Patrizia Poli
Bio
Patrizia Poli was born in Livorno in 1961. Writer of fiction and blogger, she published seven novels.
Stories (266/0)
Carlo Collodi, "Le avventure di Pinocchio"
The Florentine Carlo Lorenzini (1826–1890), better known to the public of young and old with the name of Collodi, borrowed from his mother’s country, was a patriot of the wars of Independence but also a bookseller, reviewer, publisher. He translated French fairy tales, including Perrault’s most famous ones.
By Patrizia Poliabout a year ago in Humans
The Novel: Ebbs and Flows
I have repeatedly argued for the lack of a purely Italian narrative, understood as a great wide-ranging novelistic tradition. This depends on the delay with which this genre established itself here, due to the slow development of the middle class, i.e. “those citizens” (like me) placed by fortune between the idiot and the man of letters” (Foscolo).
By Patrizia Poliabout a year ago in Humans
Edmondo De Amicis, "Cuore"
“Today first day of school. Those three months of vacation in the countryside passed like a dream! My mother took me to the Baretti section this morning to get me enrolled for the third grade: I thought about the countryside, and I was reluctant. All the streets were teeming with boys; the two bookseller shops were crowded with fathers and mothers who bought backpacks, folders and notebooks, and in front of the school there were so many people, that the janitor and the civic guard struggled to keep the door clear. “
By Patrizia Poli2 years ago in Humans
Gordiano Lupi, "Alla ricerca della Piombino perduta"
Only a reader born in the sixties can welcome this book by Gordiano Lupi, “In search of the lost Piombino”, with a commotion that turns you upside down and knots your throat. The author dedicates the first part to remembrance, to recherche, to retrace one’s steps. We are catapulted backwards, in the early sixties, in a Piombino that has just emerged from the miseries of war and is barely touched by a boom that the inhabitants don’t even notice. A Piombino that seems to leap out of a film by Virzì, divided in half between rich children and children of metalworkers and railway workers, between ice cream parlors and beach resorts where you only go on Sundays and small everyday bars on beaches smelling of stale frying. The love for these memories is absolute, visceral, unconditional. Lupi accepts everything from the past, the beautiful and the monstrous, the shining sea but also the polluted beaches, the undergrowth of the improvised football fields, the crumbling walls, the pungent smells, the steel mill, today a gigantic wreck of industrial archaeology, always looming, always present in the thoughts and words of the inhabitants. “They were romantic times”, he repeats to us. And it is in this romanticism that neorealism dissolves, transforming itself from ideology into sentiment. Everything was beautiful, everything had more grandeur, more thickness, more flavor, everything is embellished, emphasized by the memory. Even the decay, the dilapidation were languid and melancholy. Overbearing, in every chapter and on every page, the feeling of the failure of one’s existence, the idea that the best is now behind us. The dreams have not come true, the path has been interrupted, the aspirations have not materialised.
By Patrizia Poli2 years ago in Humans
Paolo Mantioni, "Le età della vita"
“It seems to me that you don’t truly believe in anything you do, you don’t wear yourself out completely, you continue to maintain a control that you need to stay out. But in this way you risk staying out of literature, work and even life.”
By Patrizia Poli2 years ago in Humans
The Ancient English Cemetery
With the Livornine laws, promulgated by Grand Duke Ferdinando I, starting from 1590, to favor the economy and the repopulation of an unhealthy and malarial zone, the Jewish communities were allowed first, and then all the others, to settle in Livorno. The main purpose was to attract the rich Sephardic communities.
By Patrizia Poli2 years ago in Humans
An excerpt from "The Flight of the Serpent Dragon"
An excerpt from “Flight of the Serpent Dragon” by Patrizia Poli A wound in the red rock. An ocher mouth open in the blue of a sky that knows no clouds: the Ohnigah Mountain chain that splits in two before descending to the stony ground, the mountains dug by the dry Egelloch river bed. On both sides of the dry river bed, the palm grove, an emerald ribbon in a universe of red earth.
By Patrizia Poli2 years ago in Fiction
