falls on this day 15 years after the death of Eros. A beautiful review of Alessandro Angeli, writer Grosseto, remembers him Maremma Magazine magazine in March.
Eros Penni
The Old Man and Other Stories
The first time I heard of Eros Penni was 2003, were the tumultuous years of the Fund that, when the Association of Massa Marittima still bore the name Daniel Boccardi. In that year had already left the masterpieces Low Lives of Daniel Alberto Boccardi and Potash Prunetti, the Fund had been made in collaboration with Stampa Alternativa, Viterbo leading publisher initiative to dedicate a real series, which still exists , entitled "The Books of the Fund, in fact. Friendship with Stefano Pacini, Michele Cocola and Dario Radi, prompted me to deal as best I could with my usual enthusiastic amateurs, the authors project that revolved around Massa. In addition to Prunetti Boccardi and then I read the works of Luciana Bellini, Lio Banks, Antonio Ricci, while the pen still had not had the pleasure of reading anything. Then at the bottom similar to the recently deceased JD Salinger, the published works of Penni were not many, two in particular: a book of poems entitled "The other faces of idleness, printed in 2001 in Massa Marittima and The Old Man, a book of stories added in December of that year and Boccardi Prunetti Books in the series of the Fund. To send a message to Penni I could have called his friend Stephen, who was also his friend and has set some very good pictures of this feeling in their preface to the book. But now I am used to do so, going to snuff in the midst of the pages, because the merit of the books is also to give teachers the opportunity to speak again, even to those who have known them in life, like it happened to me with Penni. Why read the pages there is no possibility of denial to say that Eros Penni was and is a master. How to read a concise biography, reported quote, also calligraphy, from the pen of the author (using a scanner, to reveal the secret) Eros Penni was born in 1946 in Massa Marittima had lived there, had to live the most menial jobs, until because of serious health problems he suffered, the state granted him a small pension, plus he was a self-taught. It would seem a bit 'this simplistic to understand an author, especially seem simplistic to those have not been privileged to read the pages of the Old, because coming into the stories of the book the concept of personal life has no meaning to open up a larger : that of all possible lives contained in the simple expression of human experience. Penni's characters as those of other Italian writer certainly more famous than he, and none are all similar to these symbolic elements have a function that gives the stories revealing tremendous evocative power, able to communicate sincerely and painfully the many layers of being. The author's skill lies in being able to undress at the right time the characters of the symbolic elements that pervade them, so stop being characters to become men of flesh and bones. So close that the reader will look at any moment to take part physically in the story, ask him what the landlord wants to drink or that you put mangiarospi suddenly staring at him with attention, or that reading the superb truck driver, he really feel a passenger gruff and lonely man, who prefers talk to the dead friend, rather than turn to the living word. We read some passages from the story:
"do not forget the damn night ever. He had just taken my place at the wheel and I was reading a road map when suddenly a light dazzles us and we can not do anything rushed down the slope. I do not know how I groove and after a few days in hospital I was back with my butt glued to the chair of another truck. But you? Yes you? "He said clapping her hands angrily on the dash and throwing heavy breathing:" Damn! Why did not you lucky? Why? Come to think life is so strange. What ever happens to us we do not know until at the time when this happens and frankly I do not like at all. I'd like to understand what is the point. [...]
In the final text opens the humanity of the truck driver, he revealed the story, a feature common to almost all of the stories collected and resumed its function as a messenger, a man - a truth that had just staggered , the memory of his dead. In the man who never spoke, really wonderful structure and poetic, it is the character that the author relegates to the shadows of the inn, surrounded by his troubled thoughts to provide the cornerstone of the novel. The hero of Eros Penni is the latest, most scored, the one that considers the life experience too big to simply live, without feeling cheated. So the man who never spoke, having illuminated the mind of his daughter took leave of the reader:
"Well who knows," said the man stroking his face and immediately said, I have to go down into the hole, try not to do much later, otherwise the mother will be worried. " Then he stood up, saluted with a nod of the two face the Host, and came out shivering with cold walked to the mine.
The relationship between binary concept and phenomenology in all of the news of the pen, the wisdom and experience pain, condense with humans - truth, el'aneddoto comes on time, with its cathartic function, to broaden the spectrum of the story, from the subjectivity of the character to universal horizons. In the novel Bone is just one of his characters by the author to explain the inseparability of this link. Inseparability that lasts until the reason for the senses do not come to cause extinction. We read:
"Well first of all I would like to know which of you is the concept of who the phenomenon and then what you really are.
"I left him on the right are the Phenomenon Concept. About what we are is a bit 'hard to explain. However I phenomenon being indispensably linked to the concept I can only talk. While talking he will be responsible for the explanation of what I say because it linked to me. "
"If one speaks does not know is what he says and the other knows, but can not speak, as I will understand what one is and what is the other? Perhaps the only solution will be to separate them, "thought the sensation.
And immediately after this consideration, with a leap cat pounced on the two dividends. But noted with amazement that once separated them disappeared. " Another great talent
pen is to be able to describe perfectly the dark and sometimes evil design that moves the workings of nature, in its inmost recesses. They are overflowing and lucid descriptions of a sharp and crystalline poetry, able to capture the essence of the earth that Penni lived and where we live. Skill so strongly characteristic that made me think of a great American writer, virtually unknown to us: Breece D'J Pancake. Even after a short life troubled him was gone, leaving only one book, a document of inestimable value, later acclaimed by critics and fellow writers, a collection of short stories "Trilobites. Trilobites you breathe in so palpable and the wild America sometimes cruel, small towns overwhelmed by the dust of endless American prairies, impervious to time and imperishable, under the threatening shadow of the Appalachians. We compare these two different extracts, one part the tale fox hunters, to Pancake The other blind Eros Penni:
blew a little wind that made her shudder and sycamore leaves rustling on the sidewalk to be blocked on the edge of the grass of a violent green.
The possum was standing on the quiet side of the road. He had found carcasses of farm animals in which to build a den for the winter, not even a nice empty hole. She brought her children across the road, between the leaves where he was the carcass of another tough opossum. He did not stop to sniff or other affectations.
ping. He stopped. Fire. Flattened to the ground in terror as black, with small clinging tighter to the hair. Heavy footsteps, made the deaf and irregular blood boil. With the day and the advancing danger, fear and retreated into the flared cautiously toward the more dense bushes. From his hiding place he saw a giant enemy that was advancing on the pavement and bounce off a bright red glow in what remained of his night. ***
In an inlet, on the wide beach of fine sand, soggy, fetid carcasses strewn with shells and crustaceans along the strip of corrugated tritume wet black and left by the tide, landed just a few jellyfish, with their jelly, pearl, purple veined edges of lines, like old chandeliers of blown glass, trembling and drooling at the contact of 'air, seemed to show the end of their radiance. More basically, a dead sheep, stranded for days in the surf, with a swollen belly, legs cramped and his face carved by fleas from the claws of crabs and marine, spinteggiata from time to time by the waves, moving slowly, emitting noise similar to eddies. Spewed from the mouth, nose, ears, the last remnants of salt from the rotting entrails, as the sun, covered in part by clouds, like an eye, the sly look that seemed cruel scene.
Two tracks, two stories, two books that share the same inner bark, the same raw sacredness, which can descend into the depths of nature and the human well enough to become fossils, Trilobites in fact, for the benefit of posterity.
This short article is intended to be nothing more than an invitation to reading and rereading of a little-known writer, Penni Eros, whose unpublished manuscripts are preserved in the Biblioteca Comunale di Massa Marittima, and a sign of esteem to his work of course.
Alessandro Angeli
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