruption, social climbing, couldn’t-care-less attitude, pimping, immorality, cheating, pseudophilosophers, charlatans and so on, ruled on a big scale. The Latinity of the First and Second century after Christ is an image dramatically anticipated of the great Western crises that we are currently crossing. Alessandra looks around,, reads inside herself, cuts out episodes, annotates them now with irony, now with sadness, at last with the hurting bitterness of who feels abusively dispossessed of know-how and intelligence; but from the personalism of the introspection she succeeds to broaden her outlook, to open a reflecting mirror on the surrounding world in order to measure of the mediocrity and a fatuity that seem incomprehensible . Often she plays with the words hatching calembour and charades like a torero that sparkles veronicas in the arena or, more probably, a conjurer that, in the darkness background of the scene, illuminates with miming artifices the amazing effects of a paradoxical game. (Comment by Pier Luigi Coda)
The poems: Chiuso per ferie Ho lasciato un segno nel cassetto dell’anima: Chiuso per Ferie. Ma in estate ti ho visto rovesciare i miei fogli segreti: cartule picte e vergate. Volevi rubare i miei sogni per poter raccontare a tutti chi ero davvero. Ladro Non torno alla strada di ieri Ma tu che ti sei venduto per pochi spiccioli al nemico politico di sempre non hai rammarichi o coscienza. Io oggi ho chiuso per ferie ma riapro domani con lo stesso logo con la stessa rabbia. Non cercarmi! …ti detesterei (Closed by vacation - I have left a mark in the drawer of the soul:/Closed by Vacation. /But in summer I have seen you/ overturning my secret sheets: /cartule picte and vergate./ You wanted to steal my dreams /for being able to tell all/ the one whom I was really. /You thief/I don’t return to the yesterday road./ But you who have sold yourself for few change/ to the political enemy of always/ You do not have regrets or conscience./ I today have closed for vacation/but I am reopening tomorrow/ with the same logotype with the same rabies./Do not look for me! … /I would detest you) Parla-Menta-Re Parla… spesso Mente Se gli rispondono Re-agisce male anche se sa di aver torto. La Re(s) pubblica non è al centro della tua Mente Se Parla per sua lobby è come caramella alla Menta Gusto forte, nutri-Mento ZERO Brunovespate SI! Ammazzerò il mio vicino Anche solo per finta… È un sistema buono Per andare un TV! Share alle stelle e brunovespate Senza limiti. Ho fatto una supplica alla Grande Madre Mediaset per mia sorella Caterina: se faccio digiuno di RAI tutti i giorni L’anno prossimo avrò il miracolo Teo Mammucari l’attasterà in diretta… Che culo!!! Figliodimignotta Non mi toccare Che sennò ti denuncio! Guarda che dico che mi hai molestata! Qui, proprio qui, sulle stanche poltrone della galleria nazionale d’arte antica! Tra teste di gesso imbalsamate e mosaici romani Che perverso. Mi hai mostrato la pergamena stantia, la squallida coppa.Vinta. Col tuo nome stampato, in oro, in corsivo, per farmi vieppiù rosicare… Ti hanno dato il Premio Letterario, il più ambito! Proprio a te… che non sai scrivere una riga …che sbagli anche la grammatica … che pensi che un’apocope sia l’ultima malattia, di tua zia. Tanto te lo faceva il negro tutto il lavoro, anzi la negra…cioè io. No! Non mi toccare! Guarda che dico che mi hai violentato! E lo hai fatto davvero: una violenza subdola sulla mia buonafede, incapace di credere che un… poeta che parla alla luna possa essere così tanto… figliodimignotta! (Whoreson - Don’t touch me/ Otherwise I denounce to you!/Be careful: I could say that you have molested me!/ Here, just here, on the tired seats of the national gallery/ of ancient art!/ Between embalmed heads of chalk /and Roman mosaics/ You perverse./ You have shown me the stale parchment,/ the dreary cup, won./ With your printed name, in gold, in cursive,/ in order to make me more and more tormented …/ They have given to you the Literary Prize, the most desired! /Just to you … you don’t know to write a line … and get also the grammar wrong …/ you think that an apocope should be the last sickness, of your aunt./ Meanwhile the “nigger man” made all the work for you/ Indeed the “nigger woman” … that is I./ No! Don’t touch me!/ Be careful, I could say that you have raped me!/ And you have done it really:/ an underhand violence on my good faith,/ incapable to believe that one … poet/ who speaks to the moon could be so much …/ Whoreson!)

Commento critico:

I think it is not possible to read the lyrics of Alessandra Forte Cesselon without tying up with the great satirical and epigrammatic tradition of the Latin literature: the voices of Martial, Giovenale, Persio, Petronio re-echo in a drumming foundation of irony, suffering, pietas, intolerance bordering on “aculeus”, “aliquid luminis”, (the final witticism as we would define it today) that determines the proportions and records the essence of her thought.
Moreover the historical evocation does not astonish; it is sufficient to remember the First Satira by Giovenale in order to find scornful and astonishing analogies with the society of our days. Corruption, social climbing, couldn’t-care-less attitude, pimping, immorality, cheating, pseudophilosophers, charlatans and so on, ruled on a big scale. The Latinity of the First and Second century after Christ is an image dramatically anticipated of the great Western crises that we are currently crossing.
Alessandra looks around,, reads inside herself, cuts out episodes, annotates them now with irony, now with sadness, at last with the hurting bitterness of who feels abusively dispossessed of know-how and intelligence; but from the personalism of the introspection she succeeds to broaden her outlook, to open a reflecting mirror on the surrounding world in order to measure of the mediocrity and a fatuity that seem incomprehensible . Often she plays with the words hatching calembour and charades like a torero that sparkles veronicas in the arena or, more probably, a conjurer that, in the darkness background of the scene, illuminates with miming artifices the amazing effects of a paradoxical game.
(Comment by Pier Luigi Coda)

The poems:

Chiuso per ferie

Ho lasciato un segno nel cassetto dell’anima:
Chiuso per Ferie.
Ma in estate ti ho visto
rovesciare i miei fogli segreti:
cartule picte e vergate.
Volevi rubare i miei sogni
per poter raccontare a tutti
chi ero davvero.
Ladro
Non torno alla strada di ieri
Ma tu che ti sei venduto per pochi spiccioli
al nemico politico di sempre
non hai rammarichi o coscienza.
Io oggi ho chiuso per ferie
ma riapro domani
con lo stesso logo
con la stessa rabbia.
Non cercarmi!
…ti detesterei

(Closed by vacation - I have left a mark in the drawer of the soul:/Closed by Vacation. /But in summer I have seen you/ overturning my secret sheets: /cartule picte and vergate./ You wanted to steal my dreams /for being able to tell all/ the one whom I was really. /You thief/I don’t return to the yesterday road./ But you who have sold yourself for few change/ to the political enemy of always/ You do not have regrets or conscience./ I today have closed for vacation/but I am reopening tomorrow/ with the same logotype with the same rabies./Do not look for me! … /I would detest you)

Parla-Menta-Re

Parla… spesso Mente
Se gli rispondono
Re-agisce male
anche se sa di aver torto.
La Re(s) pubblica non è al centro della tua Mente
Se Parla per sua lobby
è come caramella alla Menta
Gusto forte,
nutri-Mento ZERO

Brunovespate

SI!
Ammazzerò il mio vicino
Anche solo per finta…
È un sistema buono
Per andare un TV!
Share alle stelle e brunovespate
Senza limiti.
Ho fatto una supplica
alla Grande Madre Mediaset
per mia sorella Caterina:
se faccio digiuno di RAI
tutti i giorni
L’anno prossimo avrò il miracolo
Teo Mammucari
l’attasterà in diretta…
Che culo!!!

Figliodimignotta

Non mi toccare
Che sennò ti denuncio!
Guarda che dico che mi hai molestata!
Qui, proprio qui,
sulle stanche poltrone della galleria nazionale
d’arte antica!
Tra teste di gesso imbalsamate e mosaici romani
Che perverso.
Mi hai mostrato la pergamena stantia,
la squallida coppa.Vinta.
Col tuo nome stampato, in oro, in corsivo,
per farmi vieppiù rosicare…
Ti hanno dato il Premio Letterario,
il più ambito!
Proprio a te… che non sai scrivere una riga
…che sbagli anche la grammatica
… che pensi che un’apocope sia l’ultima malattia,
di tua zia.
Tanto te lo faceva il negro tutto il lavoro,
anzi la negra…cioè io.
No! Non mi toccare!
Guarda che dico che mi hai violentato!
E lo hai fatto davvero:
una violenza subdola sulla mia buonafede,
incapace di credere che un… poeta
che parla alla luna
possa essere così tanto…
figliodimignotta!

(Whoreson - Don’t touch me/ Otherwise I denounce to you!/Be careful: I could say that you have molested me!/ Here, just here, on the tired seats of the national gallery/ of ancient art!/ Between embalmed heads of chalk /and Roman mosaics/ You perverse./ You have shown me the stale parchment,/ the dreary cup, won./ With your printed name, in gold, in cursive,/ in order to make me more and more tormented …/ They have given to you the Literary Prize, the most desired! /Just to you … you don’t know to write a line … and get also the grammar wrong …/ you think that an apocope should be the last sickness, of your aunt./ Meanwhile the “nigger man” made all the work for you/ Indeed the “nigger woman” … that is I./ No! Don’t touch me!/ Be careful, I could say that you have raped me!/ And you have done it really:/ an underhand violence on my good faith,/ incapable to believe that one … poet/ who speaks to the moon could be so much …/ Whoreson!)