On a torrid May afternoon, when the thermometer reached 30C and a million of tourists hid in the shade of centuries-old terraces along the Venice embankments, a troupe of poets bypassed…
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This time, it was an inventive “letter” to reparative aspects of our research. An exploration into the embryology of the artistic process, pain, memory, and time. A still life that…
*** You are my hometown of forgetfulness, of healing, Made for ЛЮБОВЬ [LUBOVJ – love], I woke to find you swathed in la nebbia, ТЫ НЕБО [TY NJEBO – you…
The start of this Friday was even better than a usual Friday. A few infinitely beautiful hours in the centuries-old Carmelite monastery in the heart of Ghent. A retreat organised…
*** Woken up by the white the white, By impatience of heart to melt, The sky was empty this night, Without the stars has been left. The sky didn’t sleep…
*** It was an attic room, Too small For my unableness To keep emotion in control. It was under the attic dome, Where we felt the joys Of shared insomnia….
Sara Maino and I are going to perform a two-poet show at the XVII edition of the International Poetry Festival, “Palabra en el Mundo“, held in Venice on the 26th…
The poem “From Iberia to Siberia” accompanied by Sara Maino’s painting “Il Tempo e un clic. Van Gogha” is published in MAINTENANT 16: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art,…
*** Can you stop the rose from withering, Sun from setting, Hands from getting unpassionate? All that remains is memories And the tyranny of ‘what-ifs’ – God, bless them! On…
The book ‘Symphonism as a strategy of translating a lyric poem into drawings’ is on its three days’ journey to meet new people and have conversations that their author could…
