The path of Pierro’s poetry is a journey into the places and streets that inspired the poet Albino Pierro
The “Albino Pierro” Study Center wanted to create a path of poetry aimed at making the intimate bond that unites physical places with poetic narrative directly known. It is a project born with the knowledge that the verses reported on the plaques can represent the invitation to an enigmatic and fascinating journey that opens to us in new forms of knowledge the local universe evoked by Don Albino.
The Town Hall
It was better if the Town Hall collapsed!
The school bell was torn off by it cleanly
that playing on the roof tiles for a long time,
every morning, you could hear her
in the square and further away,
up to the Rabatana;
now there has disappeared the dust
of the boys who jump and who shout “even and odd”.
(stage n. 1 – via Pietro Giannone, 19)
After the local festival
No one can know what I feel
now that the local festival is over
and I see that the band players, one by one,
dressed in white go by playing
in the empty square and leave
go to another part.
(stage n. 2 – piazza Plebiscito)
Once, in one of the baskets
that the donkey carried
they put me and in that other,
to make them be equal,
they stuff so big stones.
How many laughs I did myself
if the donkey slipped on the stones
smoother than a mirror…
(stage n. 3 – via Garibaldi, 1)
When they killed the pig
When they killed the pig,
I ran upstairs crying
and played the guitar so as not to hear
those torn cries.
But when I became a little boy,
I would stand straight among the people
and I too, with the sleeves rolled up,
I was so happy to hold its foot and to support myself with my knees
over that pig that was dying
gripped by all those hands.
(stage n. 4 – via Garibaldi, 8)
The oil mill
Now that the new machines have come out
the oil mill has gotten old:
my poor father who had dreamed them so much this winter,
and now he is not there.
In that abyss of darkness
there is a smell of rancid oil
between piles of fiscoli and ropes
that blackened hang from the poles
here and there stuck in the joints / of the walls;
(stage n. 5 – via Garibaldi, 16)
What do you know about it?
What do you know about it? What do you know
when I climbed up that wall in front of my door of my house?
I would have won the cat
so I went to the top
to uproot the grass from the wall
and to pick the snow in the holes
after it had rained cats and dogs.
(stage n. 6 – via Mazzini, 2)
The Post Office
The Post Office of my country
there had been almost a hundred years
in the palace of Don Peppino:
right there it was born
and there they worked
always dressed in black
those two beautiful ladies.
(stage n. 7 – corso Umberto I, 4)
The night before I left I went up to the balcony above and there I heard the crickets singing
hiding in the black of the mountains.
(stage n. 8 – terrazzo Casa Museo Albino Pierro)
The mountains of my country
When I see the mountains of my country, my heart weeps.
I am thinking of a series of bolds
who wanted to touch the sky with their finger,
but then, a little today and a little tomorrow,
(stage n. 9 – corso Umberto I, 23)
Saint Lucia's day
On Saint Lucia’s day,
when my little eyes were sick,
I threw the little picture out of my pocket and quiet and quiet I went and I kept apart
in the dark to weep and, kneeling like in a church,
I hugged it to the heart and I kissed it.
(stage n. 10 – corso Umberto I, 56)
They are the “Vigliotte”
a little house among the cliffs:
there is a memory,
of my father.
(stage n. 11 – I Vigghiotte)
To get to the Rabatana
you climb the “pitrizze”
which looks like a ladder leaning against a ruined “timpa”.
(stage n. 12 – inizio ‘Pitrizze’)
I went in the ravines many times,
and how much I like
to lie down in the caves
after I ran
like the hare.
(stage n. 13 – Piccicarello)
Christmas in Tursi
Strúffoli (traditional Neapolitan pastries) and zeppole (a sweet Italian pastry similar to a doughnut or churro)
in the dish with the rosettes bread
say another time:
(stage n. 14 – chiesa Santa Maria Maggiore)