bolle
Milan d´idrossed, de machin ülülà,
vöj strâd due orb j òmm san pü truâss. *
Franco Loi's verses inspire a sense of consonance in me but, at the same time, a definite clash. In his words I see the noise of streets, their smell, the frantic rhythms and the alienation that accompanies them.
Trovo tutto questo e lo riconosco, ma sento che dentro di me qualcosa si ribella.
I can see all this and I recognize it, but I feel something inside me rebelling against it. Memories of other times, other places emerge. Amongst them, one is stronger than the others. it comes from far away, from my childhood. it's a liquid memory, made of soft lights, of hours passing without hurrying, made of glances through the crystal looking for distant realities, suddenly close.
It's the Milan Civic Aquarium.
* [Milan of hidroxides, howling of cars, / empty streets where blind men can no longer find each other.]
