Federica Galli

“Images and imagery from Spoon River to the shores of the Universe”

Biography:

Born in Modena, Federica Galli graduated in Science and Technology Agricultural, she always amused herself to read and write. To write about herself and about others she met, or she imagine to meet or encounter.
She truly believes that 'A writer is essentially a man who doesn’t resign himself to loneliness'.
(Francois Mauriac)

Critical Biography:
“Little stories imagined in my travels, imagined lives, but perhaps actual, pieces of the world I did not want to forget”

Critical comment: We read Federica Galli all in one go and the bits of the world that she wants to hold on the sheet materialize inside a simple and concise writing in which, of elaborately and sharp overwrite, we find out the sharp look of a traveller now authentic , now exciting who customize existing themes and painful. Federica's poems seem conversations and of high-profile, sparkling and moving the tones of "stories", nothing monotonous tone in the plant of very specific style, where even a number (From 9 to 5) is the guarantor of the verse. Writing is spontaneous act in which the characters demonstrate a situation and promote action in a poem free of brackets marked by an easygoing lyricism. Writing of Federica is echo of independence and freedom, Hhope" and "Justice" is the pen that pierces a blanket of loneliness and alienation of those who, by careful analysis, are the frame of a system "inconvenient" for the Western man lying in his chronic emotional numbness.The call is to raise the head in this "journey" to "read" themes and motifs that relate to the man without hesitation or concessions to the superficial, without too many linguistic mediations, a reading of "belly", in short, which requires however, the maximum concentration without a moment of surrender, the maximum adhesion to a project to re-write that passes, deliberately, including a death, that of the Earth (Chernobyl) and of those who live there escaping to "feel better and not improve "and that, in the race, he shortened his life, maybe" stretched "for later generations, those with the face of children and" last " inside pullover yellow lion. Commento diCristina Raddavero) Federica Galli's poetry cannot bring us back to Lee Masters, to Cesare Pavese who had fortunately discovered him and brought to Italy, at that verse of soreness and fatigue, of sweat, of fears of follies and end. There is the narrative construct of the story, of the "short" story-telling, of the character who is dragged into the world under his “good” burden of life. Poetry, then, in the form of prose and minimalist accents that are lyrical and epic confrontation of inner suggestions with taste bitter and dense. (Consideration of Pier Luigi Coda)
The Poems: "Working Class" Yellow Lion Pullover The clothes used by the rich, come in the baskets of retail trade, and children huddle in the sun to see mothers buying. Amadù has a dream as adult, and an opportunity he can’t miss, 3 days of travel are not few, but the rain this year 's slow in coming, and the aunt, all alone, that trip and those burdens does’t want to drag any longer. Aunt with this job has already put money aside, Aunt has a future, reminds him every day, He said her aunt to let him try, groped him a little bit of fate and she has promised, but only for a package, one of the 5 he will buy it. He’lllLearn to negotiate with the Indians down to the harbor, to choose the thread when everything looks the same and shapeless. Amadù is sure that one day even have a store: a place with a door to be closed For children and women who go to the market, a little shop of treasures for everyone where to sell yellow lion pullover to all children playing in the sun New Orleans The water remained for more than three days, and so also Bob had to leave, between the latter and looking back, not even with his apologies by oldie let him stay. Pennsylvania is a flowering land and the rains there are not any harm, anyone who steals from the tombs discovered anyone who shoots from streetlight to streetlight. The house however, that, is cheap: a wooden frame fitted in a hurry little more than a refuge for the displaced by the wind. Four bus from there to the hospital for a chemo costly as the youth pass: three days of bed to leave to friends, to pay by installments for relatives and sons, be paid with the money that the experts do not. The home that other is gone forever, rotted and dried under the rain and wind, promise to her grandchildren that will never see it invaded by scary bird of the day. Ghosts in New Orleans are sleeping on the floor and tell stories of fish and slaves wizards and witches who have lost their way of horoscopes and maps that have not looked far. Hope and Justice The boats return to port full of fish, shells and salt lead stories of distant worlds and good dialects for a glass of wine. But the boat of the poor, has yet to set sail leaves tonight with the fuselage to a pulp, with metal sheets, pocked with rust with the anchor broken and the rope ruined. Hold together the hopes of those there sitting around waiting for a sign. The captain is while preparing for the flight that patrol boats this time none of it. Abandon them with the ship and the rats, Moreover, there is nothing else to do, some of the most cunning, will cling to the rigging, others will end to fatten up the mussels. And justice for them fail to arrive, fail as missing names on the wall, as relatives mourning to the tail of the coffin, how the money expected by households in ruins. The boats return to port every night already, but passengers were lost in the sea. From 9 to 5 From 9 to 5 to look at my hands, to remember things that are useless. A reduction of time as a breast reduction should, in theory, make me live better. Help the posture save me from back pain. And instead, I, without that weight, think of being unable to walk. I drown in the time that was given to me and I can’t even fill the hours that before I assumed were imposed From 9 to 5 to look at my hands playing with calluses which cannot hold life. Chernobyl History is entangled in the branches as the rags in a windy day, and was stuck in the suitcase of Irina like a cat and when theowner is leaving. History has turned its days in a mad wandering from hospital and between hospital a race with a far finish and a distance to make hair dropping. lrina getting better and then does not improve and while working, because that's what is going to do. Irina bought a headscarf because at university people are watching. Irina ran away from a reactor that dies, and from children born with the misfortune on head. Irina ran away and continues to run but running her life shortened.

Critical comment:

We read Federica Galli all in one go and the bits of the world that she wants to hold on the sheet materialize inside a simple and concise writing in which, of elaborately and sharp overwrite, we find out the sharp look of a traveller now authentic , now exciting who customize existing themes and painful.
Federica's poems seem conversations and of high-profile, sparkling and moving the tones of "stories", nothing monotonous tone in the plant of very specific style, where even a number (From 9 to 5) is the guarantor of the verse.
Writing is spontaneous act in which the characters demonstrate a situation and promote action in a poem free of brackets marked by an easygoing lyricism.
Writing of Federica is echo of independence and freedom, Hhope" and "Justice" is the pen that pierces a blanket of loneliness and alienation of those who, by careful analysis, are the frame of a system "inconvenient" for the Western man lying in his chronic emotional numbness.The call is to raise the head in this "journey" to "read" themes and motifs that relate to the man without hesitation or concessions to the superficial, without too many linguistic mediations, a reading of "belly", in short, which requires however, the maximum concentration without a moment of surrender, the maximum adhesion to a project to re-write that passes, deliberately, including a death, that of the Earth (Chernobyl) and of those who live there escaping to "feel better and not improve "and that, in the race, he shortened his life, maybe" stretched "for later generations, those with the face of children and" last " inside pullover yellow lion.
Commento diCristina Raddavero)

Federica Galli's poetry cannot bring us back to Lee Masters, to Cesare Pavese who had fortunately discovered him and brought to Italy, at that verse of soreness and fatigue, of sweat, of fears of follies and end. There is the narrative construct of the story, of the "short" story-telling, of the character who is dragged into the world under his “good” burden of life.
Poetry, then, in the form of prose and minimalist accents that are lyrical and epic confrontation of inner suggestions with taste bitter and dense.
(Consideration of Pier Luigi Coda)

The Poems: "Working Class"

Yellow Lion Pullover

The clothes used by the rich,
come in the baskets of retail trade,
and children huddle in the sun
to see mothers buying.

Amadù has a dream as adult,
and an opportunity he can’t miss,
3 days of travel are not few,
but the rain this year 's slow in coming,
and the aunt, all alone,
that trip and those burdens does’t want to drag any longer.

Aunt with this job
has already put money aside,
Aunt has a future, reminds him every day,

He said her aunt to let him try,
groped him a little bit of fate
and she has promised, but only for a package,
one of the 5 he will buy it.

He’lllLearn to negotiate with the Indians down to the harbor,
to choose the thread when everything looks the same and shapeless.
Amadù is sure that one day even have a store:
a place with a door to be closed
For children and women who go to the market,
a little shop of treasures for everyone
where to sell yellow lion pullover
to all children playing in the sun

New Orleans

The water remained for more than three days,
and so also Bob had to leave,
between the latter and looking back,
not even with his apologies by oldie
let him stay.

Pennsylvania is a flowering land
and the rains there are not any harm,
anyone who steals from the tombs discovered
anyone who shoots from streetlight to streetlight.

The house however, that, is cheap:
a wooden frame fitted in a hurry
little more than a refuge for the displaced by the wind.
Four bus from there to the hospital
for a chemo costly as the youth pass:
three days of bed to leave to friends,
to pay by installments for relatives and sons,
be paid with the money that the experts do not.

The home that other is gone forever,
rotted and dried under the rain and wind,
promise to her grandchildren that will never see it
invaded by scary bird of the day.

Ghosts in New Orleans are sleeping on the floor
and tell stories of fish and slaves
wizards and witches who have lost their way
of horoscopes and maps that have not looked far.

Hope and Justice

The boats return to port
full of fish, shells and salt
lead stories of distant worlds
and good dialects for a glass of wine.

But the boat of the poor, has yet to set sail
leaves tonight with the fuselage to a pulp,
with metal sheets, pocked with rust
with the anchor broken and the rope ruined.

Hold together the hopes of those
there sitting around waiting for a sign.
The captain is while preparing for the flight
that patrol boats this time none of it.

Abandon them with the ship and the rats,
Moreover, there is nothing else to do,
some of the most cunning, will cling to the rigging,
others will end to fatten up the mussels.

And justice for them fail to arrive,
fail as missing names on the wall,
as relatives mourning to the tail of the coffin,
how the money expected by households in ruins.

The boats return to port every night already,
but passengers were lost in the sea.

From 9 to 5

From 9 to 5 to look at my hands,
to remember things that are useless.
A reduction of time
as a breast reduction
should, in theory, make me live better.

Help the posture
save me from back pain.
And instead, I, without that weight,
think of being unable to walk.

I drown in the time that was given to me
and I can’t even fill the hours
that before I assumed were imposed

From 9 to 5 to look at my hands
playing with calluses
which cannot hold life.

Chernobyl

History is entangled in the branches
as the rags in a windy day,
and was stuck in the suitcase of Irina
like a cat and when theowner is leaving.

History has turned its days
in a mad wandering from hospital and between hospital
a race with a far finish
and a distance to make hair dropping.

lrina getting better and then does not improve
and while working, because that's what is going to do.
Irina bought a headscarf
because at university people are watching.

Irina ran away from a reactor that dies,
and from children born with the misfortune on head.
Irina ran away and continues to run
but running her life shortened.