Certainly, there are two fundamental themes in the poetry of Pasquale Di Lena: the Molisanità of its content, expressed through the evocation of memories and images, imbued with a deep sense of nostalgia; and the freshness of a dialect that remains vivid and highly expressive, reflecting the voice of a Molisan who has long lived far from his homeland.
Pasquale Di Lena poetry
Thought
The thought that will not think
becomes a fly—
a small unrest
that startles the stillness.
It circles you,
light and relentless,
brushing your brow,
whispering at your neck;
the more you drive it off,
the more it clings,
a quiet, growing ache.
It gathers speed,
a restless orbit,
pressing into your sight,
slipping into your hearing;
and when you reach to hold it,
it dissolves in air.
So you strike at yourself,
alone,
absurd and helpless,
like a salted fish on a slab,
for a fly
that will not be caught,
that will not be still.
This is the first lyric in the collection, where the image—born from the poet’s imagination—captures the torment of thoughts that occupy the mind until they become obsessive. Thoughts that return to the past, dwell on the present, and project themselves into the future constitute the essence of Pasquale Di Lena’s poetry. Living far from his native land, he raises his voice in song to relive past sensations, to revisit places and figures, and to search through memory in order to revive a personal and collective history.
In this way, he captivates the reader with vivid and almost sculptural images, which gain color and prominence through his keen reflections—reflections that also convey a moral meaning.
He is predominantly a gnomic poet, and therefore expresses himself through concise and incisive statements, imbued with a sense of wisdom.
He accepts the rules of life without drama or complaint, and awaits sleep “so as not to think.”
And here lies his great, though utopian, aspiration:
I would like to wander awhile
through the sky,
to meet a handful of stars—
great and small—
to linger on three simple truths,
to turn them over
until, at last,
they yield a pact:
peace, hunger, and quiet joy.
Peace, to feed the hunger;
to feed the hunger, to live in peace;
to live in peace, to feel whole—
I would like that…
It is worth noting how, through the juxtaposition of words, the poet succeeds in expressing very lofty concepts: to achieve serenity, peace is necessary; yet, in order to attain peace, hunger must be eradicated.
In his poetry, one finds impressions drawn from small, everyday things, reflections on the destiny of humankind, and the unfolding tale of life through its many daily chapters, all set against the evocative backdrop of nature.
…filled with a quiet sweetness,
like the blood of a people
whose roots run far and deep,
like the green of olive trees
spreading, everywhere, without end.
His dialect preserves the originality of his native place and lends musicality to free verse and to certain alternating assonances.
In its expressive power, his poetry reaches the tones of pure lyricism and often of heartfelt elegy for this land of ours, enveloped in the long silences of places not yet contaminated by the noise of technological civilization.
Within these poems, almost softly sheltered in a corner, lies Molise—its long history of suffering and pain, of poverty, but also of rebirth.
It is an archaic world that awakens and renews itself; the Molisan soul undergoes its transformation through the poet’s inner struggle, as can be grasped in these verses:
It is a thread being woven,
of memories and of hope,
one way for those who dare to change it,
another for those who think only of the belly.
And Molise constantly returns to his mind:
It is a memory,
a distant thought,
a tender tear,
a song that lingers.
Like the olive tree
I long to find again,
wherever I may go—
to ease the heart,
and let troubles fade from mind.
Di Lena is also a poet of fables:
The hen has laid the egg,
and the rooster has crowed—
so it goes: one does the deed,
another takes the glory.
When you hear—“I, I!”—
be sure of this:
he did not lay the egg,
yet claims it as his own.
Too many voices crow,
and that is why the donkey brays,
halts, grows restless;
and if it walks, and keeps on walking,
in the end,
it falls into step with them.
The moral dimension refers to humankind, in which the species of the presumptuous—those who claim merits that belong to others—and the cunning—those who achieve advantages through subtle and deceptive actions—are certainly not an endangered race.
With remarkable effectiveness, Di Lena addresses the theme of women’s emancipation, constructing a dialogue between a mother, shaped by a traditional mindset, and a daughter who feels the demands of her time and asserts her rights and equality with men.
Ma… mother!
I cannot live like this any longer—
the same old story,
night and day,
bi, bi, ba, ba:
a nail, a lament,
driven in and in again.
You were a servant,
and you would have me be one too—
always with an apron tied,
my head bowed low,
no voice, no word,
silent,
kneeling before a man.
You weep your tears in secret,
ready to say yes,
to forgive, to soothe,
with no thought, no claim to pain,
wearing your weariness like contentment—
only to find yourself old and spent,
never knowing why you lived.
No, mother, no—
that is not my fate,
not while I am here.
I too want to live,
with a man
who knows to honor me.
