The Flower of Youth: Pier Paolo Pasolini Poems

The Flower of Youth: Pier Paolo Pasolini Poems

Mary Di Michele

Language: English

Pages: 87

ISBN: 1770410481

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The poems in The Flower of Youth depict the coming of age and into sexual difference of the great writer and film director, Pier Paolo Pasolini. The time of this story is World War II; the place is German-occupied northern Italy. Unlike his younger brother, Guido, who took up arms to fight in the resistance, Pasolini chose to help his mother set up a school for the boys, mostly sons of farmers, too young to fight or be conscripted. The situation ignited an internal war that nearly eclipsed the historical moment for the young Pasolini, a battle within between his desire for boys and his Catholic faith and culture. The book is a kind of novel in verse including a prologue and epilogue that details di Michele’s search for Pasolini, her pilgrimage to the place and research into the time that shaped him as a man and as an artist.

That Fine Italian Hand

Maxims and Reflections (Ricordi)

Democracy and Disorder: Protest and Politics in Italy, 1965-1975

Partisan Diary: A Woman's Life in the Italian Resistance

The Politics of Washing




















its streets of ancient stone but on the margins, in shantytown — not in spring, on some avenue of flowering yellow linden, but golden in autumn, with the first cold rain, with the leaves he falls the sun well past its gloaming in the no light of night alone. For the love of boys, or for the love of one lost boy with curls darkening his brow, a beautiful boy, a frog prince, he would give his last lira for the love of this or any stranger to whom he owes

these poems first appeared in Branch, CVII, jacket, Drunken Boat, Event, Matrix, The Malahat Review, Poetry Quebec, Rhythm, and on the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada website. I would like to thank Roo Borson and Kim Maltman, my first readers of the manuscript for their comments and encouragement. I would also like to thank Concordia University for an internal grant that helped me with the travel and research costs for this book. Special thanks to Gianni Scalia of the University of

path by the embankment, if I found sheep droppings they seemed triumphant signs of his presence, his passing. For ten days, and many times a day, I went searching along the path. He must be out there somewhere nearby; B. was absent in a teasing, visible way. In desolation I whiled away hour after hour to whistles, to rumblings of trains and the vague, the vilest odour of feces, in fervent grumblings, in jealousies. Spring Far Behind Winter came and

need no primers, no prosodies. My False Faith My first doubt came with my first real sin though I longed for a simple faith, I longed to be oblivious as a boy playing ball in a sunlit field. Stepping from bright sunlight into the dark dank church I could not see, I could only smell wet plaster and the pungent cedar timbers. I knelt at the feet of the statue of the Madonna, her robe dipped in the molten blue of the serene sky I left behind to

light I have only just lost. I will be young still, in a pastel shirt and with soft hair spilling into the bitter dirt. I will be warm still and a boy running on the warm asphalt of the avenue will lay a hand on the crystal of my lap. ’74 The Day of My Death . . . if the seed of grain, fallen on the earth, does not die, it remains alone, but if it dies it gives great fruit. John 12:24 (cited by Dostoevsky) In some city, Trieste or Udine,

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