A Boy Asleep Under the Sun: Versions of Sandro Penna

by Peter Valente

Peter Valente’s first encounter with Sandro Penna’s poetry was while translating Pier Paolo Pasolini. At the time, Valente was reading a biography on Pasolini and learned of his close friendship with Penna. Pasolini insisted that among serious readers of poetry, Penna could not be ignored. Born in Perugia on June 12, 1906, Sandro Penna lived most of his life in Rome (he died there on January 21, 1977), except for a brief period in Milan where he worked as a library clerk. When Pasolini arrived in Rome in 1950 he sought out Penna to “show him around.” He knew that Penna was in love with the same ragazzi who prowled the outskirts of Rome. In his poetry Penna clearly says who he is and how he feels. That is a rare enough quality these days. He moves away from the trappings of identity toward an honest expression of love. In Penna’s work the beautiful is not conscious of itself and is therefore “Is not the beauty of those who are unaware of their beauty / more beautiful than those who are aware?” He is critical of those who hide their desires behind a thin façade of Here they are, these lords of life. They are very modest, indeed. Even with their senses fully aroused, they manage to offend no one. Penna never hid his sexuality in interviews. He once told a reporter (who probably had to pay dearly for the interview), “I am not a homosexual. I am a pederasta.… Homosexuality is a privilege.” Penna’s homosexuality is complicated in one sense by a moral The problem of sex consumes my entire life. I wonder at each moment whether I am doing the right thing or the wrong. But there is another sense in which Penna accepts the impossibility of a moral resolution to his “problem” and instead turns this negative to a positive There are always boys in my poems. But I do not know how to speak of anything else. Everything else is just a tedious noise. I am unable to sing of Good Deeds. Since his poems chiefly concern homosexual love, they face being relegated to a gay-only ghetto of readers or to another ghetto that even homosexuals pederastia . This is a problematic issue in the United States where scandal surrounding sexual orientation is still prevalent. But more importantly, there are no glamorous pronouncements or concern with gender politics in Penna’s poetry. You also won’t find a vision of historical process or a mass of physical details. What you will find is an attachment to everyday reality. Penna’s poetry is candid, uncluttered, minimalist, and of profound lyrical intensity and as Pasolini, a great supporter of Penna’s work, wrote in the 1970 preface to Penna’s collected poems, he is, “perhaps the greatest and most joyful…Italian poet.”

Peter Valente was born in Salerno, Italy and grew up in New Jersey. He holds a B.S. in Electrical Engineering from Stevens Institute of Technology. He is the author of the chapbook, Forge of Words a Forest (Jensen Daniels, 1998), and his poems have appeared in journals such as Mirage #4/Periodical , First Intensity , Prosodia , Aufgabe and Talisman . In the late 1990s, he co-edited the poetry magazines Vapor/Strains and Lady Blizzard’s Batmobile and wrote articles on jazz for the Edgewater Reporter . In 2010, he turned to filmmaking and has completed 60 shorts to date, 24 of which have been screened at Anthology Film Archives. He has translated the work of Luis Cernuda, Nanni Balestrini and Pier Paolo Pasolini, and he is the co-translator of the chapbook, Selected Late Letters of Antonin Artaud, 1945-1947 (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs, 2014). His book The Artaud Variations is forthcoming from Spuyten Duyvil.

Genres: Poetry

210 pages, Paperback

First published November 6, 2014

Reviews

[Mulder · Rating 5 out of 5]

“The accused has nothing if not the right words.
And sometimes there are none, sometimes he would prefer not to speak at all.
The only true words are born of solar need.”

“Happy are those who are different in private.
But woe to those who are different in public.”

“Is not the timidity you hide behind a stern façade, perhaps your confused dream of God?”

“I lay between two young wiseasses who mocked the words of my heart.
As I gaze at their sleeping faces, I forgive them with love.”

“The drizzle outside doesn't bore me.
Instead, I am inspired to write this.
Whoever doesn't trust in this sudden rush of emotion will speak falsely when he speaks.”

“EROTIC
This body that I pull towards me and which clenches me in return has the taste of mud mixed with starlight.
And I don't know whose stains me now.
It's a mysterious game
when the tincture of the stars turns a deep red.”

“It was a happy May evening. And you, sweet moon, perhaps you laugh at the loves of the ancients.
And so I must leave you, O sweet laughing moon, O my ancient moon.”

“They have called me
‘The exclusive poet of love.’
And perhaps this is true.
But the wind here that blows on each blade of grass
and the noises of the distant city whose lights are visible from where I stand, do they not also speak of love?
And are there not behind these warm clouds the sounds of an ardent love beyond which there is nothing but silence?”

“The problem of sex consumes my entire life.
I wonder at each moment
whether I am doing the right thing or the wrong.”

“Look up at the sky and ask myself: what do I expect, what do I crave?.
Everything is peaceful but for this veil of sadness O
do not ask.”

“Once, I conducted a loving yet merciless war against these young boys. Now, without allies I reequip myself for a new war.
It is against myself.
And here I am very efficient.”

“TO EUGENIO MONTALE
I walk toward the festivals at dusk, opposite the crowd who happily and quickly rise from the stadium seats to cheer.
I don't look at anyone but I see everyone.
Sometimes I pick up a smile.
More rarely a familiar regard.
But I no longer remember who they are.
I know death solves nothing.
It is too unfair.
Even if I no longer remember who they are.”

[Bruno Hartstein · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderful, deeply personal collection.